Chapter 1: Syncope
Summary:
Hugh’s just a little tired.
Chapter Text
Hugh nearly collides with Ensign Tilly on his way into his quarters. It’s a sign of how tired he is from pulling a double shift that involved hours of surgery after an accident in one of the science labs (plasma burns and percussive injuries should never go together) that he doesn’t even register the presence of someone in the doorway until Tilly’s surprised, “Oh shit! I mean I’m sorry Doctor Culber, I didn’t, I mean-“ cuts through the haze of exhaustion in his brain.
By that point, both of her hands are gripping his shoulders tightly to steady him as he sways like an old-fashioned sailing ship in a tempest, still apologizing profusely.
“-I know I should look where I’m going, but what are the odds that someone is coming through a door in the opposite direction-“
Hugh blinks slowly, props himself up on the bulkhead, and tries to form words.
”Ensign. You’re...it’s fine.”
The world is greying out at the edges, and the part of his mind that’s still functional registers the look of alarm on Tilly’s face, the way his pulse is beating too loudly in his ears, and unhelpfully informs him that he’s about to pass out. Paul appears at Tilly’s shoulder, and Hugh watches a handful of PADDs hit the deck and scatter.
Paul must have dropped them, he decides absently, I hope Tilly doesn’t trip over them.
Both of their mouths are moving, but he can’t hear anything over the dull ringing in his head. He thinks he manages an apology, but his lips and tongue feel wooden and unresponsive.
The last thing he sees before everything goes dark is Paul’s concerned face.
****
”Hugh? Hugh!”
His brain feels like jellied Denevan custard, wobbly and dense. He’s lying on a carpeted surface, but he can’t remember how he got there. It would be a lot easier to think without Paul’s voice saying his name insistently and the hand shaking his shoulder.
”...stop it,” he mumbles, gratified when the hand doing the shaking moves up to cup his cheek instead.
”Oh thank fuck,” Tilly’s voice comes from his left side, relieved and nervous all at once, “should I still comm Sickbay?”
Paul opens his mouth to reply, but Hugh beats him to it.
”No, thank you, I’ll be fine.”
”You just fainted,” his partner points out unnecessarily, clearly torn between listening to Hugh or telling Tilly to get help.
He helps Hugh to sit up, keeping a solicitous arm around his shoulders while Tilly dashes over to the synthesizer for water. When she returns, Paul’s more or less managed to maneuver Hugh onto the low couch in front of the viewports, and he accepts the glass gratefully.
”Really, it’s okay,” he tells them between slow mouthfuls, “minor vasovagal syncope, not unexpected.”
Two brilliant engineers blink blankly back at him.
”I’ve been standing for the last ten hours,” he explains when the staring turns awkward, “didn’t stop for lunch or dinner, so a little bit of heart irregularity and my blood pressure dropped.”
”Heart irreg- oh! Oh, that’s my fault, I’m so sorry-“
He raises a hand before Tilly can pick up steam.
”No need to apologize Ensign, no harm done.”
“Ummm, right. Okay. I should go and uhh, let you two...you know. Whatever you were going to do together. Oh shi- I didn’t mean that you were going to do that, two consenting adults in a relationship of course you can, but I meant-“ Tilly pauses for breath, then slaps her hands over her mouth, cutting off the flow of words.
There’s an uncharacteristically fond look in Paul’s eyes when he tugs on Tilly’s elbow until she stands and gently shoos her out of their quarters.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks once the door swishes closed, frown reappearing on his brow.
“Yeah babe, I’m fine,” Hugh hastens to reassure him, tugging his collar open and unzipping his jacket.
“Wanna talk about it?”
He shakes his head, shrugging out of the jacket and sighing.
“Long day, I just want to eat something and climb in bed with you.”
Paul bends down for a belated kiss hello, and Hugh can feel him smiling against his lips. It’s the small, soft smile that he only lets out in the privacy of their quarters, and it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle when he pulls back enough to make eye contact.
”I think I can arrange something for that.”
Chapter 2: Softly
Summary:
A little fluffy Culmets making out amidst the mushrooms. Goes from sweet to hot to...profound.
Chapter Text
Hugh eases them down, Paul’s head coming to rest among the fungi pillowed on one of the larger specimens. His weight compresses the cap slightly, golden spores shedding from its underside to dance around them. The cultivation bay has its own contained ventilation, and that includes Paul programming it to create a slight breeze, gentle currents carrying spores up into the air.
Paul watches him as the shimmering spores land on their uniforms, chuckling and brushing them off Hugh’s shoulders.
”What?”
“Just...enjoying the moment.”
His eyes have gone dark with desire, but there’s something gentler lingering in their depths as well. It’s not precisely what Hugh had planned when he headed down to Engineering after their shifts ended, intent on collecting Paul for a real dinner, the kind eaten sitting down without a PADD in one hand. Instead, he’d found his errant lover recalibrating a tricorder, sitting cross-legged in the forest of his own making. Paul had pulled him down beside, setting aside the tricorder and climbing into Hugh’s lap to kiss him with a hunger that spoke to nearly a week of discordant schedules.
Which brings them to the present, Paul’s hands roaming freely over Hugh’s back, fingertips teasing under the edge of his collar. The neediness gives way to slower, deeper kisses, lips and tongues meeting in a dance they both know well.
When Hugh pulls back, he can’t tear his eyes away from pale skin gone pink with beard-burn, a testament to their actions.
”We should-“ he pauses as fingers pass over his throat, heading for the V of his collarbone, “should lock the door.”
”I did as soon as you walked in. I was wondering how long it would take you to get down here.”
Hugh ducks down again, nuzzling into the crook of neck and shoulder, pulling aside the fabric in his way.
”Were you tracking me, love?”
From anyone else it would sound like an accusation, but the playful question only evokes another quiet laugh.
”I promise I only use my powers for good.”
He thumbs over a fading love bite just under the collar of Paul’s undershirt, sighing as the burst of lust banks down into a warm knot in his stomach. The cultivation bay is hardly the right place for a tryst, despite the privacy; they’re both too old to be rolling around a hillock when they have a perfectly good bed a few decks away.
“I was thinking, dinner and going to bed early?”
”I’m not exactly tired, Hugh.”
Paul wiggles his hips, nudging them together.
”I said bed, not sleep.”
”In a few. I want to stay like this a little longer.”
Hugh shifts his weight enough that they can both roll onto their sides, ignoring the way his uniform trousers have gone a little tight. Years in and he still can’t help his body’s reaction to Paul’s voice, his scent, the way he touches Hugh with reverent desire. Blue eyes are half-lidded with satisfied affection, and he stares unabashedly.
Everything has led them here.
Loving his brilliant, mushroom-mad scientist.
”Hugh?” Paul’s voice breaks his reverie, gentle curiosity mixed with a hint of concern, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
”Because it feels right.”
”What does?”
He can tell Paul’s caught on, but is going along with it because he wants to hear Hugh say it.
”You, me. Us.”
Right at that moment, the breeze stirs up the spores again, swirling around them, and a thought strikes him.
“The mycelial network- if it connects everything, does that mean it connects everyone too? Like some sort of quantum spider’s web of reality?”
”Tilly has a theory that the mycelia are responsible for ‘correcting’ time loops, and they-“ Paul stops himself, a rarity when he has the opportunity to posit at length, “-essentially. Yes. Infinite multiverses with fungi running through all of them. Infinite possibilities.”
”You mean, there might be one out there where we’re not together?”
It’s meant as a tease, but Paul must pick up on the strand of discomfort running through his question.
”I can’t imagine a reality where I don’t love you, my dear doctor.”
The next kiss is sweet, close-mouthed but all the more intimate for it. Paul curves his hand around the back of Hugh’s neck, whispers against his lips.
”I wouldn’t want to.”
Chapter 3: Shower, Part 1
Summary:
Paul's feeling insecure. Hugh couldn't disagree more.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul's already in the shower when Hugh returns to their quarters, greeted by steam and the sound of running water as he toes his boots off. The fact that he's opted for a water shower instead of sonic suggests he's probably had a frustrating day in Engineering, or his partner is brooding over some sort of problem that he just can't logic his way out of. Either way, Hugh suspects he won't object to company, discarding his uniform as he crosses to the bathroom. Paul is silhouetted against the frosted glass door, and Hugh can just make out the way he's leaning forward on his arms folded against the wall, head bowed.
Option two then.
He opens the door and steps inside, shivering as the full force of steam hits bare skin. It's less pounding spray and more a fine mist, cloaking the cubicle in fog.
"It's me," he murmurs when Paul doesn't raise his head to look.
"Superfluous," comes the mutter, "I certainly hope no one else on this ship has our access code and the audacity to get in the shower with me."
Hugh nudges him aside with his hip, reaching for the soap as he steps under the spray. Paul's probably already washed himself, but there's emotional health benefits to casual touch between intimate partners. It's a flimsy excuse, and really, Hugh just wants to massage out the knots of tension he can see at the base of his neck and shoulders.
"I love your hands."
"Should I be jealous?"
"Yes. I'm carrying on a torrid affair with your hands. We're exchanging sexually explicit comms during the day, and last week while you were asleep, I let them grope me. All over."
His voice is tired and tight, but banter is a good sign.
"I wasn't asleep."
"...I thought your aim was oddly specific."
Paul pushes off the wall, turning under Hugh's slick hands as they spread soap suds over his torso and tilting his chin up for a kiss. He lets his hands fall to Paul's waist, stroking teasingly over his hips and holding firmly, loving the solid presence under his grip. A shudder travels up Paul's body as he squeezes, and Hugh's eyes open.
"What's bothering you, sweetheart?"
"Long day. It's nothing."
"That didn't feel like nothing."
It almost felt like he was flinching away, and Hugh frowns when Paul won't meet his eyes.
"Tilly got into an argument with a couple of crew while she was in Jefferies Tube Seven today."
The statement seems like a non sequitur, but Paul's not staring over Hugh's left shoulder the way he does when he's trying to change the subject.
"Tilly? Ensign Sylvia Tilly, arguing?"
"Yeah."
"What caused it?"
"She was defending our honor, apparently. Mine, specifically."
Hugh taps the control panel, switching from steam to sonic. Steam always makes his nose run, and a wet Paul is a distraction to what sounds like a serious conversation.
"Go on."
"I sent her in to check the plasma relays, because we were getting some static in the flux buffers. While she was in there, I'm told there was another team working just past the junction and they weren't happy about me having her re-route power. Something about having to go to the medbay to have a burn looked at last week."
Paul pauses, and Hugh gestures with his eyebrows.
Go on.
"Anyway. According to them, you're a hot piece of ass that they'd like to hit, and they don't know why...yeah."
The sonics whisk away the mist, leaving their skin damp, and he watches Paul fidget with his hands.
"Paul?"
"Why someone like you is with a middle-aged, socially awkward loser that you probably have to fuck facedown because seeing me naked would be disgusting."
Hugh blinks a few times, jaw clenching. He'd been prepared for a humorous story, or one that at least ended with some gentle fun being poked at Tilly's lack of verbal filter. This was something else, and he's torn between righteous outrage on Paul's behalf and wondering if he could find out the crew member's names to have some words of his own. Instead, he schools his tone to be as mild as possible, because Paul seems strangely affected by it.
"I think we should nominate Tilly for a commendation."
"Huh?"
"For restraint in not punching them."
"Oh. Well, I only found out because Reno was walking by and heard Tilly yelling at them, and when she found out why, dragged them up to Saru for unprofessional behavior and inappropriate comments about a fellow officer."
Paul's not angry though, as far as Hugh can tell. If anything, he appears resigned to it all.
"Love, talk to me."
He shrugs unhappily, playing with the fingers of Hugh's left hand.
"I just...remember when we first started- when you used to tell me how much you loved how your hands went around my waist?"
Hugh's missing something.
"...years ago, sure. What's that got to do with a pair of assholes insulting you?"
"Look at this," Paul mumbles, poking angrily at his own midsection, "why would you want to see this?"
Oh.
Hugh takes a deep breath and chooses his words carefully, knowing that he can't minimize Paul's concerns, even if he thinks they're ridiculous.
"One. I love you. Second," he gently pulls his hand free and wraps his arms around Paul's waist, pulling their bodies flush, "we're both a little older than when I said that. Bodies naturally change over time, and it's hardly an indicator of anything except physiology."
"But you're so-"
"Third. Listen to me, love. This?" he pinches some of that flesh between his fingers, "This, your body, tells the story of us. Yes, your waist circumference was smaller, because you were so engrossed in your work you weren't eating or sleeping properly. You used to spend days on protein cubes in the lab. This tells me, you've let me take care of you, and we've gotten older. Together."
The frown creasing Paul's brow subsides as he listens, tension draining out.
"I- how did I ever deserve you?"
Hugh releases his waist to cup Paul's face in both hands.
"I'm the lucky one, sweetheart. And I hope we deserve each other."
Paul blinks rapidly, blowing out a long breath.
"Oh," Hugh adds, "remind me to thank Tilly later."
"What for?"
"Being the one to deal with it, because I don't think Starfleet would be happy to hear that a medical officer punched one of their shipmates."
It startles a laugh out of Paul, which was his intention, and he reaches over to shut off the sonics.
"Okay."
"Come on, let's get something to eat and then I'm going to take you to bed and demonstrate exactly how much I love every inch of your body."
"Every inch?"
"Some inches more than others."
Paul pauses with his hand on the door.
"Thank you."
"What for?"
"Being you."
Notes:
I see Stamets as someone who pretends to be above it all because he's secretly affected by everything. If they had been just insulting him, he'd laugh it off, but targeting his perception of how Hugh thinks of him would really shake his confidence. And of course Hugh wouldn't be having any of it, because he's not shallow enough to think it matters.
Part 2 in chapter 10
Chapter 4: Soul
Summary:
Paul reflects on his partner.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh Culber is a good person.
Whenever Paul says so, Hugh will bite his lip and look down, or remind him that he has not-so-good qualities: he snores, he’s grumpy if he’s woken up before 0600, he doesn’t like Paul’s xenophobic uncle (no one does, but that’s irrelevant).
Paul’s not deterred. He’ll take the kiss that follows, silenced but still knowing the truth.
Hugh is kinder, gentler, stronger than anyone he’s ever met. His chosen profession, healing others, requires all three qualities in order to be a good physician. And Hugh is an excellent doctor who cares for his patients.
Paul imagines if he could somehow see the complex energies making up his partner, there would be a permanent flow from his heart through his hands as they mend. Sometimes the mycelial network lingers in his synapses, tiny glimpses of the invisible, and Hugh glows golden and warm.
He still looks at Paul with desire, but more importantly, with a depth of affection that used to scare him. Not because he didn’t believe it or didn’t reciprocate (far from it), but because he was afraid of someday being undeserving.
He’s stayed with Paul all of these years, through months of separation, of nights he was too wrapped up in his work to come to bed. He understands what drives Paul, even if he’s concerned for his health and safety.
Hugh says he feels safe in Paul’s arms, but he doesn’t realize that some nights Paul is clinging to him like an anchor, afraid to let go. No matter how confused he gets, how much the jumps have scrambled his senses, Hugh is his constant.
When Hugh is gone (dead his brain screams, murdered), Paul is adrift. It’s unfathomable how the universe could allow someone so good to be taken away.
When Hugh is back, it’s almost worse because Paul can still see his Hugh under all of the trauma of dying and being remade, sees flashes behind eyes gone hard with an unknowable amount of time fighting for survival in the network. At least when he was dead, Paul could be angry, could cry into the emptiness of their bed, could breathe his scent until it faded.
No, that’s not right. Hugh deserves to be happy, no matter who he’s with. Nothing else matters but that he’s alive. And if Paul no longer deserves him, then he owes the memory of that good man to let him go with grace.
Forward motion is a lie.
Paul can’t move forward without him. He’s rarely lied to Hugh (except about the spore drive, always the spore drive), but that’s the biggest lie he’s ever told.
He wonders if Hugh actually believes him, and can’t decide which would be worse, that he no longer knows Paul enough to see he’s lying or that he sees it and doesn’t care.
There’s no time after that, not to be alone in their bed unable to sleep, or to run after Hugh and ask him not to go. Maybe 900 years will be enough distance for Paul’s heart to finish breaking.
When he’s lying on a biobed, metal sticking out of his chest and more blood soaking his uniform with every beat of his pulse, when he sees the size of the shrapnel lodged right over his heart, he thinks he really might die this time. And he’s relieved that it’s the middle of the battle, and if Discovery is successful, Hugh won’t have to know. He doesn’t need Paul to hold him back, dead or alive.
A figure in white approaches, and through the haze of agony with each breath, Paul hears a voice he thought to know again only in his memories and saved comms.
”Wherever we go, we go together.”
Lips brush his forehead, and Paul lets go of his fight to stay conscious. When he wakes up, he’s going to do whatever it takes to be worthy of him.
Notes:
This was supposed to be some fluff about Hugh being too modest. Ooops?
Chapter 5: Sleep
Summary:
Hugh is back, and Paul can’t wait to start living again.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Doctor Pollard eventually shoos Paul out so she can finish running tests and scans, using science and medicine to prove that Hugh is really there when Paul doesn’t need any of that. Hearing his name, the incredulous whisper breaking at the end, the feel of Hugh’s skin under his hands...that’s all he needs to know.
She doesn’t want him touching Hugh again until she’s done, and he wonders if part of her motivation is wanting to work without the distraction of his pacing and fidgeting.
It was difficult to release him when she arrived in Engineering to begin with, rocking Hugh in his arms, laughing and crying all at once. Tilly and Michael stood close by, doing much of the same while clutching each other for support. They had also very pointedly not looked any lower than Hugh’s bare chest.
He finds himself humming Hugh’s favorite aria as the doors to their quarters slide shut. His face feels like it’s stretched in a permanent smile, and he’s not going to try and suppress it. Not anymore.
A shower washes away the sweat and grit of the network, and he dresses for bed eagerly. Sliding under the covers, he contemplates Hugh’s pillow, a fresh set of pajamas folded neatly on it, waiting.
Soon.
Paul rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling, heart awash with joy. Surely Doctor Pollard’s tests will be done tomorrow, and Hugh can come home. He’s already planning what to make for dinner, what music to play. When they climb into bed together, he’s going to hold him kiss him and fit their bodies together until they fall asleep. They’ll wake up together too, no more cold sheets and emptiness.
And when Hugh feels up to it, they’ll make love. Paul will control his usual impatience with going slow, will caress and kiss and worship his body, touch every place that brings him pleasure until they both can’t stand it any longer. There will be time later to sate the passionate hunger, time to give voice to his lust. Instead, they’ll rock together tenderly, tumble over the edge entwined.
After, Paul will promise to never, ever take Hugh for granted again. He’ll pledge to try harder to make it home for dinner barring emergencies, to tell Hugh how much he loves him daily.
He closes his eyes, willing himself to sleep, knowing it will be his last night alone after the nightmare of the past few months.
Tomorrow.
Notes:
Thank you to everyone for your comments! I’m truly grateful for the time spent writing them and love being able to connect :)
Chapter Text
He makes them let him see Hugh, after.
Doctor Pollard, Tilly, Michael, they all try to dissuade him in varying tones of compassion, fragile mourning, and deep condolence.
Paul won’t be swayed.
He orders them all out, fingertips just brushing the surface of the stasis field keeping Hugh’s body pristine.
They go.
”Hugh...”
He barely recognizes his own voice, brittle and small.
“Please-“
Paul’s not sure what he’s asking for.
Through the stasis field, Paul traces the outline of the familiar, beloved face.
Hugh is beautiful, the same as always, the wrinkles and lines of care smoothed out, lips just parted as if in slumber.
He lets his eyes linger on the grey hairs starting to show in Hugh’s beard, the nick below his jaw on the left side that could almost be mistaken for a shaving cut.
It’s not.
Tears well up, blurring his view of his love, as he remembers seeing the spot of blood as they laid together panting after, an unintentional product of his own scrabbling fingers during the height of passion.
He remembers kissing the scrape in apology and Hugh laughing off the concern.
Paul’s still wearing the fading remains of the lovebite on his collarbone that Hugh left in return.
Hands shaking, he enters the authorization code to lower the stasis field.
The panel beeps, requesting confirmation, and he steels himself for the six seconds he’ll have before the field reinstates itself.
Confirm.
Hugh’s skin smells like medical sanitizer and is cold to the touch, but Paul doesn’t care.
Gently, he cups his jaw and presses one final kiss to those lips, wishing for a miracle, for anything that means Hugh’s not really gone.
The panel beeps in warning, and he withdraws, a tear splashing down from his nose to land on Hugh’s cheek just as the stasis field hums back into place.
Ten minutes later, Paul walks out of the medbay, face drawn and eyes red.
Pollard, Tilly, and Burnham watch him pass in silence.
If Doctor Pollard scanned him with her tricorder, she’d find all of his vitals stressed but within acceptable levels given the situation, all signs pointing to Paul Stamets being alive and well.
She would be wrong.
His heart is lying cold and alone and dead behind him.
Notes:
I’m so sorry for this one. Re-watching season one of Disco, and all I could think of was Paul having to confront the reality of Hugh’s death.
Chapter 7: Soaked
Summary:
Some humorous fluff to make up for the last few chapters of serious angst.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tracy Pollard is just wrapping up before gamma shift comes on when the medbay doors snick open. She’s expecting to see someone from Engineering with a minor burn or maybe one of the ensigns with a sprained ankle from the gym.
Instead, she’s greeted by the sight of a very concerned Hugh leading Paul slowly across the threshold. Her eyes narrow as she takes in Paul’s definite limp, the dampness of his hair plastered against his skull, and what looks like it could almost be a blush across Hugh’s cheeks. As she watches, Hugh gently settles his partner on a biobed, lying on his side rather than his back.
“So, do I want to know?”
Upon closer inspection, not only is Paul’s hair wet, but he’s wearing what looks like Hugh’s undershirt, backwards and clinging to his wet skin.
”Ahem,” Hugh tries and almost succeeds in pulling his professional face on, “the Lieutenant has injured his-“
”Hugh,” Tracy cuts over him, “what happened?”
She’s got a scanner in hand, and it’s probably giving her the same read outs as the one Hugh’s clutching.
“Well? Or do I have to guess.”
”I uhhh, slipped. In the ummm- ouch!” Paul flinches as her fingers carefully palpate his lower back, “in the shower.”
”Really.”
Her unimpressed tone is warring with the smirk threatening to break free.
”You’ve managed to bruise your tailbone quite throughly, Mister Stamets. A rather spectacular feat, given there’s no other fall injuries. I’d expect a sprained wrist from trying to catch yourself. You didn’t hit your head, did you?”
“He didn’t.”
”You’re sure?”
”I- we,” Hugh’s definitely blushing up to his hairline, an impressive feat, “I was there. He didn’t.”
”There.”
”Yes.”
Tracy can’t resist.
”In the shower, with the lieutenant?”
”Yes.”
She jabs Paul’s hip with a hypospray, waiting out his yelp of surprise until it turns into a sigh of relief.
“Thank you.”
Paul’s clearly torn between embarrassment at his own situation and the amusement of watching his partner trying to deflect Tracy’s increasingly more pointed questions.
“It’s my understanding that all shower cubicles on this ship are standard sized, which leads me to ask how he could have fallen without you catching him?”
”The door.”
Hugh’s teeth are gritted together. He knows Tracy’s enjoying this, now that they’re sure Paul hasn’t broken anything.
”What’s the door have to do with Mister Stamets’ injury?”
Tracy watches Hugh’s face go even more red before bursting into laughter.
”Should I be offended that a doctor finds my plight funny?”
She waves a hand in acknowledgement of Paul’s half-hearted complaint, waiting for her giggles to die down.
”Well?”
”Ummm. We were in the shower and Paul was leaning on the door when one of us bumped the controls and it opened and he fell.”
”I didn’t fall, you dropped me!”
”If you weren’t squirming so much-“
”Boys,” Tracy interrupts, an indulgent smile in place, “just try to be more careful, all right?”
Hugh mutters something under his breath, and he still can’t meet her eyes.
”Can we go now?”
Paul’s already climbing off the biobed as he speaks.
”You probably shouldn’t do anything too strenuous, it’s going to be sore for a few days.”
Paul takes an experimental step, wincing, and a moment later Hugh sweeps him into a bridal carry.
”Thanks Tracy,” he addresses Paul’s shoulder, “Goodnight.”
She waves them on, still chuckling, and they make a fast retreat. Hugh’s never going to live this one down.
Notes:
I leave it up to the reader to decide exactly what these two were doing when Hugh dropped Paul. I know I have ideas... ;)
Chapter 8: Speculation, Part 1
Notes:
Hugh most definitely has some sort of necklace on that's barely visible in this scene, although it disappears in his later meeting with Admiral Cornwell. Wilson Cruz seems to wear a silver chain and pendant outside of work, but this looks different.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Something catches his eye, glinting in the blue light of the spore cube as Georgiou makes a dramatic exit. He's only half paying attention to Tilly's wide-eyed question, can't be sure what he murmurs in response.
He's been trying hard not to follow the open V of fabric down across the swell of pectoral muscles and light dusting of hair. Hugh looks handsome in uniform, but formal Earth dress has always taken Paul's breath away. The tailored suit emphasizes the breadth of his shoulders, and Paul shakes his head to clear it, refocusing as Tilly captures Hugh's attention with some sort of query.
There's the barest hint of a gold chain around Hugh’s neck, hidden under the starched collar of his shirt, and he can just make out a bump below where it’s buttoned. Paul's heart falls into his stomach, twists itself into a knot that barely dares to hope.
What does it mean?
Paul grips a PADD tightly, pretends to be engrossed in readouts, because he knows that necklace. Paul’s Academy ring is hanging from it, a gift several anniversaries ago. Hugh doesn't wear it all the time, but he most definitely does when they're apart, says that the weight is comforting. For him to be wearing it now overturns the fragile sort of resignation Paul's talked himself into, the limbo of not knowing.
There's so much distance between them, but maybe, if Hugh is holding onto this piece of them, if Paul lets him go and gives him time to heal...
Maybe.
Notes:
Prequel in chapter 37
Read more about why Hugh is wearing the ring in Chapter 44 of When Sorrow Turns to Joy (https://archiveofourown.org/works/22932235)
Chapter 9: Surprise
Chapter Text
It's always a good day when Paul wakes up to Hugh watching him with a smile.
It's even better when he opens his eyes to find Hugh sitting on top of him.
Today, Hugh is doing both of those things and is also gloriously naked.
Paul is so going to be late for his shift.
Chapter 10: Shower, Part Two
Summary:
Continuation of the story in chapter 3 ("Shower"), aka what happens when Hugh finds out who insulted Paul.
Notes:
A little hand-waving to bend the timeline, since Paul and Hugh aren't back together and certainly wouldn't be sharing a shower during season 2 when we meet Reno.
Warning as it were, for Hugh's very crude final line to Assholes 1 & 2.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh comes off shift and heads down to Engineering, a small container of fruit in hand. Paul's already commed to say he's working a late night and will be home after dinner, but Hugh knows it's more than likely he won't eat at all, and that's not acceptable when he has someone to look out for him.
He nods amiably to people passes on his way, stopping to share a few words with acquaintances. Just outside Engineering, something makes his shoulders tighten and he turns to see a couple of crewmen openly ogling his ass. Normally, Hugh doesn't have any problem with appreciative glances - he's not too modest to say that he keeps his body in excellent condition - and might choose to make light of the situation. In this case, the looks feel like an unwelcome touch, intrusive and jarring, and he does his best to ignore them.
Inside, he's bathed in the blue glow he's come to associate with Paul's spores. The doors close behind him, and he feels a sense of relief. Hugh squares his shoulders and shrugs off the negative feelings, greeting Tilly with a wide smile. He genuinely likes Paul's protégé, finding her enthusiasm endearing and her complete honesty refreshing. Also, she's remarkably intelligent (Paul wouldn't have asked for her to be assigned straight out of the Academy's placement program otherwise) and Hugh isn't above asking her to help keep an eye on his erstwhile partner.
"Hi Doctor Culber!" Tilly's voice is slightly muffled as she digs in a storage crate, "He's in the cultivation bay, should I tell him you're here, sir?"
"I'm off duty," Hugh leans on the crate to make sure she can hear him, unfastening his collar and tugging the zipper down a couple of inches, "it's Hugh. And no, I'll wait."
"Umm, right Doctor- Hugh. Uhhh. So, what brings you down here?"
He raises the box and shakes it gently when Tilly stands back up.
"Just trying to make sure he eats something tonight. You guys are going to be in here late?"
"We-"
"Yeah," a dry voice cuts in from behind them, "the mushroom lord thinks running side-by-side diagnostics along with a sequential jump simulation will help us work out a way to use less spore stuff."
Hugh smiles at Reno's typical sarcasm-laced explanation. She and Paul might butt heads, but he can see it's done with mutual respect despite the ready insults and complaints.
"-what Commander Reno said," Tilly finishes awkwardly.
"I see."
"Whaddya need, Doc? Loverboy is busy with his mushrooms - by the way, do you ever feel like you're playing second fiddle to a bunch of pizza toppings? - but he'll probably be back out soon."
Hugh opens his mouth to reply to both her epithet (he's not sure he'd laugh at anyone besides Reno calling Paul "loverboy") and question about Paul's priorities, but is interrupted by the doors opening again. The same crewmen who had been eye-fucking him in the corridor are carrying pieces of equipment and set them down with a clang.
"Hey, where do these go?"
Hugh frowns and takes a step back, moving between Tilly and the stacked crates so his white uniform is less conspicuous. There's something about those two he really doesn't like.
"First of all, it's 'where do these go, Commander?' " Reno plants a hand on her hip, "second, move 'em by the spore cube and don't touch anything."
"Since when does Reno care about protocol?" Hugh mutters to Tilly who gives him a wide-eyed shrug. She's glaring at the back of the men's heads, and he's startled by the complete lack of her characteristic sunny disposition.
They both let out a sigh of relief when the crewmen depart, and Reno turns to them with an eyeroll.
"C'mon Red, let's go see if Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber broke anything this time. You," she points at Hugh, "stay right there. They'll be back with more."
Mystified, he complies, waiting patiently while she and Tilly connect the equipment into the spore console and start a diagnostic program running.
"What's going on with those two?"
He doesn't miss the way they exchange a significant look before Tilly gestures at Reno with a small frown.
"Couple of assholes," Reno informs him shortly.
"I really don't like them," Tilly adds, "they're the ones who- I mean, uhhh nothing. Right. Nothing."
Hugh narrows his eyes, taking in Tilly's nervous smile, then puts two and two together.
"They're the ones Tilly got into an argument with. About Paul."
"Ding ding, Doc. Doubt they learned their lesson either, sadly."
"I-"
The doors snick open again, and this time Hugh studies them with a careful eye. They're vaguely familiar, the kind of familiarity that he gets from crew physicals and gym visits, but no one he would recognize on sight.
"Hurry it up and be careful this time, or you can explain to Stamets why you fucked up his design."
"Sorry, sir," one of them replies. The doors almost mask him adding under his breath, "...that pale ass freak."
"...Docto- Hugh?"
Tilly gently touches his arm, and he realizes he's clutching the container hard enough to warp the bioplastic. Hugh loosens his grip one finger at a time, breathing deeply to try and tamp down the anger curling in his stomach. It had taken a night of gentle touches and soft words to drag Paul completely out of his funk over what they'd said, and he's not keen to repeat the process of patiently convincing his partner that his self-doubt was unfounded.
"Hugh!"
Paul's voice banishes the storm clouds starting to gather overhead, and he turns to find him standing on the other side of the console, dusting spores off his shoulders.
"You're supposed to be home sleeping," he starts in, "I'll be there before 2300-"
The doors open again, and Paul's spine stiffens when he catches sight of who's handling his supplies. Hugh takes the two steps between them, cups Paul's face in his hands, and kisses him long and slow. He lets his hands linger on Paul's chest after, smiling at the surprise on his partner's face at the sudden public display of affection. Without looking behind him, he knows the others are all watching them, and makes a point of speaking a little more loudly than necessary.
"Don't keep me waiting, love."
The playful tone is laced with something darker, and he watches Paul's eyes glaze over for a moment before his normal dour expression is back in place. Setting the food down on the console, he squeezes Paul's ass, bids Tilly and Reno goodnight, and strides past the two crewmen without so much as a glance.
********
"What was that, earlier?" Paul asks at 0100 when he finally slides into bed next to Hugh, who blinks up at him sleepily.
"Hmmmm?"
"In there. With...them."
"Tilly let it slip, I thought I'd give them something to remember the next time they decide to insult you."
"Hugh, I..."
He lets Hugh gather him close, wriggling until their bodies are touching as much as possible.
"Hugh?"
"What?"
"Please tell me you're not going to- to do anything to them."
"Shhh, go to sleep love."
********
The next few days are hectic, and Hugh gladly forgets about the unpleasant encounter. That is, until he walks into the gym for a session of weights and finds those same crewmen in his favorite spot in front of the holo-mirror. They don't look to be lifting, and he waits for them to leave.
"Oh, hi Doctor Culber!" Asshole #1 says in what he probably thinks is a friendly manner.
"Gentlemen," he barely maintains a cordial tone, "do you mind moving?"
They clear his space, moving over to one of the benches, and he tries to keep his eyes on his reflection instead of watching them watch him.
"Don't suppose you'd be up for a drink later, Doctor?" Asshole #2 asks when he passes by for more weights.
"Sorry," Hugh smiles insincerely, "I'm taken."
Neither of them should be lifting with that terrible form, and he suppresses the urge to roll his eyes when they loudly discuss adding weight. He knows the type, and he's not impressed.
At all.
Returning the free weights to the rack, he pulls off his shirt with studied nonchalance, swiping at the sweat on his neck. As predicted, Asshole #2 who is supposed to be spotting nearly lets Asshole #1 drop the overloaded bar on his chest.
"Do you want some help spotting?" he calls over, Hugh the physician overriding Hugh the offended lover in concern for their safety.
They both look like they can barely believe their luck, and he crosses the room to take Asshole #2's place at the head of the bench.
A few reps in, and a thought occurs to him.
"I think you could add more," he says, gesturing with his chin at the rack.
There's no way either of them could actually lift that much, but they're eager to show off. Asshole #1 is practically drooling as Hugh's pectoral muscles flex, holding most of the weight himself.
"Open invitation, you know. If you ever want some...company."
"Thank you, but my partner and I usually don't drink outside our quarters."
"If you don't mind me saying, you could do better."
Hugh doesn't reply, waiting until the bar is hovering inches away from Asshole #1's face before loosening his grip just enough that the weight starts to drop without him controlling it. Asshole #2 steps forward, but stops as Hugh narrows his eyes and pierces him with a look.
"No," he enunciates clearly, releasing a little more until the man's arms are shaking. There's no way he'd be able to stop the bar from breaking his nose - or worse - if Hugh lets go completely. He thinks back on what they said, and lets the cold anger loose.
"You see," Hugh continues conversationally, "I'm very happy with Paul. Extremely. And even if I wasn't, " he drops the bar further, "what makes you think I would have any interest in someone who refuses to respect the boundaries of someone else's relationship? You have no idea what's between us, and I doubt either of you could possibly understand."
"Doctor-"
"You two have no idea how lucky you are that I took an oath to do no harm, because let me tell you, if I ever find out you've been saying inappropriate things about my partner again, you will regret it."
He lifts the bar out of the man's hands effortlessly, setting it on the floor.
"Are we clear, gentlemen?"
They're both too shaken to respond, Asshole #1 panting for breath and #2 paling rapidly.
"Do I need to repeat myself?"
"-no, sir."
"Good."
He pulls his shirt back on and turns to leave, silence following him.
According to them, you're a hot piece of ass that they'd like to hit, and they don't know why...yeah. Why someone like you is with a middle-aged, socially awkward loser that you probably have to fuck facedown because seeing me naked would be disgusting.
Before he can think better of it, he pauses just before the door's sensors will pick up his proximity and fixes them both with another look.
"I'm going to go home to my partner and we'll have a nice hot ride together, because that socially awkward loser? Turns me on so much. I only fuck him facedown when seeing his face while we make love makes me come so hard it hurts."
His cheeks are flaring with heat, shocked by his own boldness at sharing such a private thing, even in anger. Spinning on his heel, he stalks out of the gym and pauses in the turbolift moments later, trying to slow his breath. What's done is done, and hopefully he won't have to deal with it again. Theoretically, they could report his threat, but he doesn't think they will.
Sighing, he rubs his temples. He can't wait to be home.
********
"What did you do, Hugh?"
Paul's voice drifts in from the sink as Hugh is rinsing shampoo out of his hair.
"What's that, love?"
"I just received a formal apology on my PADD from- well, you know."
"What makes you think I did anything?"
Hugh turns off the water and reaches for a towel, hand meeting only empty air. Frowning, he opens the door the rest of the way to find Paul barefoot, holding the towel to his chest pensively.
"I don't want you to get in trouble because of me. You didn't have to..."
He moves closer, heedless of the wet footprints he's leaving, tugging Paul to him by the towel.
"No, I didn't have to. But, people like that, who...say things, deserve to know how wrong they are."
Paul bites his lip and looks away, but Hugh catches his chin gently, raising his head until their eyes meet.
"Don't ever think I'll let anyone get away with hurting you."
He leans forward, nudging their noses together.
"Let me finish drying off? I just want to hold you tonight."
Paul's answering smile lights up the room.
Notes:
So this one got away from me a bit - it was supposed to be another snippet, but ended up longer than 2,000 words. I set out to end it after Hugh drops a very possessive kiss on Paul in Engineering, but Hugh took it somewhere else. He seems like the calmest person in the world until someone he loves is threatened, and I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of his temper.
Chapter 11: Soothe
Notes:
Set early on in season one, before Tilly's figured out Paul and Hugh are a couple.
Chapter Text
"Doctor Culber?"
Hugh turns from studying the latest data on vectors for Andorian cerebral viruses to find Tilly nervously fidgeting a few feet away. She's also clutching her left hand to her chest protectively, and he can see the cuff of her uniform sleeve is singed.
"Cadet? What happened?"
He's already reaching for a scanner with one hand while holding out the other, gently clasping her wrist to get a better look. It's a superficial burn, but spread over most of her palm and three fingers in a way that has to be extremely painful. She's still smiling tightly, and he's amazed at her ability to minimize discomfort.
"He told me to be careful, and I was, but see, there was a surge in the conduit while I was trying to check the circuits, and it sparked and I couldn't move my hand fast enough and he told me to come up here, but what if he's mad at me for getting hurt when he told me that-"
"Breathe, Cadet," Hugh reminds her mildly, parsing the run-on sentence. "Lieutenant Stamets won't be mad."
He gives her a quick hypo of analgesic, then flicks on a dermal regenerator and starts repairing the skin at her fingertips. Her cheeks are flushed red and her eyes are starting to look suspiciously wet, but the hypo should more than numb any discomfort.
"Tilly?"
"...he yelled at me for getting hurt. What if he doesn't want me to work for him anymore because of this?"
Hugh's personal PADD dings, and he spares a quick glance where it's on the side table.
[Stamets-Paul-LT/ENG] Did she make it up there to you? Fix it please, I need to make sure the conduit doesn't blow up in anyone else's face today.
He shakes his head and smiles gently, setting down the regen briefly to rest his hand on Tilly's shoulder.
"Believe me, he's not actually mad at you."
"But-"
"Tilly, don't tell him I said so, but the Lieutenant likes you."
"...I don't think he does, he keeps yelling at me-"
Hugh picks up the regen again, passing it back and forth over her palm. He can't remember the last time Paul "called ahead" to ensure that someone had medical care for something relatively minor.
"Has he ever called you stupid? Or actually kicked you out to take over on a console?"
"...no."
"Let me tell you a secret, Tilly. He yells at people he likes because he knows they can do better, and because he doesn't have volume control when he gets excited by the science."
"Are you sure? I mean, he's always frowning and pointing out-"
"Trust me on this. If he didn't like you, you wouldn't be on his team."
The regen finishes its cycle, and he checks the new skin carefully with his fingertips, never completely reliant on technology.
"He told me to shut up the first time I met him, but I'm pretty sure he likes me now."
Tilly's eyes fly wide open, and her jaw follows suit.
"But you're a doctor!"
"He didn't care."
"And you're, I mean...you're sure he likes you? Not that I don't believe you Doctor Culber, but-"
Hugh grins.
"Yes, generally. Now go on back to Engineering, and tell him I said you're fit for duty."
"Okay? I mean, okay. Ummm. Thank you, Doctor."
He shoos her out with a wave, and picks up his PADD to type a quick reply.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] She's fine. Quit scaring her, she's terrified you think she's incompetent.
[Stamets-Paul-LT/ENG] She's brilliant. Clumsy, but brilliant.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Maybe try telling your crew once a while. See you for dinner? You could ask Tilly to sit with us.
[Stamets-Paul-LT/ENG] Yeah. Maybe. Can't get a reputation for being nice though.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Grouch. Love you.
[Stamets-Paul-LT/ENG] Love you too, dear doctor. Later.
Chapter 12: Stranger
Notes:
Not an easy one, be warned.
Chapter Text
“Why are you so angry with me?”
Hugh snaps something in response, but Paul doesn’t hear it. He’s frozen as Hugh storms past him and out of their quarters, the echo of his voice lingering.
Years together, of highs and lows, and Hugh has never raised his voice like this to Paul. Exclamations of excitement when a friend commed to announce their engagement, a shout of surprise when internal gravity went haywire, a rare epithet when he stubs his toe, sure. Peals of laughter ringing through a room, many times. Cries of pleasure, loud enough that their neighbors bang on the bulkhead and they try to muffle the sounds of passion between each other’s lips, often.
But never in anger.
For a moment, as the displaced air settles in Hugh’s wake, he realizes he didn’t recognize the man in front of him.
“Maybe that’s just who I was.”
Losing Hugh the first time hurt less.
Chapter 13: Satisfy
Summary:
Pre-Discovery. Paul and Hugh have spent months separated and are finding increasingly creative ways to fulfill their needs.
Notes:
A bit of technobabble that seems plausible enough :)
Chapter Text
“Hey love.”
Hugh’s brilliant smile greets Paul when he taps the optical chip at his temple. Alone in his quarters, he unzips his jacket and stretches out on the bed, eager to escape the reality that has him so far apart from the love of his life.
”I think I finally figured out the settings to project...hang on-“ the holoimage blurs for a moment, followed by the click of a recording device being set down, and then Hugh reappears seemingly lounging on the other side of the mattress. “There we go. I hope you’re lying down to watch this, because I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Paul can’t help the gentle laugh at Hugh’s conspiratorial tone. Spending months light years away from each other meant they had to get creative with intimacy. Comms and messages about everyday things helped keep them connected, but the need for each other on a purely physical level was the most difficult to maintain.
In front of him, Hugh peels off his own uniform piece by piece, turning it into a playful striptease. Paul knows his partner’s body in loving detail, but never ceases to be hypnotized by every inch of skin bared. His eyes fall half closed as he imagines running his hands over the sculpted planes of Hugh’s chest, fingers fitting into the ridges of muscle in his taut stomach. A coil of heat starts to gather behind his navel, and he unbuttons his own pants in anticipation.
Hugh is finally gloriously naked, unselfconscious in his nudity (as he should be, his body is made for worship...). He winks and reaches into thin air over the edge of the bed, then lifts a pair of sensor gloves into view. They remind Paul of the ones used for manipulating tools and robotic systems in the worker bees, but seem to have an additional fine web of sensors along each finger.
”Chas in Engineering owed me a favor for clearing up a nasty case of Ventakan herpes before they had to explain to their spouses,” Hugh explains as he fits the bands and cables onto his hands, “totally non-sexual transmission, I think one of their livestock sneezed on them in passing, but either way...”
He flexes his fingers, then looks up again.
”Do you have the package I sent with you? I hope so. If not, and I know how much you hate waiting, but we won’t be able to do this without it. Go ahead and open it if you do.”
Intrigued, Paul taps the optical chip to pause and lifts the box off the nightstand. It’s a standard nondescript grey ‘fleet parcel carrier, and he triggers the voiceprint lock. The two halves pop open, spilling a small data solid and a bundle of dark fabric onto the bed.
He lifts the smooth fabric and shakes it to unfold. It proves to be a silk pajama top, one he remembers giving Hugh for his birthday last year. More importantly, as he brings it to closer to inspect, it smells so strongly of Hugh - wood and spice and citrus - that he can’t help pressing it to his cheek, nuzzling it longingly.
It takes a couple of minutes for him to surface, and he glances over at the holoimage of Hugh, chest aching. Then he taps the chip to resume, nose still buried in the silk.
”I love that shirt, and the only reason I’m giving it up for a while is so you can wear it. I expect you to bring it back to me next month. Put it down for a minute though, okay?”
Paul nods even though no one is there to see it, folding the shirt lovingly and setting it on his pillow.
“I hope you’ve got the modification specs I sent for the gravity simulator?”
Paul does indeed, and inserts the data solid into the control panel of the portable unit as he sheds the last of his clothing. Technically he borrowed it from Engineering under the auspices of running an experiment overnight, and it wasn’t precisely a lie, but the thrill of using it for lewd purposes has him excited.
”If you’re ready love, go ahead and start the pressure wave interface. I don’t have to ask if you’re naked, do I?”
There’s a quiet hum as it kicks on, and the hair on his arms prickles with pinpoints of static as his skin comes into contact with the low level force fields. Hugh gives his chest an experimental caress, and Paul gasps in response to the phantom sensation of it on his own skin. It’s not quite the same as actual touch, but the simulation created by force fields and air pressure is still better than his own hand when he knows it’s Hugh’s touch (even if twice-removed).
”I’m going to assume that you felt that,” Hugh’s grinning wickedly, and Paul is forced to remind himself that it’s just a holo-projection sprawled out a few inches away on the sheets. If he closes his eyes and ignores the slight transparency, he can almost pretend his partner is really there. The fabric under his cheek is slippery, and he breathes in deeply, letting the familiar scent fill him with warmth.
“Lie back sweetheart, and let me take care of you.”
Smiling, Paul settles more comfortably on the pillow and does as he’s told.
In the morning, he carries the device carefully back to the lab, humming cheerfully the whole way and ignoring the strange looks from the techs as he sets it on the shelf.
Nothing like a successful experiment.
Chapter 14: Sorry!
Summary:
Hugh’s hands are magic.
Notes:
Very suggestive (okay, outright titillating) language, but no actual graphic descriptions. Culmets made me do it.
Should I change the rating to M?
Chapter Text
There are more wonderful things about being with Hugh than he could possibly list, but at this moment Paul is especially enamored with his hands. The thing about doctors, he muses, is that those skilled hands with their sensitive fingertips that perform microsurgery knew exactly where and how to touch to leave him aching and breathless.
Or maybe it’s just Hugh who knows, but he’s not complaining.
His own hands seem clumsy by comparison, even if they’re dexterous enough to handle the most delicate spore specimens without shaking. Right now, they’re clutching fistfuls of dirt in a corner of the cultivation bay, the same dirt grinding into the knees of his uniform and that he was busily scanning up until a few minutes ago.
He and Hugh are both passionate men in the privacy of their quarters, contained and professional (mostly) in uniform, limited to casual touch and meaningful looks. They might hold hands in the observation lounge or share a kiss in the turbolift, but that’s the extent in any public space where someone might chance to spy them.
Which is exactly why he wasn’t expecting the sound of approaching footsteps to be swiftly followed by a well-muscled body plastered to his back.
Hugh’s knees bracket his thighs, teeth nipping at his earlobe as his clever fingers move confidently under his jacket and tease open the fastening on his trousers.
“...Hugh?”
The single syllable comes out higher and breathier than intended, and his response is a sensual chuckle that sends a shiver down his spine. That’s Hugh’s bedroom laugh, low and full of promise.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
Innocent words belie a warm hand delving below the waistband of his briefs and...getting intimately reacquainted with a certain part of his anatomy.
”Wha- oh god, what are you...”
It takes two tries to get the words out.
”What am I doing?”
”...yes. Exactly. You-“
”You’ve been working so hard, love,” Paul’s eyes fall shut as the hand squeezes firmly, accompanied by Hugh’s lips brushing over the side of his neck, “and you haven’t been home earlier than 2300 all week.”
”Are you- fuck, are you feeling neglected?”
Hugh’s other hand tugs open his jacket, fingers tickling over the fine hairs on his stomach.
”A little. I thought you deserved a treat, and if you can’t spare the time in bed,” Paul winces at the gentle chiding in his words, “I’ll just have to bring it to you.”
The hand down his pants does something that makes his eyes nearly cross, and he can’t contain the moan that follows. Holding his head up abruptly becomes much less comfortable than letting it fall back onto a broad shoulder. Above them, the spores are dancing with pinpoints of bioluminescence in the bay’s dusk cycle.
Beep.
Beep. Beep.
“Tilly to Stamets. Lieutenant?”
”Aren’t you going to answer that?”
Hugh sounds far too put together and calm, although Paul can almost taste the amusement coming off him. Loosing the soil, he blindly fumbles for the communicator on his belt.
”Thi- ahem, Stamets here. What is it Tilly?”
He’s rather proud of how steady he sounds, not at all like he’s kneeling twenty feet away from the rest of the Engineering crew with his partner’s hand down his pants.
”Doctor Culber was looking for you, I figured it would be okay so I let him in, but just in case it wasn’t I wanted to make sure that you knew because- is everything okay, sir?”
Tilly’s voice cuts off mid-sentence. Fuck. The communicator must have picked up his harsh breathing.
”F- fine, Cadet. I...”
Hugh’s hand slides out from under his shirt and plucks the communicator from his fingers.
”Culber here. I found the Lieutenant, Cadet, no need to worry.”
”Oh! Great. I mean, of course.”
There’s a swish of displaced air that sounds familiar, but Paul’s brain is in the process of rebooting courtesy of one Hugh Culber.
”-and so I think I’ve found the right frequency, but I want to test it on those soil samples you’re scann- OH MY GOD!”
Paul realizes ten seconds too late that the noise was the bay doors opening. He can feel the blush starting in the middle of his chest, and washing upwards, hot over his cheeks.
By some small miracle, Tilly took the longer path and is standing behind and just off to the side. At that angle, with his open jacket it probably looks like Hugh is just cuddling him, which apparently is bad enough to make her turn a similar shade of red.
”I’M SO SORRY!” Tilly stares for a few seconds before whirling around to face the wall, “I had no idea, or I wouldn’t-“
”Cadet,” Hugh somehow manages to sound gently amused, “can you give us a few minutes? I’m sure the lieutenant can bring the samples out to you.”
”What? Oh! Yes, yes, that’s completely fine, sir. I mean, why would it not be okay? I’ll just- owww- just wait at my station. And ummm, yes. That.”
Her voice is pitching higher with acute embarrassment, and Paul sympathizes. Given the soft thud, it sounds like she bumped into one of the walls in her haste to exit.
”Tilly?” He works hard to keep his tone level. “Could you maybe not say anything? About this?”
She’s on the other side of the small hillock, and he turns his head to see her pause. Tilly’s actually got her hands up like blinders, shielding their (purported) cuddling from view. If he weren’t so mortified, he’d probably appreciate the humor in the situation, but as it is he’s just grateful she didn’t approach from the main path.
”Huh? Oh, right! No, I mean yes, I didn’t see anything, of course not. Nothing to see, nothing to say. Sorry again sir, Doctor, ummm, I’ll-“
The door opening then closing cuts off her apology, and Paul buries his face in his (dirt-covered) hands. Behind him, Hugh’s shaking with poorly contained laughter. He tries to school his features into a scowl, but the giggles are infectious.
”Fuck- Hugh, the one time you try to, to, to get busy and Tilly bursts in-“
”Serves me right! Oh god, can you imagine if she’d actually seen what I was doing?”
Hugh retrieves his other hand, wrapping both arms around Paul’s waist to steady them both. Eventually, the giggles calm and Paul wriggles around to face him.
”I am sorry, for ignoring you.”
”It’s not ignoring me, I knew you were like this and fell in love with you anyway,” Hugh’s sparkling eyes invite him to share the tease, “but I do miss you.”
Paul nods, looking around the mycelial forest.
”Tell you what. Let me finish getting the samples, drop them off with Tilly, and we can call it a night?”
He starts to stand, pausing when Hugh tugs his wrist.
”What?”
”You're about to go out there looking like a second year cadet after a dorm party. Hold on.”
Hugh stands and quickly re-fastens his pants, deft fingers settling him in behind the zipper, straightening Paul’s jacket and brushing a smear of dirt off his cheek.
”There.”
”Thank you, dear doctor.”
He gives Hugh a quick peck on the lips, shooing him out with a swat to his ass.
”Go on, I’ll be home in less than twenty minutes. I promise.”
Hugh’s laugh follows him out of the bay, and Paul leans down to gather his sample tubes. He weighs his carefully cultured taciturn disposition against honest gratitude, and decides he probably owes Tilly at least three instances of praise in the next twenty-four hours for her discretion.
Shouldering the sample kit, he looks down at the impression of his knees in the dirt and feels his face heat again. Then he turns towards the door, intent on transferring the tubes with maximum efficiency to minimize mutual embarrassment.
Yes, that’s what he’ll do. Absolutely not thinking about anything else. Not one bit.
He better get a move on. Hugh’s waiting for him.
Chapter 15: Sharp
Chapter Text
Hugh doesn’t like Gabriel Lorca.
It’s more than the man’s overly militant demeanor, the way he snaps orders and makes demands that the crew find unreasonable.
It’s not just Paul telling him on a regular basis how much the Captain is playing on his last nerve.
It’s beyond the hardness in his eyes, or the complete lack of feeling when that hardness slips just a little.
All of those things put Hugh on his guard, but one thing overshadows it all.
Gabriel Lorca expects, forces Paul to hurt himself without any sincere regret or - as far as Hugh can tell - hesitation, no matter the concerned act he puts on.
Hugh Culber is above all an understanding, kind man.
And he hates Gabriel Lorca.
Chapter 16: Sweetness
Notes:
Okay, we're moving into M territory here.
Ummm, so this originally started out as a quick comparison of then-vs-now perspectives about how their relationship is different than previous ones with a little bit of suggestive humor. It sort of got out of hand and took a much deeper dive into their vulnerabilities, and I ended up writing a much more serious story than intended.
Chapter Text
The first time
"You don't have to."
The words break past the quiet sounds of making out and feeling each other up, the wet smack of lips on skin and sighs, the occasional low moan. Hugh pauses with his hand high on Paul's thigh, thumb pressed to his inseam. It's sweet the way Paul is trying to give him an out - enthusiastic consent aside - but completely unnecessary.
"I want to," he murmurs against Paul's neck, licking the pulse.
"Okay."
His eyes are adorably dazed when Hugh pulls away from his throat and starts teasing the hem of his shirt up.
"Let's get this off, I want to see you."
His fair skin shows an appealing blush at Hugh's words, and Hugh immediately tosses his own shirt aside as well, to see if it'll make Paul more comfortable.
"Wow."
Paul winces as soon as he says it, and Hugh can't help the delighted laugh at his appreciative stare. He waits until Paul meets his gaze again, pupils blown wide, then slowly drops to his knees on the floor in front of the sofa and reaches for the button on Paul's trousers.
"Ummm."
Dropping his hands to suddenly tense thighs, he squeezes gently.
"What is it, sweetheart?"
"I'm not used to...in the past. Every time I've-" Paul fidgets, looking down at his hands, "When I umm..."
"Had sex?" Hugh fills in with a small smile. He's not sure why Paul seems so embarrassed; they've both definitely done this before, based on late night comms and increasingly explicit text messages.
"Yes. That. It's just, doing it with someone is different than. By myself."
Hugh raises an eyebrow, bemused. He folds his arms across Paul's knees, resting his chin on them in a less sexually suggestive pose.
"Different, not better?"
"I really like you."
"I really like you too. Or I wouldn't be doing this."
He's had his share of casual encounters, nights with friends that go no further, taking home an attractive stranger even. Hugh's not ashamed of it, and hasn't tried to hide it from Paul, who didn't seem to mind anyway. This feels like it's going to be different. For whatever reason, Paul's wanted to take things slow - not that he's said as much, but Hugh can read his body language and doesn't mind waiting. All of the necking and grinding could feel frustrating, but he's chosen to enjoy the slow burn.
"I just...ummm, you really don't have to. Like, I'm fine with not."
"Sweetheart, do you not want to?"
"No! I mean, I do want, but I uhhhh..."
For being a brilliant scientist, seeing that he sometimes stumbles with words only makes him more attractive.
"Paul?"
"It's just been more trouble to find someone who's willing to put up with all of this, with me, than to take care of it alone."
It comes out in a rush, and Hugh takes a minute to parse the sentence and consider his reaction.
"Sorry, put up with all of what?"
Paul blinks at him, apparently not expecting Hugh to pursue that piece of information.
"You know. Me. My complete lack of social skills, the fact that I love my work more than anything else, the way I can't stand people pretending to be smart or lying about stuff. People don't," he sighs, and Hugh's heart squeezes at the sadness in it, "people don't think it's worth it."
"Okay...leaving aside the part where I completely disagree with the concept that your qualities are somehow bad, which part of me wanting to suck you off brought this on?"
He's not usually quite that blunt when it comes to bedroom talk, but he's learned that Paul doesn't appreciate euphemisms (too juvenile) or trying to talk around things.
"Because I really, really like you, Hugh. And I don't want to have to give all of this up. The non-sex part."
This is a deeper conversation than he expected. Hugh pulls himself back up onto the sofa, because it's the kind of talk that probably will be better had without him on his knees. He twines their fingers together, relieved when Paul squeezes back.
"Why would you have to give this up?"
It's difficult to tell in the low lighting, but he thinks Paul's eyes look a little red. He swallows a few times, staring blankly at the wall, before turning back.
"Because it never lasts."
"I...I don't think I follow."
"It like this. I meet someone, go on a few dates, we seem compatible. We have sex, it's great until I get too attached. Then they leave. They always leave."
Paul's voice grows tighter with every sentence, and Hugh has to lean in to hear the last part.
"I want you, Hugh. All of you, and we haven't even had sex yet. I've never...felt like this about someone before. And I don't want you to leave."
Oh sweetheart.
Very gently, he presses a kiss to Paul's lips.
"First, you need to give me more credit than that," Hugh keeps his tone mild, setting aside the anger at whatever someone(s) made Paul feel this way, "second, I like to think we rate a little higher together than 'compatible'. Third," he continues when it looks like Paul is about to interrupt him, "this feels right, doesn't it? I- I want you to get too attached to me, Paul. Because I'm already that way, for you."
Paul bites his lip, fighting down an expression that looks a little too much like hope, and Hugh's heart climbs into his throat.
"I want you in every way possible, and yes, that includes sexually. I would love a chance to learn your body. But I'm not going to change my mind about wanting a relationship, either way."
There. Neither of them have used the word 'relationship' yet, but what else could they call spending every free evening on the comm together, trying to get to know each other despite the fact that neither of them knows how long they'll be stationed on the same world, let alone the same sector? Or the fact that they've been on a dozen dates and have yet to make it past increasingly passionate kissing and heavy petting?
"You...you want a relationship?"
"I do."
"Even though I'm-"
Hugh cuts him off before he can finish the sentence with something self-deprecating.
"Brilliant? A cutting edge scientist? More interesting than anyone else I've met? Someone I can see myself with years from now? So hot that I sometimes can't think after we say goodnight because I'm about to come in my pants?"
Okay, maybe Hugh didn't need to get that honest, because Paul's gone a shade of red so deep that he's starting to worry about his capillaries.
"Fuck."
"Ideally, yes."
"I...can have you."
"Yes."
"You won't leave?"
"Not planning on it."
"Ummm. Wow," Paul drags a hand through his hair, "I...feel really stupid."
Hugh briefly considers making a comment about the universe ending because Paul Stamets called himself stupid, but ultimately decides against it.
"You'll tell me if you ever...change your mind?"
"I can't promise to always be at my best, or that we won't disagree or argue along the way. But what I can promise, Paul, is that I will always be honest with you."
"Me too."
He nuzzles their faces together, feeling Paul smile against his cheek.
"Hugh?"
"Yes?"
"Ummm. Is that offer of a blowjob still open?"
Hugh throws his head back and laughs his relief, his lust, and what could in a very short time become love. He slides back down to the floor, and this time when he looks up, there's no hesitation. Licking his lips, he settles more comfortably on his heels and pushes Paul's knees apart.
It's going to be a good night.
********
Later
"I was afraid the first time, you know."
They're lying in bed together, legs tangled and sharing a pillow. Paul's at the tipping point between consciousness and the pull of sleep, content and warm with Hugh's arms around him. The last of the bottle of champagne they shared is on the nightstand, and the alcohol and orgasm have his brain floating pleasantly.
"Of what?"
"I...you know how I like to make you feel good?"
"Mmmhmmm," Paul hums, "and you're very good at it."
"I was afraid, because I liked you so much, that you would turn out to be like the guys I'd been with before."
"How's that?"
"Paul, I like to- I love to give. To figure out exactly what someone wants and give it to them, because I care. And they didn't, at least as far as I could tell, usually didn't bother to do the same for me. Not the way I did."
After this long, he's relatively sure that Hugh's not about to deliver a criticism, but it doesn't hurt to check.
"I hope I didn't disappoint."
"No, it was a good night," Hugh's smile is small but genuine, "other than your neighbors banging on the wall."
Paul shifts against the sheets, burrowing deeper under the covers as the sweat starts to dry. Since they're in the mood for confessions...
"You know, when you said to me, 'I'm going to make it so good for you', no one had ever told me that before."
"You know my opinion on everyone else."
"Yeah."
He lets Hugh rearrange them until Paul's head is pillowed on his shoulder, snuggling close to soak up his warmth.
"Hugh?"
"Hmmm?"
"What made you think about it? Right now, I mean."
"Just realizing how lucky I am."
"That makes two of us."
A hand slips up his arm, coming to rest at the base of his neck and scratching gently.
"Love you, sweetheart."
"Love you too. Happy anniversary."
Chapter 17: Schedule
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Why did we sign up for this?"
Paul's voice is muffled, face-first in Hugh's pillow. He's gotten as far undressing as kicking his boots off, jacket still on one arm, and trousers pushed down to mid-thigh. Hugh would find the sight sexier if he wasn't also bone-tired.
"I'm guessing that's a rhetorical question," he murmurs, stripping down to his underwear. There's not enough energy left in him to even bother with pajamas, so he shuffles over to the bed and pokes Paul in the side.
"Owwww."
"Move over."
"Why?"
"You're on my side."
Paul twitches, but otherwise gives no sign of movement. Sighing, Hugh musters up enough energy to roll his partner over, tugging his jacket the rest of the way off as he goes. His teeth feel filmy - the product of sixteen hours on shift - but skipping one night of brushing isn't going to result in lasting harm.
"Mmmmmphhh."
Hugh smiles a little at Paul's grumpy noise as his weight shifts the mattress.
"Should take your pants off, love."
Paul peels one eye open, and Hugh can see the wheels in his brain turning.
"Too tired for sex."
"You know what I mean. You really think either of us could get it up right now?"
He has to wait for an answer, because Paul is squirming, eventually working his pants off the rest of the way and kicking them to the edge of the bed. Close enough.
"No."
Hugh sighs again.
"I do miss you. S'been a week?"
"Since w- oh. Huh. Y'sure?"
He reels Paul in, settling him with his head on Hugh's shoulder, arm draped over his chest.
"Monday, we got off shift early," he can feel Paul smiling at the memory, "and you know the rest. Then the nebula incident, half the crew going down with Vulcan measles, food poisoning at Zz'azzt's promotion celebration, and the input matrix meltdown? Pretty sure that covers the week."
"Nuh uhh."
"What?"
"Thursday morning. I blew you in the shower."
"Oh. Right."
"Nice to know I give un-memorable head."
Rolling his eyes seems like too much work right now, so he settles for poking Paul's shoulder.
"I was barely awake, you were propping me up."
"True."
Paul snuffles into the side of his neck, and Hugh has to admit it does feel nice.
"When's th'next time our shifts line up?"
"Are we... scheduling sex?"
"Considering-" he yawns hugely, "considering this week, spontaneity is pretty limited."
"Ugh. '0800, recalibrate the spore drive manifolds. 0900, coffee break with Tilly. 0930, explain to another batch of idiot cadets that there's a difference between a plasma coupler and phase wrench. 1400, drag my partner into the supply closet in Medical and-' "
"We can't use the supply room this week."
"What? Why not?"
Paul sounds marginally more awake, if only to be annoyed.
"Nurse Page and Ensign Stalwell just started seeing each other."
"So?"
"Page works the same shift as me."
"Oh. Huh? Ohhhhhh."
"Anyway," Hugh pulls the covers over them, "we'll figure it out later, love. Need to sleep."
"That an order, Doctor Culber?"
"No, it's just a biological imperative."
"I love when you talk science to me."
He tucks Paul's head under his chin and stifles another yawn.
"Goodnight, sweetheart."
" 'night."
Notes:
I wanted to write a bunch of snippets of humorous things derailing them from having sex, but this came through as a more intimate (as in, quiet) conversation. Would you still be interested in me following through with the other snippets? Thinking of falling asleep during, Paul getting called to Engineering, Hugh having to deal with something medical, Tilly interrupting, etc.
Chapter 18: Serenity
Summary:
Fluffy, tooth-achingly sweet snapshot. I regret nothing.
Chapter Text
They’re lying in bed, right at the liminal space between awake and asleep, when Hugh hears it.
At first he writes it off as engine noise, the sighs and barely-there whir of a ship traveling at warp.
He’s distracted by the way Paul’s rubbing a slightly rough cheek against his chest, the tickle of fingers tracing random patterns across his stomach. There’s barely room for a breath of space between them; a sleepy Paul is a cuddly Paul, all four of his limbs wrapped around some part of Hugh, and he can’t find any reason to complain. The air of quiet intimacy blankets them in warmth, no sexual hunger tonight - and they do have a very healthy sex life - despite the way Paul presses soft against Hugh’s hip.
Hugh gently scratches up his partner’s back, feeling Paul arch against him in response when his fingers move to tangle in his hair. He shifts his bundle of drowsy scientist, and that’s when he realizes-
“Love, are you...purring?”
It’s not precisely the correct description for the low, barely audible hum, but it’s close enough.
”...what?”
”You really have no idea?”
Paul raises his head and turns enough to look Hugh in the eyes. He’s adorably rumpled, hair sticking up in all directions and blinking slowly.
”I don’t know what I have no idea about, but-“ he’s interrupted by a jaw-splitting yawn, “can we talk about it in the morning?”
“Sure.”
Nodding, Paul plants a sleep-clumsy kiss onto waiting lips and squirms until he can drop his head onto Hugh’s shoulder. He’s asleep less than a minute later, and Hugh smiles at the soft noises of contentment.
“Sweet dreams, love.”
Chapter 19: Still
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Perhaps he needs distance from you not because he no longer has feelings for you, but because he no longer knows how to feel about himself.”
Spock’s words fall softly into the air of Engineering, quiet but so full of weight that Paul can’t breathe for a few seconds. The crushing pain in his chest feels like tearing the fragile bandage of work and false indifference off his heart, leaving it exposed and raw.
The distance leaves him drowning in loneliness, permanently off balance, but he can’t imagine how Hugh feels.
Maybe it’s not for him to understand.
He can’t bear the gentle compassion in Spock’s eyes and turns back to the spore console, briefly gripping the edges as a wave of dizziness sweeps upwards. Underneath the seeming bottomless well of loss and grief though, there’s a tiny spark of hope.
”And I knew everything about you in that moment.”
Maybe when (his brain refuses to think if) Hugh is ready, he’ll know himself again too.
Notes:
Paul’s expressions in this scene are heartbreaking.
Chapter 20: Strained
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Ummm...you- you do know that he’s gay, right?”
Even though she’s overtly eyeing him from hairline to crotch, Georgiou’s expression is strangely less predatory and more amused as she stands well within his personal space, so close that the tips of her boots tag his insoles.
For a moment after Hugh speaks, it’s as if nothing has changed. He's struck with a memory of Hugh cutting in between him and a female ‘fleet officer trying unsuccessfully to flirt with Paul at a reception, injecting just enough sarcasm that they can all laugh it off.
Except, that evening ended with taking Hugh home to enjoy the pleasurable effects of his possessive instincts being roused. And if he woke the next morning sore and covered in love bites, well...
Paul loses the ability to speak as Georgiou outlines a disturbingly intimate - well, relationship is probably not a word Terrans use - situation that he can’t imagine ever being party to, if only because the thought of being naked in the same room as the Emperor is terrifying.
”Did you just call me papi?”
He swallows hard, heat blooming in his lips at the sound of Hugh’s voice caressing the last word.
”Well in my universe, and pretty much any universe I can possibly imagine, I’m gay. And so is he.”
That didn't sound defensive and wistful at all, right?
The look and tiny nod that he and Hugh exchange is both awkward and familiar.
Fuck.
As the doors swish shut behind Georgiou, Tilly's eyes are huge and panicked.
”What just happened?!?”
That’s a very good question.
Notes:
I choked on my water the first time I saw this scene. I’m completely Tilly now, every time I watch it again :P
Chapter 21: Safe
Summary:
Ever wonder how Paul kept Hugh safe in the later time loops?
Chapter Text
“Oh...we’re playing this tonight?”
Hugh’s words, teasing with a hint of darker desire, replay in a loop (pun not intended) in Paul’s head. He’s left his partner - for the fifteenth time - in their quarters, spread out on their bed, wrists bound to the headboard. Every time is a struggle to leave, not least because Hugh putting himself into Paul’s hands never fails to leave him breathless.
Gentle, trusting Hugh assumes Paul is coming back after a few minutes, assumes it’s a game of heightened anticipation. And when Paul doesn’t return in the promised ten minutes, he’ll wait another five because that’s the kind of understanding lover he is, and then spend seven minutes working his way out of the elaborate twist of cord restraining him. He won't use the single-word command to undo the knots immediately, because he'll wonder if Paul is supposed to come back and find him struggling. By that point, he’ll be annoyed and frustrated, and Hugh always waits until he can speak calmly before comming Paul when he’s (justifiably) put out, so the waiting will wind down the last few minutes until the loop resets itself again.
As difficult as it is, the worst part isn’t leaving Hugh, it’s not being with him when the Discovery explodes. On the twelfth loop, Paul gave up trying to talk sense into Lorca and returned to their quarters just as the ship began to shake. Seeing Hugh’s eyes full of fear as the air dissolved into flames around them is too much to bear, and he can’t do it again.
Squaring his shoulders, he sets off for the party at a fast jog. Coaxing Hugh to bed and tying him up takes less than five minutes, and he has to make the most of the next twenty five.
If only he can find a way to make Burnham trust him faster...
********
”...love, where are you-“
”I’ll be back, Hugh, I promise!”
********
“Can I tie you up tonight? I- I need you to stay put.”
”Mmmm, that kind of mood? Kiss me first, and yes.”
********
“I told him to stifle it or sit somewhere else. Instead, he sat right next to me, and he’s been there ever since.”
********
”You’ve never been in love.”
********
When he’s finally saved the ship, the only thing Paul wants to do is collapse and sleep for a day. Possibly two.
He trudges down the corridor to their quarters, having received no response to his text comm. Granted, ”Sorry Hugh, I had to leave you like that to stop Mudd. Time loop. Check with Tilly if you need. Will explain when I get there”, isn't exactly endearing.
Forty seven times (after the first few loops when Paul tried to explain what was going on to Hugh and only ended up being dragged down to the medbay), and every time Hugh happily and willingly let Paul tie his hands to the headboard, rolled his eyes in indulgent frustration when he announced he had to pick up a report from Tilly and he’d be right back. Every time, Paul told himself it was the best way to keep Hugh safe, and every time he hated the deception. He wasn’t lying to Michael about honesty being a bedrock of their relationship, and even though it might objectively be justified, he still feels awful.
The doors snick open, and he steps inside warily.
“-thanks Tilly. He’s here now, it’s okay.”
Hugh’s sitting on the edge of the bed and finishes his conversation with Tilly in short order. He’s put on a pair of pajama pants, which Paul is grateful for - not just because they cover up distraction, but because the lack of a shirt means Hugh isn’t angry. For whatever reason, his partner can’t argue naked. It serves as a sign that things are going south when Hugh does get dressed, and so he lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.
”Hi honey.”
”I’m sorry?”
It’s not meant to be a question, but he can’t help the upward lilt.
Setting down the comm, Hugh crosses the room and gently pulls Paul into an embrace. He goes willingly, resting a hand on the swell of a pectoral just to feel the steady heartbeat underneath.
“I should have told you.”
Hugh steps back just enough to make eye contact, hands sliding down to his waist.
”No, you shouldn’t have. Philosophically, yes, but practically? You know I wouldn’t have believed you. And I’m sorry for that, Paul.”
He starts at that. Hugh doesn’t use his name often in private, mostly for emphasis or to convey that Paul’s done something thoughtless.
“I didn’t exactly tell you I was going to inject myself with alien DNA, you had a right to think it wasn’t real.”
Hugh shakes his head, but doesn’t argue, letting Paul bury his face in the curve of neck and shoulder.
”I- okay. Tilly told me you said we’d done this, fifty six times?”
”Yeah,” Paul mutters into warm skin, “it’s been a fucked up day.”
He sways on his feet when Hugh pulls away to lead him towards the bed, feeling a hand wrap around his upper arm to steady him on the way.
”You’ve been doing this for twenty eight hours, then. I think you’ve earned some rest.”
Hugh eases him down onto the sheets, gently stripping away his uniform and lowering the lights.
“Stay?”
”I wasn’t planning to go anywhere, love.”
Smiling, he rounds the bed and settles in next to Paul who immediately pulls him close.
”Sweetheart?”
”I need to hold you.” He hates that his voice is wavering, but he doesn’t have the control left to keep it level. “I lost you so many times today, I just...just need to know you’re safe.”
”Shhh, I’m right here. And I’m proud of you.”
”For what?” he mumbles from the vicinity of Hugh’s sternum, “Took me forever to figure it all out.”
A warm hand curves around the back of his neck, fingers running through his hair, and Paul relaxes into it.
”You saved the ship. And Lorca,” Hugh’s tone is only half playful, “even though I’m not convinced he deserves it.”
”Don’t care ‘bout him. Couldn’t let you n’Tilly n’all get hurt.”
Paul’s losing the battle with consciousness, the steady rise and fall of Hugh’s chest lulling him towards slumber.
”You big softie. Your secret’s safe with me.”
”....hmmmm.”
He feels a kiss pressed to his forehead, and falls asleep with a smile on his lips.
Chapter 22: Sundered
Chapter Text
“This isn’t the time. It might never be the time.”
The words he’s half-formed die on his lips, apologies and explanations caught in his throat. Dead and resurrected or not, together or apart, he knows that look.
Paul Stamets is terrified.
They’re on a mission to save all living things, so it’s justifiable, but this is different. It’s not the steely determination over fear that he saw before Paul stepped into the spore cube to make one hundred and thirty three impossible jumps, the fate of the Federation at stake. That was scared but resolute. This...
Hugh swallows hard and looks away.
They've loved and lost and argued for years, but even at their low points, Paul has never been scared of Hugh.
His drive to protect Paul flares up, the instinctive need to shield him from harm bitter in his mouth because this time, Hugh’s the one hurting him.
The fragile sort of courage from Admiral Cornwell’s calm understanding deserts him, and it’s all he can do to focus on what needs to be done. Inside though, even as his hands work and his mouth relays readings, he can’t stop thinking.
This is his fault.
Dear gods, what has he done?
Chapter 23: Suck
Summary:
A glimpse under the covers.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh shifts against the pillows, stylus tapping over a set of patient charts on his PADD. It’s warm and cozy, but he’s having trouble concentrating enough to finish his annotations.
”Sweetheart?”
The covers rustle and Hugh tosses the sheet back to reveal a very mussed blond head busy between his thighs. He drops a hand down, gripping Paul’s hair and tugging up gently.
Paul pulls his mouth away from the series of love bites he’s spent the last several minutes slowly working up the length of both legs.
”Kind of busy trying to start something here, Hugh.”
“Would you quit-“ he draws in a sudden breath, “-quit trying to distract me?”
Hugh’s resolve is weakening, and he knows Paul can see it. With a wicked smile, Paul licks up the cut of his V-line, swirling his tongue around the crest of hipbone beneath his chin.
“No.”
”Can I at least finish these?”
Huffing out an exaggerated sigh, he rolls his eyes and pouts.
”Isn’t that my line? Since when are you insisting on doing work in bed when I’m trying to go down- Hey!”
The last word is muffled as Hugh pulls the covers back up over Paul’s head.
“You’re very distracting love, but you’ll just have to wait.”
”Is that a challenge?”
Clever fingers start trailing down his stomach, heading lower.
”It’s a statement.”
Paul raises the bed linens enough to give him a determined glower that’s ruined by his wide-blown pupils.
“We’ll see about that.”
The sheets snap back into place. Unseen by the man between his legs, Hugh smiles up at the ceiling.
He’s not actually planning on continuing to work, but Paul doesn’t need to know that.
Notes:
Couldn’t resist writing playful Paul. I imagine these two bickering affectionately even in the middle of...intimate activities.
Chapter 24: Suffer
Notes:
Apologies in advance for this one. I had a vivid vision of Paul crying into Hugh’s shirt and couldn’t not tell it.
Chapter Text
After they’ve made it back from the Mirror Universe and Starfleet (or what’s left of it) is convinced their time travel is real, Paul slips out of the medbay and goes home. He’s supposed to be under observation, but Doctor Pollard is distracted with a set of nasty burns from an EPS conduit overload and the beep alerting them of a patient leaving the range of the biobed is lost under the cacophony.
Paul’s managed this long by resolutely not thinking about Hugh not being there to greet him when the doors slide shut behind him. The adrenaline of battle and danger kept him laser focused on his duty, and he was able to pretend Hugh was busy in surgery or on opposite shift, something to keep him away.
In their quarters, the facade crumbles.
Everything is so normal that he can’t stand it. The bed is unmade, Paul’s pajamas neatly folded on his pillow and Hugh’s haphazardly strewn over the sheets. There’s a half-finished mug of tea on the nightstand, a container of hair product open on the bathroom counter, and towels on the floor in front of the shower.
He sinks to his knees in the middle of the floor, unable to reconcile being surrounded by their things but knowing there is no more them. It could be a few seconds, or it could be hours before the numbness swings to anger.
How could he take his love away from Paul, abandon him to keep on living?
How could he go without giving Paul a chance to tell him how much he loves him and how everything good in the universe doesn’t matter if he has to face it alone?
How dare Hugh promise him the rest of their lives together and then leave him?
Suddenly furious, he snatches the abandoned clothes off the bed, ripping the sheet free and storming across the room. Moments later, he has the whole bundle shoved into the synthesizer, hand hovering over the reclamation command, ready to rid himself of the things that won’t stop reminding him of what he’s lost. The rush has him dizzy, and he pulls in a ragged breath.
It’s a mistake.
He can smell wood and spice and Hugh’s cologne, and just like that the anger vanishes, leaving behind hollow desolation in its place.
Hugh is gone, and Paul was about to destroy the last things he touched.
It starts as a tiny shiver, hands trembling, as he stumbles back to the bed and collapses onto the mattress. Curled around the precious armful of fabric, an anguished howl rips itself from his chest before melting into gut-wrenching sobs.
They seem to go on for an eternity, no end to the well of loss. He’s shaking violently, the warm room unable to touch the core of cold within. Eventually, his body can’t handle the stress any longer and he falls into a fitful sleep, face buried in Hugh’s shirt.
He dreams of strong arms around him, gentle hands wiping his tears, soft eyes filled with concern. When he wakes to a hand rubbing his shoulder, that familiar and beloved scent all around him, his first impulse is relief that it’s all been a horrible nightmare.
“Oh god Hugh, I-“
His eyes are swollen and blurry, but there’s no mistaking the halo of fiery red curls or the deep empathy and sadness on Tilly’s face where she’s perched on the side of the bed.
”I’m so sorry,” she whispers, throat as raw-sounding as he feels.
Paul closes his eyes against her compassion. There’s no point to opening them again.
Chapter 25: Substitute
Summary:
Set immediately post-Will You Take My Hand? Paul isn’t feeling much of anything at all, but Tilly’s determined to help.
Notes:
Introspection and an extremely awkward encounter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
This is a terrible idea.
He doesn’t need the voice of conscience or reason or whatever to tell him that.
********
Discovery’s crew is finally back on Earth, Klingon war ended. There are commendations all around, and promotions. Paul’s getting a medal and a new pip, as if that could make up for all of his los-
Yeah.
Michael gives a rousing speech, one that he thinks he would feel in his stomach if emotion wasn’t something he’s currently closed off from. It turns out that shutting out grief and pain means he can’t really feel anything else either. There’s a gentle wave of pride at her words, a brush of affection at Tilly’s brand new commission, and that will have to be enough.
The medal in his hands is heavy, fingers caressing the edge and black ribbon until the cold metal warms against his skin. It’s heavy, the weight of things he no longer-
After the applause and closing, he’s planning to slip away before the reception. Too many unfamiliar people for him to be comfortable, not without someone at his side who smiles and charms and-
Tilly enters his field of view, her hand gentle on his elbow.
”Sir?”
”Yes?”
”Are- are you coming with us? I mean, the reception. To the reception. I know it’s probably not something you, uhhh, like, but maybe...ummm. Maybe they’ll have good food? Like those little cheese puff things, and maybe some Vulcan wafers, and yeah. That. Please?”
It’s the please that does it. After everything, Tilly’s relentless enthusiasm sparks just a little bit of humor, and if it’ll make her happy, Paul can at least stay long enough to satisfy her.
”Okay.”
”Really? You mean I don’t get to use my whole seven point argument about social interaction and-“
He shakes his head, conjuring up a smile that tugs on his lips in ways he’s nearly forgotten.
”Let’s go see if they have brie en croute.”
********
The reception is just as loud and colorful as he feared, full of the who’s who of the Federation and more brass than he’s seen outside an Academy graduation.
To Tilly’s delight, they do indeed have savory bites of cheese in puff pastry, along with delicacies from a dozen worlds. He follows along at her elbow, pointing out dignitaries and making introductions like a good mentor. Thankfully he doesn’t have to say much, letting her ability to talk a light year a minute fill the air.
He nods at acquaintances, summoning a suitably grateful expression whenever someone approaches him with their condolences. Tilly doesn’t let him slip away, despite her wide-eyed awe at speaking with Ambassador Sarek and Lady Amanda. Accepting the solemn “I grieve with thee” is almost enough to send him running, but he remembers his manners and accepts it as gracefully as possible. (The Ambassador’s eyes are understanding, and he vaguely hears Tilly’s gasp when she realizes Sarek is using the phrase in the mode of condolence for a grieving spouse.)
Hugh would be proud.
Eventually, the reception winds down and he leaves Tilly in Michael’s responsible charge before heading to the temporary ‘fleet housing block. Paul turns down a half dozen offers to provide transport, and three times that many invitations for a drink in Hugh’s honor. The medal is heavier in his pocket than the one pinned to his uniform, and all he really wants to do is close the door against the world and try to sleep.
********
He lets Tilly and Rhys drag him and a very reticent Michael out to a club when they’re back on Earth for a refueling stop a few months later, nursing a drink while watching Tilly try to get Michael to dance. Rhys is companionably silent beside him, fetching new drinks and providing a barrier against anyone who recognizes them and thinks it might be a good idea to approach. Paul is grateful for his presence, even if his association as Hugh’s regular sparring partner is never far from his mind.
Rhys has deftly turned away three women, two persons of indistinguishable species and gender identity, and at least five men from their table by the time it hits midnight. Despite the sincerity of remaining there the whole night, Paul can tell he wants to be out on the floor with the others, and gently shoos him on.
He gets up to find the restroom, ducking down neon-lit hallways. When he’s leaving the mercifully clean facilities, a touch on his shoulder makes him freeze.
”Looking for someone?”
The speaker emerges from the shadows, a young man who looks barely out of the Academy, if that. He’s wearing what could best be described as an invitation for the dirtiest kind of dancing imaginable, jeans so tight they might as well be painted on and a filmy mesh shirt that clings to every plane of his torso. As he steps into the light, the hint of smoky eyeliner makes Paul’s chest constrict, a memory of a very different man wearing the same invading his thoughts.
”No, just here with friends.”
The man steps into Paul’s personal space, head tilted to the side, expression gone from inviting to understanding.
”Here to forget something?”
At first he’s about to brush the stranger off with a rude comment about the obvious, but it occurs to him that it might not be what it seems. He’s not wearing his uniform, and it’s completely possible that this man doesn’t know who he is, in which case the question is sincere rather than leading.
”Something like that.”
”Let me help?”
He’s had just enough to drink that he’s still well on this side of being able to give consent, but far enough along that he can silence the internal disagreement. The man doesn’t set off any alarm bells, and what could it hurt to maybe lose himself for a little while?
It could hurt a lot, but fuck, so does everything else. And it might be nice to feel something other than numbness.
”Sure.”
He lets himself be pulled to a darker corner, guided to lean back on the wall. His companion is tall and slim, dark blond hair and porcelain skin as much a contrast as possible to-
Anyway.
Lips touch his, and he realizes that it would probably be polite to kiss back. It’s an exceedingly skillful kiss, and objectively probably highly arousing. He should be physically enjoying this, but all he can think of is that the lips are too thin, no rasp of beard against his skin or gentle nibbles on his bottom lip.
He pushes that thought aside, and apparently whatever his mouth is doing on automatic is enough because it evokes a moan and roll of the man’s hips. The kiss goes on for several minutes, hot and wet, and it’s not bad but it’s not doing a whole lot for him either.
The heat of another body against his does feel nice, but it lacks the solid muscle and confident strength that makes his knees go weak. Paul’s considering how to communicate this when a thigh insinuates itself between his own and there’s the sudden press of rigid flesh against his hip.
”You’re so hot, oh my god...”
Hmmmm.
It had seemed like a good idea (who was he kidding? It’s a terrible idea), but now is definitely the time to call a halt to the proceedings. Unfortunately, all of the rubbing up against him seems to have brought his companion into contact with Paul’s decidedly not interested crotch, and the man freezes immediately.
”Uhhh-“
”Fuck.”
There’s abruptly a good six inches between their bodies before Paul can even blink. He opens his mouth, but the other man beats him to it.
”I’m so sorry.”
That’s not what Paul was expecting to hear, and he blinks in surprise.
“...what?”
”You- I mean. You don’t want this.”
It’s said with such a lack of accusation that Paul would be a complete ass if he took offense.
“Look. Ummm. Errr, it’s nothing about you, just...you don’t need to apologize.”
“Still. Can I get you a drink?”
Paul shakes his head.
”It’s appreciated, but I should probably just get back to my friends.”
He receives a lopsided smile in return.
“Whoever you’re missing, I hope it works out.”
There’s nothing to say to that, so he gives the man a tight smile and turns back to the dance floor. Tilly nearly jumps on him when he gets to their table, drunken hug oddly comforting.
He stays another hour, listening to Tilly try to explain levels of hotness to Michael with Rhys occasionally chiming in. It’s...nice, he supposes. Better than being alone.
Still.
There’s no substitute for Hugh.
Notes:
Yes, the attractive stranger (trope, I know) has 23rd century manners and actually backs off as soon as he thinks his partner might not be interested. Imagine living in a world where that’s the norm.
I went back and forth about Paul even considering messing around with someone else, and tried to present it in a way that’s not disrespectful to his obvious mourning. Let me know if it seems out of character?
Chapter Text
“Sweetheart?”
”...hmmm?”
”I’m thirsty.”
”Okay.”
”Really thirsty.”
”All right.”
”...I can’t reach my water unless you move.”
”Oh.”
”Paul.”
”What?”
”My ass is not a pillow.”
”Sure it is. Comfortable too. And attached to the hottest guy I know.”
”Flattery gets you nowhere.”
”-hey! Come back!”
”Ten seconds, babe.”
”One, two, three, four, fi- mmmmmppphhhh.”
”See? Behaving gets you things.”
“Sounds like too much work.”
”Why do I put up with this?”
”Because you love me?”
”There is that.”
”Do I have to behave for cuddles?”
”No, because I know you won’t. Scoot over, babe.”
”Mmmmmm. Much better.”
”Comfy?”
”Mmmhmm.”
”Computer, lights off.”
”Hugh?”
”Hmmm?”
”I’m thirsty.”
Notes:
Shallow, but OMG Hugh does have a lovely backside that I think Paul would love to lay on. Or I'm projecting. Both, maybe?
Chapter 27: Shirtless, Part 1
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Beep.
Beep. Beep.
"...sweetheart?"
Beep.
"Paul?"
"....mwuhhh?"
"Your comm."
"Muhh. Oh. Right. Tilly said she'd bring the report on the spore drive modifications to me as soon as it was done."
"It's 0351."
"She's working gamma tonight."
"Not the point."
"Sorry. You can go back to sleep, I'll just get it from her and-"
"No."
"No?"
"You can't answer the door."
"Why not?"
"...love, you're still naked."
"Oh. Huh."
Chime.
"I'll get it."
"Hugh, you don't-"
Swish.
"Hello Cadet."
"...Doctor Culber? Ummm, this is Lieutenant Stamets' quarters, right?"
"Yes, although since he sleeps in the cultivation bay half the week I might ask Saru to reassign him there."
"Sorry sir. Uhhh. I have this report? I mean, I have a report. For the Lieutenant. And ohmygod you're shirt-"
Rustle rustle.
"Tilly! Thanks for the report. Hugh, bring it over here."
"What? Oh. Right! Leaving. Me. Now. Goodnight...sirs."
"Night Cadet."
Swish.
"Hugh."
"Yes love?"
"Could you maybe have put some pants on first?"
Notes:
Consider this the start of my apology for the hell I've been putting these two babies through.
Chapter 28: Shirtless, Part 2
Summary:
Set immediately after Tilly drops off the report in the previous chapter, before she realizes they're a couple.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Night Cadet."
Swish.
"Ohmygod, ohmygod..." Tilly mutters as she heads back towards the turbolift.
The doors swish shut behind her, and she automatically calls for Engineering before pausing the 'lift. No way is she walking back into public until she can function without visions of a very shirtless Doctor Culber intruding.
And oh, stars...everyone could see that the doctor had an impressive physique, and she'd heard more than one comment in passing on how well he filled out his medical whites. He wasn't her type at all, but she could see the appeal. Sort of.
Interestingly, Lieutenant Stamets never seemed to be anything other than neutral or slightly annoyed whenever Doctor Culber had to stop by Engineering, either to check up on Stamets after a spore jump or sequestering him in a private lab for what Tilly could only assume was a continued conversation about the safety of what he was doing. Stamets always seemed a bit off-kilter after those visits, face flushed and eyes distant, and Tilly hoped that he was actually taking the doctor's advice.
In any case, he was the last person (okay, maybe Captain Lorca would fill that spot, or possibly Michael) she expected to find in Stamets' quarters, much less in that state of undress. Stamets hadn't seemed upset at her appearance with the report, calling Doctor Culber by his first name in an offhand manner. Of course, if he wasn't wearing a shirt or pants, that would imply they knew each other well enough to be on a first name basis, and OH GOD Sylvia, don't go there...
Right. Enough time wasted.
She resumes the lift, keeping her head down until she's back at her station. Tonight's meant to be a routine set of diagnostics, along with purging the drive systems with inert gas. Those are both things she can do without concentrating too hard, and she lets her mind wander while her fingers are busy with the controls.
So. Lieutenant Stamets and Doctor Culber. Maybe the tension between them over the spore drive finally snapped?
Considering the situation uses up the rest of her shift. She tries to be quiet heading back into her quarters, but Michael is already awake, sitting cross-legged on her bed reading on a PADD.
"Tilly, is everything okay?"
"What? Uhhh, sure. Why wouldn't it be?"
"You look preoccupied."
"Oh. Ummm. So. Lieutenant Stamets asked me to deliver a report to him."
Michael raises an eyebrow as Tilly unzips her uniform jacket and tosses it over a chair.
"That sounds perfectly reasonable."
"That's not the problem."
She waits until she receives a nod from Michael before continuing.
"So I brought it to his quarters, and ummm I thought it was kind of weird that he'd want it in the middle of the night, but you know how he gets about the spore drive and I thought about waiting till 0600, but then I didn't want him to think I was slow or forgot, and then-"
"Breathe Tilly," Michael's wearing a tiny smile that Tilly has classified as 'Bemused Face #4', "so Stamets wanted a report and you brought it to him."
"Yeah. I commed him before, but he didn't answer, so I figured maybe he wouldn't even wake up for it, but anyway. Ummm. So-" she frowns, "what do you think of Doctor Culber?"
Michael's expression shifts to 'I Don't Know How That's Relevant But I'll Entertain The Notion'.
"He's a very competent medical officer, and seems to be highly intelligent. The crew appear to value his contributions."
"Nooooo, I mean what do you think."
Apparently her vague gesturing to encompass her torso doesn't translate into Michael-speak.
"Of?"
"Doctor Culber is really, ummm, built. You know."
"How is this relevant?"
"Sooooooo, I rang Stamets' quarters, and Doctor Culber answered, and ohmygod Michael, he was...he answered."
'Bemused Face #4' is back.
"I mean, I thought Stamets would answer or maybe not and then I'd just send him the report, but Doctor Culber was there and he just...he just- wow. Yeah. He was- he was only wearing underwear, and- and...ohmygod Michael, I didn't even know you could have that many abs, and Stamets didn't seem upset that he answered, but I don't even know what that means, because Doctor Culber is always in Engineering and I thought he and Stamets didn't get along and Imsoconfusedrightnowbecausehewasalmostnaked-"
"Tilly."
"-and I wasn't trying to stare, but I couldn't help it, it was all just there, and Stamets didn't have a shirt on either and I didn't need to see that ever because he's like filling in the role of parental approval and that sounds way weirder out loud-"
"Tilly!"
"...sorry."
Michael grabs her PADD and types in a query before turning it to face her. She's puzzled - why would Michael have called up the directory listings for the crew manifest?
"I don't get it?"
"Look at who's assigned to G-4 on Deck Nine."
9-Gamma-4/double: Stamets, Paul (LT/ENG) & Culber, Hugh (LTCDR/MED)
"Oh. Wait, what? They...they actually like each other? And they're roommates? I thought Lieutenant and up didn't have to share, that's one of those things you get when your rank is higher?"
"Tilly. How many beds were in the room?"
"...one. Oh. Oh my- wait. They're together together? Like, together?"
Michael reclaims her PADD, smiling gently.
"Looks like we need to add observation skills to the list of things you'll have to master for the Command Training Program."
Notes:
Twenty minute writing spree, I regret nothing.
Chapter 29: Scarlet
Notes:
Continuing the theme of Tilly running smack into evidence of Culmets.
Chapter Text
"Hmmmm, sorry sir but I'm not getting- hold on...there's a surge in the plasma manifold, I can't control it from here, watch out-"
Tilly gives up trying to stem the overflow and whirls, watching in horror as the conduit sends out a shower of sparks straight into Stamets' face where he's crouched in front of it. He falls back on his heels as the conduit continues to crackle and pop alarmingly, hands coming up to cover his face.
"Oh my god, sir, are you okay? Medical, we need-"
"Belay that."
Stamets' voice is a little shaky, but firm.
"Sir, we need to make sure you're not hurt!"
Tilly drops to her knees on the floor beside him, hands hovering uselessly over his head and shoulders. It's only a few seconds later, but it feels like an eternity as she surveys the scattering of scorch marks on the upper chest of his uniform. Part of the Warp Theory course at the Academy included a section on potential dangers, including the possible hazards when parts of the drive system malfunctioned. Plasma burns and concussive trauma are at the top of the list, and concern gives her the courage to grip Stamets' wrists, gently peeling his hands away from his face.
His skin is flushed and she immediately spots a few angry red burns on his left cheek from the flying sparks. They've completely missed his eyes (thank goodness), but look like they sting.
"Help me up, would you?"
Her hands shake when she moves an arm under his shoulders to support him as he sits up.
"Sir, I really think you ought to get those looked at."
"You think?"
There's wry humor when he opens his eyes, belying the sharpness of his words. Groaning, he pops open his collar, and she focuses on the line of smaller red spots trailing down his neck.
"Should I get the medkit?"
"Nah," he seems remarkably unconcerned, patting at the injuries gingerly, "I've had worse."
He shifts, bringing his knees up and bracing his elbows. The movement causes his collar to gap open a little wider, and she gasps loudly.
"Lieutenant! Oh-"
"What?" Stamets regards her wide-eyed horror, "what is it?"
"Sir, you've got a wound on your neck..."
"No, I don't."
He seems genuinely confused rather than trying to hide anything.
"It's right here."
Tilly reaches out and peels his collar further down to reveal a large, irregularly shaped purple-red bruise. Stamets runs his fingers down the side of his neck, wincing a little as he touches the burns but otherwise giving no sign of pain. Below the collar, the entire left side of his neck down to the top of his black undershirt is mottled pink with irritated skin. Tilly leans a little closer, and a broken line of scarlet marks curved under the bruise swims into view. They're too regular to have come from the conduit exploding, which means...
"-oh. Ummm. Errr. Nevermind."
Eyebrows rising, Stamets turns to the spore cube, clearly intent on examining his own reflection. When he does, his face rapidly cycles between surprise, glee, and embarrassment before settling on chagrined. He pulls his collar closed again, fighting down the rising blush.
"I'm just going to go to the uhhh, medbay, and have this looked it."
Tilly nods vigorously.
"Right! Good idea sir, ummm, yes. You should. Have that looked at. I'll just- uhhh, I'll clean up in here and make sure the uhhh rest of the drive system is working."
He's halfway to the doors before she's done talking, avoiding eye contact with the two crew members entering with toolkits in hand, summoned by the automatic response to power fluctuations.
The doors close behind him, and Tilly turns her back for a moment before the techs get close enough that she'll have to speak to them. She bites her lip, fighting down the conflicting urges to cringe because gross, he's like her parental substitute and no one wants to know that, and the desire to give him a fist bump for a night obviously well spent.
As the techs approach, she settles on the latter, grinning briefly.
"Damn...right on, sir."
Chapter 30: Shout
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul Stamets is many things: brilliant scientist, pre-eminent astromycologist, Kasseelian opera-hater, spore drive operator, lover, friend.
He's taciturn or verbose, depending on the situation, occasionally paradoxically within the same interaction.
He styles his hair immaculately before going on duty, and it's one of Hugh's favorite things on a rare day off where he doesn't apply product at all.
He can't stand the thought of his science being used to wage war, or that it might hurt any living being.
He prefers the right side of the bed, and having the covers neatly tucked in at the foot of the bed before climbing in.
He's in possession of a prickly exterior that he wields like a weapon to hide the fact that he always feels socially awkward and uncomfortable around people he doesn't know.
The list goes on.
One thing Paul most definitely isn't, is quiet in bed.
At all.
Hugh discovered this most surprising characteristic their first time together, expecting him to be as reserved as he is in public. Instead, in an intimate setting, all pretense and guard drains away. He's delightfully responsive, arching into touch and keeps up a steady stream of husky murmurs ("More, please." "Yes, like that." "You're so beautiful, Hugh.") As their mutual passion climbs, so does his voice ("You feel so good, yes, just like that." "Don't stop, please, more!" "Oh god, so close, so close Hugh, wanna watch you come, please...!").
Hugh is particularly taken by that last exclamation, the breathless entreaty that fills the room already warm with the scent of sweat and sex.
It wasn't just novelty either, over the years he hasn't gotten any quieter. In fact, the more comfortable they became with each other, the less inhibitions came into play. He doesn't seem to have much control over it either, and sometimes it takes Hugh's hand over his mouth to muffle his cries of pleasure so the neighbors don't start banging on the wall, or Tilly bursting in on them in Paul's lab because she thinks her boss is being murdered.
Hugh isn't going to ask, but he's long suspected that as a major reason why Paul insists on no PDA - not because he's embarrassed by stealing a kiss or a caress, but because he wouldn't be able to suppress his reaction. He enjoys the endless stream of sound that begins the moment their kisses turn deeper and ends only when they're lying in the afterglow, feedback affirming that he's able to make his partner feel so good. Unfortunately, it also limits their ability to have discreet...well, tryst doesn't seem appropriate outside of a romance novel. Rendezvous? In any case, it's made it difficult to sneak in a little hanky panky anywhere except their quarters over the years.
Paul Stamets is a bit of a screamer, and Hugh loves it.
Notes:
Had to write this, because I'm completely convinced that Paul goes absolutely wild when it's just him and Hugh.
Chapter 31: Shaking
Notes:
Can be read as a companion piece to Chapter 80 (“Scent”) which contains Hugh’s perspective from this scene.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“You found me in so many places.”
It comes out far steadier than Paul feels. He’s shaking like a leaf in the wind, the intensity of emotions he’s feeling right now overwhelming his body.
Hugh.
He swore his heart stopped the moment he saw him crouched in the corridor, shying away from their lights and moaning in fear. Now it’s a lump frozen in his throat, the taste of hope like a crystal clear stream running through a quiet meadow. He aches to draw Hugh into his arms, to touch him and assure them both that this is real.
“...you held out your hand behind you because you knew that I would grab it,” he finds himself saying, “and I did. And I knew everything about you in that moment.”
His voice wavers, nearly breaks, the weight of that memory bursting past his lips. He can still see it, as if it were yesterday - the brightly lit galleries and works of art paling in comparison to Hugh’s smile and the spark of joy in his eyes. Paul dared to hope that day that what he saw wasn’t just for the museum, but for them.
“And I’m here now. And here’s my hand.”
He’s still trembling but he refuses to look away, refuses to take his eyes off the figure crouched in front of him. The hole in his heart feels like dying a little each day, each morning he wakes up alone in their bed, each night he falls asleep wishing for Hugh’s soft breathing beside him. And he can’t bear it if this isn’t real.
With a sob, Hugh lunges forward. When their fingers touch, he sees the room in a flash of vivid color, sees Hugh smiling at him in the bathroom mirror, hears his voice the first time he whispered ‘I love you’ in Paul’s ear when he thought he was asleep.
Paul drops to his knees, wraps his arms around Hugh so tightly that he can feel the tattered remains of once pristine medical whites digging into his palms. His body knows this man, automatically adjusts to fit them together so that not even a breath could pass between them.
Hugh’s skin is warm against his cheek, and in that moment he feels his heart start beating again.
Notes:
I continue to be in awe of Anthony’s performance (and Wilson’s) in that scene. His voice conveys so many emotions that I can’t help but experience them along with Paul as he’s laying his love out for Hugh.
The title of this chapter comes from the brief shot of Paul’s legs while he’s talking - they’re shaking so hard, but he somehow manages to sound calm.
Chapter 32: Shhh, Part 1
Summary:
Paul and Hugh get a little busy under the covers while trying not to wake up their shipmates.
Notes:
Non-graphic sex (oh who am I kidding? It wants to be smut but I wouldn’t let it) ahead.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Shhhh, you have to be quiet sweetheart.”
It’s barely more than a whisper. Paul’s dark, lust-blown eyes stare back at him above the barrier of Hugh’s hand pressed firmly over his mouth. He nods, squirming in a way that telegraphs his impatience, then he’s licking Hugh’s palm. Hugh bites his own lip to stop the noise the action evokes from escaping, tamping it down to a rough hum and hard exhalation through his nose.
He’s acutely aware of Tilly curled up on the couch, separated only by a partition from their bed. The uneven snores mean she’s still asleep, but he doesn’t want to chance Paul’s inability to stay silent during sex waking her. Not to mention Burnham, Detmer, and Owosekun on the floor between the couch and coffee table looking like nothing so much as a child’s sleepover.
As far as nights go, this one is a bit bizarre.
They’d been caught in a pulse of unknown origin that fried half the systems in Discovery, including melting the communications array and forcing the warp core offline. It also knocked out most of the external sensors, and without the ability to produce the excess energy cavitation needed for the spore drive, they can’t jump either. The ship is currently limping towards the nearest starbase on impulse, hopefully within the next week.
In the midst of ensuring that life support was stable and patching up the systems necessary for basic survival, failure of strict environmental controls hardly seemed worthy of mention. It was only when secondary damage reports came in that someone (Burnham) pointed out that trying to augment those systems would only drain the reserve batteries faster. Shutting off all non-essential systems to conserve remaining power was the only logical course of action (Hugh’s not arguing with that), but it resulted in only three decks maintaining some semblance of habitable conditions.
‘Habitable’ didn’t necessarily translate into ‘comfortable’, ergo, five officers and one cadet squeezed into what normally seems like spacious quarters.
The other four had collectively refused to kick Hugh and Paul out of their own bed, huddling around the tiny emergency heater whirring away on the coffee table. It’s meant to heat a space the size of a standard ‘fleet-issue survival tent and won’t make a significant difference in the frigid air, but he reasons its psychological value is greater.
He did have to pinch Paul when he opened his mouth to deliver the precise mathematical reasons why it wouldn’t have an effect, setting it firmly on the table with a wry smile. Instead, he and Paul are snuggled close under a triple layer of blankets, sharing warmth in a way that’s far superior to the space heater.
(Paul’s claim that having a hot guy in bed with him was perfect left Hugh rolling his eyes affectionately even as the six of them exchanged goodnights.)
His partner squirms again, reminding Hugh of the problem at, err, hand. Two weeks of opposite shifts meant they’d barely exchanged a quick kiss, much less anything more intimate. Coupled with the adrenaline crash from today, it’s a foregone conclusion that being in such close proximity is going to make them both a bit...excited.
Hugh’s plan of a little necking with the sheet pulled over their heads went out the proverbial viewport the moment Paul nudged their hips together. Arousal stimulating the circulation to keep them warm is a flimsy excuse, but if the others are actually asleep, he’s fairly certain he can satisfy them both in short order.
Assuming Paul’s mix of completely obscene moans and vulnerable mewls doesn’t wake their guests up. Hugh’s not sure he could survive Tilly’s embarrassment.
The hand stifling the noise is a good solution, except for the fact that they can’t kiss, which is Hugh’s second favorite activity involving their mouths. He has to settle for pressing their foreheads together, noses touching, and lets Paul move them closer. Hugh uses his free hand to pull up the hems of both of their pajama shirts (no point in making a bigger mess), untying drawstrings and shoving the loose pants down just far enough for access. Then he gathers both of them together in his hand and starts stroking.
The satiny slide of sensitive skin is maddening, testing his own ability to stay quiet. Paul throws one leg over his hips to give them more room to work, and Hugh bites down on the back of his own hand, rhythm stuttering when Paul abandons his grip on his waist and joins him. Their fingers are slippery with the evidence of their pleasure, the air beneath the sheet growing hot and humid with each labored exhale. Paul’s whimpering high in his throat, close to the edge, and Hugh isn’t far behind.
He’s left working alone when Paul’s hand flies up to cover the one already over his mouth. Hugh watches, enraptured, as blue eyes snap open, wide and unfocused. A moment later, heat spills over his fingers, and that’s all it takes for him to follow.
Somehow, he retains enough presence of mind to wipe his hand on his shirt before the mess ends up on the sheets. He lets go of Paul’s jaw, stripping off the shirt and balling it up, dropping it on the floor on the far side of the bed from the room’s other occupants.
Hugh traces gentle touches over the red marks on pale skin, kissing each in mute apology. Careful fingers tuck them both back into their pants, eliciting a shiver of post-orgasm sensation. Paul’s eyes are sated and sleepy, and he kisses him sweetly on the lips before rolling over until Hugh’s spooned up behind him.
“Night love,” Hugh murmurs against the back of his neck.
”Sweet dreams, dear doctor.”
Notes:
A sweaty under-the-covers mutual handjob? Not sorry about it ;)
How many people think they actually got away without waking someone up?
Part 2 in chapter 36.
Chapter 33: (Un)spoiled
Chapter Text
They’ve always been so in sync, comfortable in each other’s space. Their bodies curve together, established patterns of whose arm goes where when they cuddle. Familiar routines of casual touch that Hugh never thought about much, before. It felt right, and that’s all he needed to know.
Now, there’s something unsettling even if he can’t articulate it. This body is new, pristine, unmarred by the thousand little scrapes and bruises and love bites accumulated over four decades. Doctor Pollard pronounces it with an almost awed excitement, but for Hugh there’s nothing about it to celebrate.
Paul touches him now, with a caress that he should want to lean into, but it’s all he can do not to shrink away.
It feels wrong.
This body doesn’t know Paul.
Chapter 34: Small (Things)
Summary:
Paul’s really a simple man to please, if your name is Hugh Culber. Routine doesn’t mean boring. At all.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh’s alarm goes off precisely at 0615, the same every morning he’s on alpha shift.
Also the same every morning? Paul groaning and burying his head under the pillow.
Yawning, Hugh drops a kiss onto the tiny bit of skin exposed between pillow and collar on the back of Paul’s neck. He lingers for a few seconds, breathing in the warmth and closeness of their bed, then pushes himself upright. Before he can do more than swing his legs over the edge of the bed though, a hand latches onto his arm.
Right on schedule.
”Stay.”
”Can’t babe, I need to get my run in before breakfast.”
Paul’s still under the pillow, but his grip on Hugh is firm. It’s more tempting than he’d ever let on, to curl up under the covers and snuggle into his partner, go back to sleep.
”You’re abandoning me. Again.”
Finger by finger, Hugh pries Paul off his arm. It’s as much a part of their morning routine as anything else, and he knows the pillow will be discarded the moment he shifts his weight off the mattress.
Standing, he stretches and moves towards the closet, hearing the covers rustle as Paul rolls onto his side. He grins at the sound, tossing out a command before the sheets settle.
“Computer, sunrise, ten percent.”
Within seconds, the room is bathed in soft gold light, mimicking the illumination of the sun just peeking over the horizon. Paul makes a pleased noise, rubbing his eyes and cozying up under the duvet to watch Hugh discard his pajama top. The light paints his torso in shades of bronze, muscles flexing as he retrieves his workout clothes. Hugh keeps his body in good shape, enjoys the occasional appreciative glances he receives from their shipmates, but no one else in the universe looks at him with the same reverent adoration.
Dwelling on the thought is going to make him late though, so he tucks it away in the overflowing section of his heart marked “Paul” and continues. Instead of pulling on the shirt, he drapes it over the back of a chair and drops the loose sleep pants, stepping out of them casually before bending down to pick them up off the floor.
”Enjoying the show?”
”Mmmm,” Paul’s voice is rough with sleep, “only thing worth waking up this early for.”
Hugh heads into the bathroom, still unselfconsciously nude, and sets about brushing his teeth. When he emerges a few minutes later, Paul’s eyes are closed and he’s snoring softly, just as expected.
Smiling, he quickly dresses and heads off for his morning run.
********
Thankfully, Paul’s vertical when Hugh returns thirty minutes later, sleepily brushing his teeth. His hair is wet, meaning he’s already showered, so Hugh doesn’t invite him into the cubicle. It’s a little disappointing, even though a shared shower has a fifty percent chance of making them late enough to miss breakfast.
Paul’s in full uniform, lounging back on the bed while Hugh heads back to the closet for his medical whites. He watches silently, PADD fallen to the sheets, as Hugh pulls on his briefs and undershirt before zipping up pants and jacket. The show is just as nice in reverse, really, transforming his partner into the ever-professional Doctor Culber.
He checks the chrono - 0715 - and hands Hugh his badge.
“Breakfast?”
”Let’s go.”
********
Somehow, Paul is the first one home that evening. Hugh commed earlier to say he’s going to be in surgery and might be late, but it’s 2200 and still no sign of him.
“Stamets to Medbay.”
”Medical, Pollard. Don’t worry Lieutenant, Doctor Culber is just finishing up now, we should have him out in thirty,” her voice fades out for a moment, “-and he says to remind you to eat.”
He can hear the weary smile in her voice, and thanks her before closing the channel. That’s just enough time to run to the mess hall and at least bring them both back a sandwich if he cuts his evening shower down to two minutes. He has no idea if Hugh skipped dinner too, but a hungry doctor is a grumpy one and he’d rather not take the chance.
Paul is putting on his own pajamas when Hugh arrives. He looks tired but satisfied, kicking off his boots and massaging his wrists.
”Surgery went well?”
”Yeah, got a bit complicated but everything’s fine. Thanks for grabbing food, babe.”
He hands Hugh the other sandwich and they eat in comfortable silence on the couch, shoulders just brushing.
No matter how many times he does it, he’ll never get tired of kissing this man, Paul decides once the plates are set aside. They’re lazy kisses that aren’t going anywhere, but he doesn’t mind.
”Bed? Or did you want to shower first.”
”Nah. I did when I scrubbed out. Bed.”
They move towards the bed, lowering the lights except at the bathroom mirror. So many nights are one of them sneaking in late after shift, trying not to wake the other, that getting ready for bed together is still a treat.
Paul thinks the only thing better than watching Hugh get dressed is peeling him out of uniform at the end of the day. Hugh lets him, standing still as Paul unzips the jacket and uses the excuse of sliding it off to caress his shoulders. The crisp white fabric is wrinkled with hours of wear, and he tosses it onto the laundry pile without a second thought.
Hugh’s undershirt is next, body pliant while Paul eases it up over his chest and arms. He steals a kiss while it’s still bunched around Hugh’s neck, then pulls it off as well, blushing when Hugh chuckles at him for briefly sniffing the bundle of fabric.
”You really think my sweat smells good?”
”Shut up.”
The exchange is familiar, as is Hugh apologizing with a kiss behind Paul’s ear, nuzzling into his hair.
Paul slides his hands down sculpted planes of muscle, teasing at the waistband of his pants. He briefly cups the swell of not-quite-arousal between Hugh’s legs, enjoying the feel of him under his hand. It could go either way, and he glances up, question written on his face.
”Too tired,” is the answer, tinged with genuine regret, “sorry love.”
It’s not too disappointing, not when he still has all this Hugh to touch. The zipper is near silent, and he pushes pants and underwear down together, dropping to the floor as Hugh steps out of them. Gentle fingers brush his cheek, and Paul assuages any worry at the refusal by kissing both inner thighs before standing again.
Less than a minute later, Hugh is in his pajamas too and they brush their teeth in silence. Paul orders the lights off, and they settle under the covers, spooned up together.
He drifts off to sleep, content to repeat the process all over in the morning.
Notes:
I’m a sucker for domestic Culmets.
Chapter 35: Somehow, Part One
Notes:
I keep trying to rationalize Paul’s kiss being enough to take Hugh into the network, but it really feels like it wouldn’t be wholly successful unless something “held the door open” so to speak, partially in and partially out of the mycelial plane just like when they go to rescue Tilly. Here’s one possibility.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul’s only vaguely aware of speaking aloud, brain barely processing anything other than the fact that Hugh is alive, not dead, real.
He remembers seeing him sprawled on the floor, eyes open and unseeing.
Remembers pulling Hugh into his arms, searching for signs of life.
Remembers the cold knife piercing his heart when Hugh’s head lolled sideways, no pulse under his still-warm skin.
Remembers kissing him, hardly even feeling the tears dripping from his chin.
It shouldn’t have been enough though, his mind returning to the network and carrying that tiny bit of Hugh with him. Hugh was already gone, the network couldn't have recognized them both, the transferred energy should have faded away and dispersed without creating a two-way connection.
Unless...
Traces of Hugh on his lips, traveling from their universe into the network.
Traces of his own DNA still lingering inside of Hugh from making love the night before.
Hugh staying at his bedside, on duty, not leaving, anchoring part of the network on Discovery.
Circuit complete.
“I brought him here.”
Notes:
Yes, I’m completely suggesting what it sounds like.
Part 2 (prequel) in chapter 38
Chapter 36: Shhh, Part Two
Summary:
The events of the night from a different perspective lead to a hilarious morning after. Or, Keyla tries to breathe in bread, Michael sprays coffee, and Tilly is just Very Confused.
Notes:
Thank you to FrozenMemories, SilverLights, and pencilguin for encouraging this :)
Chapter Text
Keyla Detmer went through the standard Starfleet survival training at the Academy, the same as any other cadet. It had been a week-long endurance test from hell, taking them from the high desert to deep jungle and finally a frozen mountaintop. (It’s the only time in her life she received a sunburn, mosquito bites, AND frostbite on one trip.) Sleeping on the floor of Lieutenant Stamets and Doctor Culber’s quarters is more comfortable by far than shivering in her thermal sleeping bag while the wind howled across the Himalayas, but it isn’t a suite on Risa either.
Doctor Culber had very graciously offered them the use of the bed, and Keyla was sure she’d seen Stamets give his partner a significant side-eye. It’s big enough that she and Michael, Tilly, and Owo could probably fit, and the duvet looks very toasty indeed. On the other hand, it would be bad manners to kick their hosts out of their own bed, and the others seem to agree.
Privately, she wonders if Tilly’s refusal also has to do with the fact that she’s adopted Stamets as a quasi-parental figure, and would rather not sleep where he and Doctor Culber doubtless enjoy intimate activities. (She’d told Keyla all about the conduit incident in the spore hub, including the obnoxiously large love bite under Stamets’ collar.) Seeing Stamets in his pajamas is certainly odd, but not as traumatizing as Tilly’s expression suggests.
A round of rock-phaser-scissors later, Michael protesting the lack of sense in such a game, and Tilly comes out victorious for the couch. Stamets passes out blankets from the ship’s emergency stores, they take turns in the bathroom (Keyla’s simultaneously scandalized and intrigued by the waterproof lube hiding behind the shampoo in the shower), and there’s nothing left but to bed down for the night.
”I don’t know how helpful this will be,” Doctor Culber sighs as he sets the emergency heater on the coffee table, “but it can’t hurt.”
”Hugh, that thing is designed for the inside of a survival tent, not-“
Stamets flinches at the unsubtle elbow in his ribs, and goes back to putting on a pair of thick socks.
Owo’s already got both hands in front of it, and Michael and Keyla join her long enough to thaw chilly fingers before wrapping themselves up and settling in for the night.
“Computer, lights off.”
Sounds of rustling fabric punctuate the darkness. The only illumination comes from the faint orange glow from the heater, and Keyla can just make out their hosts moving towards each other under the covers on the bed.
“Goodnight ladies,” Doctor Culber calls over, “wake us up if you need anything.”
”Wake him up,” Stamets sounds like he’s rolling his eyes, “Hugh, they’re adults, they’ll be fine.”
”Night sirs.”
”You’re on our floor Tilly, I’m pretty sure you don’t need to be that formal.”
”Sorry, si- ummm. Doctor.”
”Night everyone,” Owo is practically under the coffee table, “someone set an alarm?”
”0615.”
”Thank you.”
”Goodnight Michael.”
”Goodnight Tilly.”
”Can we please consider social customs satisfied and just go to sle- oww, what was that for?”
Keyla hears what sounds like the back of someone’s fingers smacking an arm, and misses anything said next because she’s too busy snickering in the throw pillow under her head. Then she wraps the blankets a little tighter, and tries to sleep.
********
She’s not sure what exactly wakes her. Tilly’s snoring, possibly, and it’s just as unmusical as Michael claims. Or maybe it was the whir of the heater, accompanied by an intermittent whining hum.
Keyla mentally shrugs and rolls over, trying to go back to sleep. Owo is a bundle of blanket at her left side, still as close to the heat as possible. The hum takes on a distinctly un-mechanical tone, and it has to be a trick of acoustics because it seems to be coming from the other side of the room from the heater.
That’s odd, personal quarters are designed to be sound-dampening, given the sheer number of people in close proximity to their neighbors.
She opens her eyes again to see the covers on the bed moving slightly. It looks like they’ve got the sheet pulled over their heads, not a bad idea given the frigid air. There hadn’t seemed to be much room between them before the lights went out, but maybe someone got cold. Doctor Culber looks like he’d be very warm to cuddle up to (in a completely non-sexual way, thank you very much), so she can’t blame Stamets if that’s what he’s doing.
More movement.
“...quiet, sweetheart.”
Oh. Ohhhh.
Apparently the two of them aren’t quite as asleep as Keyla thought.
Hmmm.
They can’t possibly be doing what she thinks they’re doing with four other people in the room. She wonders if perhaps it’s just her overactive imagination - and lack of recent personal encounters - that has her mind immediately heading to the gutter, because everything seems to be still again.
Nope.
In a pause between Tilly’s snores, that’s most definitely a distinctly Stamets-sounding groan, although it’s a bit higher pitched than the ones he bestows upon people who are being especially dense. It’s followed by a husky murmur that’s a half-octave lower than Doctor Culber’s professional bedside voice.
The covers are moving in a suggestive rhythm now. She should probably cover her ears or make them aware that she’s awake, but mostly the ridiculousness of the situation makes her want to burst out laughing.
Someone gasps, and Keyla spares a thought to wonder how they’re able to breathe under the sheets like that.
Beside her, Michael stirs, eyes opening. Keyla’s hand flies up, finger to her own lips then pointing at the bed. It’s still bitingly cold, and she immediately tucks her hand back under her blankets as Michael frowns and cocks her head to the side, listening.
A slightly louder moan, muffled, as if- as if someone had a hand over their mouth.
Keyla’s eyes widen at the same time Michael raises one eyebrow. She lowers her blanket enough that Keyla can read her lips:
Are they?
Making eye contact is a mistake though, because Michael’s serious face cracks almost immediately. They look away, and Keyla almost manages to control her expression when they accidentally lock eyes again. She snorts into the pillow and they both freeze, wondering if she was too loud.
They really needn’t have worried, because the whines have turned into whimpers and judging by the way what has to be Stamets’ knee is shaking, it’s doubtful they have much attention left for anything but each other.
Tilly snores on.
Michael has her hand clenched into a fist, pressed over her mouth as she shakes with suppressed laughter. Keyla isn’t doing much better, blanket between her teeth.
Just when she doesn’t think they can hold it in any longer, there’s a sharp gasp followed by a ragged inhale, and the covers fall still.
Oh my god, she mouths at Michael.
The sheet rustles, and there’s a soft noise like fabric hitting the floor. Michael raises her eyebrow again, and that sets Keyla off into another round of stifled giggles.
The couple on the bed shift enough that it’s obvious Stamets is rolling over, followed by an indistinct murmur and the smacking sound of a kiss. She and Michael stare at each other for another minute before Michael shakes her head and mimes sleeping. Keyla nods and closes her eyes, eventually drifting off again with a smirk on her face.
********
She’s vaguely aware of the alarm going off and the sound of quiet conversation before the bathroom door closes. Keyla opens her eyes to find Michael surprisingly still asleep, and judging by Owo and Tilly’s snores, they’re not awake either.
The sonic shower chimes loudly enough that she can hear it through the closed door, and a quick glance reveals that the bed is empty.
After last night, she probably shouldn’t be surprised that they shower together.
It’s a whole lot colder than it was last night though. The heater’s batteries must have run down, and Keyla decides she’d lose more warmth fiddling with the controls than just pulling the blanket back over her head. She’s not on alpha today, so there’s no reason to fight the heaviness of her eyelids.
Keyla is just on the edge of sleep when the bathroom door opens again. It’s followed by the sound of footsteps approaching, then suddenly she’s aware of something heavy settling over her. Cracking an eye open, she realizes that Stamets has pulled the duvet off the bed and is clumsily tucking it around the three of them on the floor. It’s still warm with residual body heat, and she’s about to say thank you when she sees his expression - uncharacteristically soft and bordering on affectionate as he spreads the second blanket over Tilly - and closes her eyes again, oddly touched by the gesture.
It’s much easier to go back to sleep, warmed by the duvet and the discovery that Stamets really does care under his grouchy exterior.
********
Owo is gone by the time Doctor Culber rouses her. There’s a tray of toast and coffee on the table now, and Tilly’s already downing a mug as if her life depends on it.
Actually, given her regular levels of caffeination, that might not be far from the truth.
Michael sits up beside her, and Keyla gratefully accepts a mug of her own, nodding thanks. She has half a slice of toast in her mouth when the fog of drowsiness lifts enough for her to remember.
Keyla turns to see Michael coming to a similar revelation, and nearly inhales the toast while failing to suppress the squeak that bursts out.
Stamets and Culber turn from whatever conversation they’re having by the desk, matching looks of confusion on their faces. It’s too much, and full blown giggles erupt as Michael snorts coffee.
The two men shrug and go back to staring at a PADD together, and Keyla and Michael lean helplessly against each other, giggles eventually dying down.
“Guys?”
Tilly’s wearing her frowny thinking face.
”What’s so funny?”
Chapter 37: Speculation, Part Two (prequel)
Chapter Text
The door swishes shut behind him.
Hugh slumps against it, tension draining from his shoulders, setting down the last box at his feet and sliding down the smooth surface to sit on the floor. In front of him, the darkened space of his quarters waits.
His. Not Paul’s.
Standard issue ‘fleet furniture aside, the room feels empty. He pulls his knees up, elbows braced on them, exhausted beyond words.
Moving out of Paul’s (their) quarters hurt more than dying. It’s probably not a fair comparison - he’d had a split second to realize what was happening, a brief flare of indescribable pain, awareness gone before his body even hit the floor.
Paul offered to help, and a tiny sadistic part of him wanted to say yes, to heap upon him all of the weight of everything. The flash of cold calculation shocked him away from the thought completely, and he just shook his head and kept shoving things in boxes. Familiar objects, mementos and clothing, all piled together in the box, things he should feel something for but instead were foreign under his fingers. He almost wanted to leave it all, not be confronted with reminders, but it would have been more cruel to Paul that way. For the sake of the love they once shared...he couldn’t do that to him.
Hugh closes his eyes, knocking his head back against the door. The thud doesn’t do anything to clear his mind, not that he really expects it to.
His entire life before, the old Hugh, is scattered into a meager half dozen standard storage crates. They aren’t going anywhere if he doesn’t do something with them, unfortunately. He drags himself to his feet, pushing the last box under the table before picking one at random.
This is the one that Paul must have packed before giving up, items carefully nestled between layers of t-shirts and boxers to cushion them from harm. Inside, a set of folded silk pajamas in brilliant ruby red sit alongside his personal PADD and an old-fashioned wooden box roughly the size of his two clenched fists. He lifts the box out on impulse, opening it to spill its contents over the table.
A stack of folded papers tumble out followed by a metallic clang. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t stop himself from picking the object up.
Paul’s Academy ring is heavy in his palm, gold chain warming to his skin. He hasn’t seen it in months, hasn’t worn it tucked away under his uniform since before coming aboard Discovery. There was no need for it after that, no need to carry a physical reminder of Paul with him, not when they were reunited. So he’d put it away in this box and not thought about it again, knowing it was safe.
The box is full of handwritten love notes he’d hidden in Paul’s luggage when they were going to be on different ships, years ago. Paul had taken each declaration, each phrase, written his own responses on the backs and sent them to Hugh a month later, bundled together with this ring. It wasn’t a marriage proposal, but it was a start to a new phase of their relationship, one where they began to speak more openly about their plans together, discussed a future for them both.
He’d always been careful not to damage them, these once-precious symbols of love. The notes are a little crinkled, crisp folds softened with years of re-reading. Except...
Hugh frowns. A few have spots where the ink is blurred, as if droplets of water had fallen on them and dried.
Oh.
Paul must have taken them out while he was gone, must have cried over them.
Maybe they should go back to him.
He finds himself re-folding each, setting them back in their box with the ring on top. Hugh puts it aside, tells himself it’s just until he’s sure there’s nothing else that Paul should have in any of the other boxes.
Two hours later, he closes the lid on a crate of books and clothes that he’d stolen from Paul’s wardrobe over the years. They’re no longer his in so many ways, and perhaps not having them around will make for a clean path forward.
He falls into a fitful sleep, the bed somehow too big. In the morning, he asks Tilly to help return those things to Paul, tells himself it’s healthy distance and that he’s not avoiding him. They make awkward small talk, and she leaves less than five minutes later, reluctantly carrying the crate.
Hugh rests his head in his hands and considers the small wooden box still on the table. Opens the lid and stares at the ring inside, chain coiled around it. Closes the lid.
He doesn’t need them. Each note is long since committed to memory, even if he can’t assign an emotion to their recitation. He should send them back to Paul, shouldn’t keep looking at them.
Why can’t he let this go?
Notes:
I’m not sure where I was going when I wrote this, but ended up here with a very conflicted Hugh. Sigh.
Chapter 38: Slow / Somehow, Part Two
Chapter Text
In the moment, it’s a completely unremarkable night, save for the fact that it’s the first time they’ve been able to end the day together in almost a week.
Years of sharing a bed means they gravitate towards each other without thinking, Hugh on his side and Paul tucked snugly behind, an unbroken line of contact from chin to toes. Paul has both arms around him, one between Hugh’s head and the pillow and the other warm and heavy at his waist. They shift against the sheets for a moment until their bodies adjust, fitting together like puzzle pieces. He’s always felt safe in his partner’s embrace, but never more than in this position.
Safe and a little aroused, to be honest.
The playful kisses in the shower and blatantly grabbing Paul’s ass while ‘reaching the shampoo’ telegraphed their mutual desires quite clearly, but there’s no rush to move past cuddling just yet. Instead, he wiggles his hips enough to feel a growing firmness in Paul’s loose sleep pants, letting out a satisfied hum when the action leads to the back of his neck being nuzzled.
“Yeah?”
The single syllable is laden with affection, Paul’s smile apparent in the tone. He briefly considers protesting his innocence, but it’s been long enough with minimal time together that there’s no point in denying it.
”Mmmhmmm.”
”Okay.”
Paul’s lips barely brush his ear, the whisper prompting a full-body shiver. He responds by rolling his hips with more purpose, pleased by the sharp inhale it causes.
Other people talked about relationships becoming boring when two or more partners fell into routines, falling back on the same successful but ultimately predictable activities. Hugh couldn’t disagree more - or perhaps it says more about people’s partners than anything. They’ve long since learned each other’s preferences and quirks in bed and out, where to touch and what not to do in certain situations, and it’s no less satisfying for it.
Someone else wouldn’t know how much pressure to use to signal a serious massage and not foreplay. Would have to be told there’s no sex before brushing their teeth when they wake up, because Paul can’t stand being unable to kiss.
Another person wouldn’t realize that caressing Hugh’s inner thighs with a hint of nails is guaranteed to end with being pinned to the mattress, or that one spot just below Paul’s collarbone on the right side is ridiculously sensitive.
No one else knows that if Hugh stands around too long in his sweaty gym clothes before taking a shower, Paul will follow him in and put the waterproof lube to good use.
Case in point, Paul is lavishing open-mouthed kisses over the side of his neck with just the right hint of teeth to send hot desire skittering down his spine. A tug on the collar signals that his shirt is in the way, and he pulls it off eagerly, humming in satisfaction as Paul does the same.
The expanse of bare chest against Hugh’s equally unclothed back makes him roll his shoulders in sensual delight. He shamelessly flexes his back just a little, smiling when Paul retrieves his hand and uses it to trace each well-defined muscle. It’s a slightly awkward angle, but he twists and cranes his head back for a kiss.
“Wanna...like this?”
Paul waits, watches him with something warm and deep in his eyes. He nods, secure in the knowledge that he can tell him if he wants to change his mind along the way. There’s an intense satisfaction in feeling the quiet strength in this sort of embrace, the intimacy to make up for their days apart.
”Please?”
Hugh punctuates the request with another kiss.
”Anything for you, dear doctor.”
They don’t have to speak after that, moving pillows and shedding the rest of their clothes (Paul insists on taking his socks off, because sex with socks on is apparently anathema worse than insulting mushrooms) in comfortable silence.
Everything is unhurried, all parts of the process enjoyed as Paul reads Hugh’s body effortlessly, the sighs and pitch of his moans telling him when he’s ready. Then Hugh shifts his leg just so and suddenly Paul is right there, wordless exclamations breathed out in tandem. The only thing left between them is mingled sweat, Hugh held so perfectly close against Paul’s body.
Tonight they won’t, but they could draw this out for hours, the slow ebb and flow of arousal in kisses exchanged and intimate caresses. They move in familiar ways, rocking together to the rhythm of quiet moans and the kisses Hugh presses to Paul’s hand, licking the delicate skin of his wrist to feel the pulse throbbing under his tongue. Paul’s litany of adoration for his lover, words moaned and gasped out breathlessly, fills the air in counterpoint.
They don’t quite manage to tumble over the edge at the same time, but it’s not far apart and it gives Hugh a chance to recover enough to focus fully as Paul shakes and arches against him.
“Stay,” he whispers when Paul’s brain comes back online and he starts to move away.
”Shower?”
”In the morning, I want to fall asleep like this, feel you all around me. In me.”
Paul doesn’t argue, doesn’t point out that they’ll have to change the sheets tomorrow, just nods and settles back down behind him. Hugh can still smell Paul on his skin even as they pull the covers up and kiss goodnight.
They fall asleep in a tangle of limbs, content.
If we had known it was our last night together, Paul muses sadly, what might have been different?
Maybe they would have held each other even tighter, made sure they said everything they needed to say, had desperate sex instead of the slow passion they shared. Maybe it would have given them both comfort before that final fateful jump.
He remembers how they didn’t have time for a shower the next morning, sleeping through the alarm and rushing to dress. Went on shift with traces of each other under their uniforms, hours before his world shattered.
Oh, Hugh.
Maybe that night of sweet unhurried lovemaking was everything it needed to be.
Notes:
This can be read as a prequel to Chapter 35 “Somehow” as an explanation for how Paul and Hugh are so connected that the transfer to the network is successful.
Chapter 39: Sneaky
Summary:
Someone's stolen Hugh’s towel.
Notes:
Freshly showered Hugh. Yes please. Can you really blame Paul for staring?
Consider this another apology for writing angst.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh is already peeling off his sweaty gym shirt before the door to their quarters even finishes sliding shut. He and Rhys had gone several rounds on the mat - Rhys arguing that even a doctor should learn basic self-defense, Hugh eventually giving in because it was an excellent workout - and all he can think of is a shower and maybe convincing Paul to rub his back before falling asleep.
"Hi honey," Paul calls from the other side of his PADD, sprawled over the bed.
Hugh doesn't say anything, just drops a sweaty kiss on Paul's cheek before making a beeline for the bathroom, completely oblivious to the appreciative look following him to the door. When he emerges dripping wet a good ten minutes later, neither his towel nor his pajamas are anywhere in sight. In fact, there aren't any towels left in the bathroom, nothing he could possibly cover himself with.
Shaking his head, he makes his damp way out to confront the grinning thief lounging on a pile of bath linens. He has to hand it to Paul - he didn't even notice him doing it, thought he'd be too engrossed in whatever he was reading to even notice the time passing.
He plants his feet a comfortable distance apart, hands on his hips, ignoring the way a small puddle is forming on the carpet.
"If you wanted me naked, you could have joined me."
"But where's the fun in that?" Paul addresses him somewhere distinctly below the waist, "This is so much more...more."
"Very eloquent, Doctor Stamets."
There's a very appealing blush creeping up from under Paul's collar, belying his relaxed pose.
"Thank you, Doctor Culber."
Tilting his head in thought, Hugh tests a theory: he slowly transfers his weight to one leg, twisting his hips in a slow stretch, and yep, there it is. Paul shifts nearly imperceptibly on the bed, legs moving just a little further apart, and licks his lips.
"Sweetheart, my eyes are up here."
Paul's gaze takes its time traveling on a leisurely path up to his face. When their eyes meet, Hugh can see that his are wide with desire, pupils nearly eclipsing the usual stunning azure.
He moves decisively, crossing the few steps to reach the bed. Paul swallows hard when Hugh clears the towels off the bed with one swipe, gasps in delight as Hugh shoves him to lie flat with a palm on his chest.
"What-"
Hugh can see the moment Paul's mouth goes dry, falling open as he drops a knee on the bed and swings the other leg over until he's straddling Paul's lap.
"You wanted a show, babe?"
Eyes wide and unblinking, Paul nods slowly, hand coming up to stroke down his still-wet chest.
"Please."
He rocks his hips a little, the thin sleep pants doing nothing to hide Paul's...appreciation of the movement. Then he leans down to share a filthy wet kiss, smiling against parted lips when Paul tries to follow his mouth as he sits up again. It takes both hands on his shoulders to get his partner to lie down, pouting until Hugh reaches across the bed to retrieve a pillow, tucking it under his head gently.
"Hugh, please..."
"Just relax, sweetheart," he murmurs, "I'm going to take such good care of you."
Notes:
Re: Hugh calling Paul “Dr. Stamets” - I’m assuming Paul probably has a PhD in astromycology, and this would be his proper title without considering rank.
Chapter 40: Spouse
Summary:
Paul and Jett Reno have a heart to heart in Engineering at 0330. Takes place before "Saints of Imperfection".
Notes:
I was watching deleted scenes on the Season 2 DVD, and there's a very quiet moment cut from "Through The Valley Of Shadows" where Reno tells Paul that she won't have any "broken hearts" in the lab right then. I wish it would have made it into the episode - she says she has to go take care of something at the end, and I suspect that it would have been the lead up to her talking to Hugh about second chances. The scene with Hugh is still impactful, but seeing Reno reacting so strongly to Paul's heartbreak would add yet another dimension.
Chapter Text
He’s not expecting anyone else to be in the spore drive bay at 0330, not when gamma shift is only remote diagnostics. Insomnia drove him out of his quarters, and it seems like as good a place as any to pass the rest of the night cycle reading reports on his PADD. Familiar, quiet, and maybe just a little bit comforting.
A sigh alerts him to the presence of someone else, the sound amplified by the bay’s shape. Striding around the consoles with a puzzled frown, he finds Jett Reno sitting cross-legged behind a stack of crates. She’s staring off into the blue glow of the spore chamber, hands clasped and fingers tapping her knuckles rapidly.
He opens his mouth to ask her what she’s doing up when she’d already worked a double when her fidgeting fingers draw his attention and Paul notices something odd.
”...since when do you wear a ring?”
Reno jumps a little, and Paul realizes just how wrapped up she must have been in her thoughts if his unstealthy approach came as a surprise. She opens her mouth, closes it, shakes her head, and sighs.
”Suppose you wouldn’t know. Hell, no one on this ship knows, unless you’ve got a Betazoid stashed somewhere.”
“Can’t say I know of one on the crew.”
“It’s a Soyousian symbol of union,” she indicates the knot on the band, “I’m...my wife, she’s Soyousian. Was.”
There’s something about the way her voice stumbles over the second sentence that he’s only too familiar with, and he hadn’t missed her correction of tense. He sets down the PADD and sits next to her, close enough to be heard if they speak quietly.
“What was she like?”
For a moment, he’s not sure if she’s going to slip into tears, face reflecting an inner struggle. Also one he’s intimately acquainted with. Seeing the walls come down from her usual sardonic manner is not something he'd have expected. Then again, people probably think the same thing about him. Eventually, Reno settles on a sad laugh.
”She was a dreamer. Saw the best in others and wanted to help, wanted to create. Drove me absolutely nuts with wedding plans, every detail. Micromanaged.”
Her smile sheds its sadness briefly.
”I said we could just wait till we were together again and browbeat the captain into marrying us. Could have just taken care of it quietly, but she wouldn’t have it.”
"How long did you have?"
The question slips out, even as he's kicking himself for asking.
"Not long enough. Today’s our anniversary,” Reno gives him a lopsided smile, squeezing her right index finger, “we were supposed to go to Risa to celebrate. Five whole days of shore leave.”
Paul nods, gesturing with his hands. Go on.
"With the war, with this mission...you bury yourself in work to forget the grief. Sometimes it works, then you think, how can this actually be happening? Sometimes I don't want to forget her, and I pull this out."
He can only nod again in understanding, thinking about how he still can't sleep on Hugh's side of the bed, of his pajamas folded under his pillow long since his scent has faded, the medical whites still hanging in the closet. They lapse into silence, Reno continuing to spin her wedding band, just the steady hum of the conduit behind them for company.
Paul isn't expecting it when her shoulder bumps his, startling him not unpleasantly. He hadn't realized how the distance between them has decreased sometime in the last few minutes. Reno's eyes are reddened, but her gaze is steady.
”Tell me about him.”
Paul shakes his head, eyes dropping.
”I’m fine, you’re the one with...with feelings right now.”
She scoffs, but he can tell it's not meant to offend.
”Cut the bull, Stamets. A blind sehlat could tell that you’re not. You miss him, that’s okay. Not going to make you talk about it if you don’t want to, but,” Reno’s hand is shockingly warm when she rests two fingers on his knee, “I’m willing to return the favor you just did.”
He breathes in, exhales slowly. Repeats the action a few times before he feels steady enough to even start.
“I...Hugh was...amazing. Everything about him. Kind and patient and honest, left the cap off the toothpaste and nagged me to eat. Loved to go to the gym, listened to the most horrendous Kasseelian opera."
"Sounds like an interesting guy. Tall, dark, and handsome?"
The gentle teasing is surprisingly soothing.
"Not tall. But...yes."
"What was your favorite thing about him?"
So many things. How can he pick just one, when he misses them all, even the habits that used to annoy him?
"Me too," Reno nudges his shoulder again just before the long pause turns awkward, "but what's the first thing you think of?"
”Hugh used to smile at me, when we woke up, and he’d just wake up perfect, and I always thought, why does someone so perfect stick around to wake up with me? He’d smile with this...this look of wonder. At me, just for me."
He dares to glance over, Reno's gentle smile encouraging him to continue.
"I...wasn't always a good partner. Took it for granted that he'd always be there, stayed late doing my work all the time. Especially here. We fought sometimes, about that, and I should have done better. Should have come home, because all of this?" his eyes flick around the bay, "isn't as important as him. And I don't know if he knew that."
"Loved you anyways though, right?"
Paul wonders briefly if he ought to be surprised at his own willingness to share something so personal, but he already has a healthy respect for her despite their constant bickering on-duty, and the unassuming compassion tells him he can trust her with it. She doesn't offer any tired platitudes, no 'of course he did' or 'he wouldn't want you to feel like this', and that's comforting in its own right.
"Always. No one sees me the way he does. Did. And I..." Paul blinks back the tears blurring his vision, "I have to live with that.”
Slowly, Reno reaches out, giving him plenty of time to avoid it before her arm settles around his shoulders. He's not fond of casual touch from anyone but Hugh, but this doesn't feel intrusive at all. He sags into the offered support, leaning his head back on the crates and closing his eyes. Neither of them speaks after that, silent in their own grief. But oddly enough, it helps to not feel quite so alone.
Chapter 41: Speak (My Name)
Summary:
Names Paul and Hugh use for each other.
Notes:
I write Hugh using multiple different words to speak to Paul, depending on the situation, but almost never the other way around. This is why.
Chapter Text
Hugh uses endearments out of affection, as the mood calls for.
He rarely calls his partner by name, reserving Paul for moments of serious conversation or argument.
”Look Paul, I know you don’t think about how damn dangerous this is, but I do.”
”Paul? Can you hear me? Please say something.”
”I believe in you, Paul. I love you.”
Love rolls off his tongue easily and often.
”Hey love, how was your day?”
”See you in a few hours, love.”
Babe is casual, sometimes exasperated, occasionally annoyed.
“Babe, have you seen my blue sweater?”
“Not now babe, trying to finish this report.”
Sweetheart is tender, moments of gentle intimacy...or filthy promise.
“Goodnight sweetheart.”
”I’m going to take such good care of you, sweetheart.”
”Shhhhh sweetheart, you’re so beautiful like this.”
********
Paul isn’t prone to endearments, they feel awkward in his mouth and never sound right.
Hugh is the only name he needs, because that one word means everything.
Chapter 42: Shampoo
Summary:
Short and sweet shower interlude.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul knows he's being shorter than usual when he breezes past Hugh after entering their quarters, his only response to the "bad day, love?" a monosyllabic grumble. He doesn't even stop for a hello kiss on his way into the bathroom, too intent on washing off the proverbial day in a very physical manner. His boots thud against the carpet where he kicks them, uniform shed in a trail from doorway to shower, and he doesn't stop until he's leaning on the shower wall forehead-first with the sonics on full blast.
It's unfair to expect Hugh to understand and not take offense, but because his partner is too good and patient for him, that's exactly what he does. There are a myriad of cues in Paul's body language that tell Hugh the bad mood has nothing to do with him - if Paul had been taking out his stress by picking a fight, that would be something else. The open bathroom door says that not only is he not unwelcome, but it's Paul's subtle way of requesting company, so he merely sighs and counts to twenty before stripping off his own lounging clothes and following him in.
Hugh winces as he steps over the ledge, dialing back the intensity with one hand while tugging on Paul's shoulder with the other. He maneuvers the unresisting form until he can fold him into an embrace, cheek resting on Hugh's shoulder for a few heartbeats before switching over to water.
Steam starts to fill the cubicle, and he's expecting it when Paul exhales hard and slumps further against him. He doesn't say anything, just adjusts his grip to hold them both upright, rocking gently.
Eventually, Paul stirs, raising his head. This time, when Hugh greets him, he offers a soft kiss in apology for his earlier behavior.
"Hi, sweetheart."
"Hugh."
"That bad?"
Tiny droplets of water cling to Paul's eyelashes, and he shakes his head a little, dislodging them.
"Just...yeah. Do I have to talk about it?"
"Not if you don't want to."
"Thanks."
It doesn't seem to be anything more serious than exhaustion and possibly frustration, so he lets it go for now. Instead, Hugh shifts enough to reach the shampoo, feeling more tension drain out of the body plastered to his front as he massages the lather through Paul's hair, humming quietly all the while. Soap is next, and he's careful to keep his touch soothing rather than arousing, but light enough to avoid accidentally tickling as his fingers slide over the crests of his hips and dip into the valley of his spine.
By the time he tilts them back to rinse, Paul's hands have come up to grasp his shoulders and he's no longer resting all of his weight on Hugh. Even without being able to see his face to gauge the effects, Hugh knows he's been successful by the deep, slow breaths gusting over his throat.
He turns off the shower, wrapping Paul in a towel before quickly drying himself, and leaves him to brush his teeth while he moves quickly through their quarters to toss their clothes into the laundry pile and turn down the bed. Paul shakes his head at the proffered pajamas, and Hugh foregoes his as well, understanding that what his partner needs tonight is the wordless comfort of skin on skin.
The sheets are cool underneath his back, waiting for Paul to settle at his side before pulling up the duvet. He slips his fingers back into slightly damp hair, stroking absently while they shift elbows and knees just so.
"Love you."
It's mumbled into his collarbone, slurred with fatigue, but Hugh hears it clearly all the same.
"Love you too, sweetheart."
Notes:
I've had a long frustrating day, and writing Culmets fluff is therapeutic.
Chapter 43: Shirt
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh takes his time going through the things he took with him when he moved out of thei- out of Paul’s quarters.
Some items are simple: his uniforms, for example, go into the closet without a second thought, as do his gym clothes and underwear.
Others, like mementos and photos, immediately go back into the box. His lack of an emotional connection to what used to be his favorite photo of him and Paul together is terrifying in a way that he isn’t able to process right now.
A few days after sending Tilly off with the things he wanted to return to Paul, he reaches the bottom of the last box. It’s a jumbled pile of off-duty clothing, swept out of the second dresser drawer en masse, and he contemplates the rumpled fabric while getting ready for bed. As he passes by the table, a very familiar scent catches his attention and he stops in his tracks. It’s a smell that he knows should make him smile, sandalwood and musk with a hint of smoke. Instead, he searches through the pile with increasing panic, afraid of what he’ll find.
His fingers close on a crisp collar, and he pulls the garment free with shaking hands.
The button-down is deep blue, a shade that used to set off the eyes of the man wearing it. He remembers coming back to their quarters to find Paul lounging on the bed wearing just the shirt, frozen in surprised lust as his partner slowly ran his hands over his own body. He’d stood there speechless, unable to think when Paul set about fulfilling a fantasy only mentioned in passing, pleasuring himself as if Hugh weren’t standing right there.
Now, the shirt is wrinkled, right cuff still missing a button after Hugh decided to strip it off using his teeth. He can’t stop himself from lifting the fabric to his face, breathing in the traces of Paul’s cologne somehow still lingering months later.
There’s a pain deep in his chest when he thinks back to that night, when he remembers the passionate lovemaking that followed but his body doesn’t respond with anything other than a spreading numbness.
The past few weeks have given him time to think, time to realize that he’s scared of trying to reconnect his memories and feelings, terrified because what if they don’t feel the same?
He couldn’t raise Paul’s hopes like that, not if there’s a chance it will fail.
Sighing, Hugh sets the shirt down on the sheets and climbs into bed. He lays awake for hours, fingers smoothing over the wrinkles.
How does he fix this when he doesn’t even know where to start?
Notes:
Apparently Wilson says Anthony smells good, and I’m rather disposed to believe him.
Chapter 44: Switch
Summary:
Tilly spots something different about Stamets one morning. Dialogue-only.
Chapter Text
“Good morning, Cadet.”
”Good morning, sir.”
”And how are you this morning?”
”Fine, sir. Great. Ummm. I don’t mean to be rude, but uhhh. There’s something you should- errr, that.”
”...hmmm?”
”It’s just that, Lieutenant Stamets, sir, you really ought to- that is, I wasn’t trying to look, I was working on the calculations you assigned me, but you were so cheerful...not that you’re not like ever super cheerful, because this is a starship and we’re doing serious science, but you were coming down the stairs and-“
“Yes?”
”So uhhh. Oh wow, this is gonna be awkward. Why am I making this awkward? I’m sorry, sir.”
”For...?”
”Yourpantsareunzippedimsosorryiwasnttryingtolook-“
”Tilly, I’ve only had two cups of coffee, can you try speaking with periods?”
”I umm. Your pants, sir. They’re un- unzipped. And. Errr. They’re not.”
”-what? Oh for...great. Thank you, I’m going back to my quarters to change.”
”But how...I mean, of course, sir!”
”You didn’t see this.”
”What? I didn’t- oh! No, ummm right. Nothing seen here, sir, not at all.”
”Culber to Stamets.”
”Stamets here.”
”Paul, did you take my pants?”
Chapter 45: Surgery
Summary:
What was Hugh thinking during that scene with a gravely injured Paul in the finale?
Notes:
Some license taken with medical terms (I swear I have three degrees in a medical-adjacent field!) but they should be generally accurate.
Chapter Text
Hugh forgets how to breathe when he sees Paul lying on the biobed, so still and the front of his uniform soaked with blood. He saw Tilly stumbling by on her way out; there's no way she could have carried him, meaning he somehow walked in here like that, twisted metal lodged in his chest.
All of the chaos around him blurs into the background - the ship rocking as it’s hit by weapons fire (he can’t worry about that, can’t control it, can only save the lives in his hands), the cries of the wounded, alarms going off as the medical staff rush to triage and stabilize patients while more keep pouring in.
While Hugh is frozen, Doctor Culber continues to evaluate the patient’s condition. The medical professional in him takes in the failing vital signs and warnings on the biobed monitor, dispassionately observing that the patient - that Paul is minutes away from crashing due to hypovolemic shock.
Shrapnel has penetrated the upper thoracic cavity, causing massive pericardial trauma. The ongoing presence of the shrapnel has, however, slowed a fatal drop in blood pressure, partially plugging the wound it caused.
Pneumothorax. Left lung collapsing, courtesy of the broken ribs, shattered sternum unable to support the chest wall struggling to maintain sufficient negative pressure.
There are a plethora of other, non life-threatening injuries as well: multiple cuts to the face from flying debris; a broken elbow, perhaps from hitting a bulkhead or console in the explosion; minor concussion likely sustained at the same time as the elbow.
All of this takes place in a few seconds that Hugh experiences as years, the rush of his own pulse in his ears drowning out everything else. He gives himself a moment to feel, teetering on the edge of despair - for all of his spore drive-related injuries, this is the first time he genuinely believes that Paul could die under his hands - before locking down the paralyzing panic and shoving everything else aside save for his oath as a physician. His focus sharpens, sucking in a deep breath to steady himself, pulling Doctor Culber around himself like a shield and forcing a calm he in no way feels.
“Paul? Hi...”
”Hugh?”
His fair skin has gone dangerously pale, breathing shallow and labored.
”I know you’re in a lot of pain.”
Hugh would give anything for a 'thank you Doctor, I hadn't noticed' or a sarcastic eyeroll for stating the obvious.
He keeps one eye on that familiar face, now twisted in agony, while he scans his upper chest with a handheld sensor. The data confirm what his quick evaluation yielded, but also, also that it's something he can fix. If he can seal the blood vessels and repair the damage, if the medbay doesn't lose power while he forces Paul's heart to keep beating, if-
Focus, Doctor Culber.
”Paul, your injuries are pretty severe, I’m gonna induce coma.”
The hypospray hisses and Paul whimpers, shaking his head, eyes unable to focus. Paul had told him in a light tone of voice that did nothing to soften the horror of it all, that sometimes he still had trouble falling asleep for fear of being trapped outside his body again. It was a throwaway comment while Hugh was undergoing tests after his return, but the implication had of course been that sleeping beside Hugh would remedy the issue. He suspects the same panic now, but there's no way to repair the damage without sedation, not while Paul's fear and pain are flooding his body with stress hormones.
“You’ll be fine!" He wills the words into truth, has to believe it himself. "Just listen to my voice, you can hear me.”
The hand on Paul’s shoulder is as much to steady them both against the rocking of the ship as it is for comfort. He tells himself he'd do it for any patient, to ease their fears and provide the comfort of touch (because the wonders of modern medicine and technological advances still can't reproduce that). Hugh switches instruments, reaches for one that will generate a temporary low-level forcefield around Paul's heart to prevent pericardial rupture and support the muscle contractions necessary to keep blood pumping. The tri-ox he administered along with sedative should take some of the load off his injured cardiopulmonary tissues, at least for the next hour or so.
Paul's still fighting to stay conscious - his partner is so stubborn - and Hugh doesn't even stop to examine the fond exasperation at that thought. Or that absent all other things, he still considers Paul his.
”I thought I could make my home on Enterprise-” Hugh clenches his jaw as Paul moans in distress, “you’re doing fine."
Leaving for Enterprise would have given them physical distance, and Hugh had hoped that maybe, just maybe they could try again someday. He made a decision in the hours between trying to say goodbye to Paul and learning that he intended to follow Michael into the future, because losing him forever without even the slightest chance of trying to mend this...is not something he can bear, no matter how much he thought he wanted a clean break.
It's now or never, then...if Paul doesn't make it through (don't even think that), doesn't wake up again, he might never know.
"But then I realized that...you’re my home, so I came back."
While he talks, his hands work on autopilot with a deep tissue regenerator, rebuilding the damaged blood vessels and accelerating cellular regeneration for the blunt force trauma to his ribs. He activates a sterilizing field, glances over to check that the laser scalpel and microsurgical tools he needs are laid out.
"Everything...always, came back around to you. I’m just sorry it took me so long to see it."
There's so much more he needs to say, and neither of them have the time for him to say it now.
“So you go to sleep now, okay? You let me take care of you.”
He presses the cortical monitor against the blood-smeared skin on Paul’s neck, fingers moving to smooth the hair back from his face. Just one more thing before he absolutely has to start surgery. Ten seconds.
“I’m your family. Wherever we go from here," he wills Paul to understand, "we go together.”
There’s the barest hint of a smile on Paul’s pale lips as he slips into unconsciousness, but it’s enough.
Hugh presses a kiss to his forehead, the same place he’s kissed Paul goodnight and good morning for years, and Doctor Culber sets about saving his life.
Chapter 46: Science
Chapter Text
They're reading on the couch in their quarters, engrossed in separate PADDs, when Paul feels more than hears Hugh's chuckle.
"Something funny?"
"No."
He quirks his lips in response, not looking up as he flicks through another set of molecular spectroscopy results.
"Love?"
"Hmmm?"
Paul zooms in on one of the peaks, trying to calculate if it's significant.
"You should stop unless you're trying to start something."
"...what?"
He looks up to meet Hugh's amused eyes. His expression suggests impending arousal, and Paul frowns in confusion.
"What am I doing?"
Hugh looks down, and he follows his gaze to find the hand previously resting high on one muscular thigh has somehow migrated up the leg of Hugh's loose boxers and is currently doing what can only be described as fondling.
Oh.
Hmmmm.
"Science turn you on, babe?"
The PADD lands on the coffee table and Paul pulls Hugh over to straddle his lap. They're both old enough that arousal doesn't necessarily require a physical reaction, but something is stirring quite nicely under his fingers.
"No, but I could be convinced."
Chapter 47: Suspicion
Summary:
An away mission prior to the pilot episode has Paul and Hugh stuck on an alien planet with Lorca and Landry. Not exactly a recipe for a tranquil evening.
Chapter Text
“Landry, Stamets, you’ve got the other tent. Doctor Culber, you’re with me.”
”Wait a-“
Paul’s outraged protest is cut short by Hugh’s firm grip on his wrist. He glances over to find his partner with the same expression as when he’s dispassionately forbidding an abusive spouse from entering a hospital room, disdain and instinctive distrust under a thin veneer of professional calm, and he’s grateful to see it.
”I’ll handle it,” he murmurs, releasing Paul’s wrist and briefly entwining their fingers, “trust me?”
He really, really wants to storm over to where Lorca’s fiddling with a tricorder, having turned away before he'd even finished speaking. It’s petty as hell, and he’s certain this is Lorca’s way of retaliating for their argument in Engineering hours before the away mission. But Hugh asked a question, and he doesn’t hesitate with the answer.
”Always.”
Hugh squeezes his hand once, checks that Landry is busy peering into the forest around them with paranoia, and briefly caresses Paul’s cheek. Paul leans into the touch, stiffening when Landry walks their direction, but she’s focused on the rocks on the next ridge over and doesn't even seem to register their presence.
He lets Hugh go with reluctance, stuffing the words he wants to say back down. As it stands, he knows Hugh’s right (he usually is, even if Paul’s being stubborn) and he needs to stay on this side of the insubordination line. He’s never been one to keep his mouth shut when he has an opinion, but there’s no point in antagonizing the Captain further.
Even if he's an asshole.
Paul originally beamed down to investigate the trace elements in the atmosphere that might be applicable to spore enrichment, enjoying the chance for some boots-on-the-ground science. He'd been pleasantly surprised when Hugh joined him to take readings on local flora with radiation detoxifying properties. While they’re completely capable of maintaining a professional distance while on duty, it would have been the perfect chance to spend a few hours together off the ship and away from prying eyes.
Enter Lorca to spoil it, as usual. Beyond how much he’s disgusted by the man’s bellicose bent, Paul can’t quite put his finger on what it is about Lorca that makes his stomach tighten. Exactly why Lorca insisted on being part of the away team is still a mystery, although it probably has to do with whatever he and Landry spend hours together in his top-secret lab discussing. Weapons research, he supposes, and since the planet’s crust is rich with iridium, it’s possible he has a legitimate scientific interest. Either way, he's dancing on Paul's last nerve, and being deprived of Hugh for the night is a step in the wrong direction for his fragile sense of calm.
Spending the night cut off from the ship due to an ion storm wouldn't be too bad even with Lorca there, if he has Hugh’s steady breathing at his back. Of course, now he’s stuck with Landry’s suspicious vigilance. He doesn’t necessarily dislike her as a person, but as an extension of Lorca’s interference, she’s just a reminder of how much he hates this damn war.
”Go on,” Landry appears seemingly out of nowhere, and Paul flinches at her stealthy approach. “I’ll take watch, get some sleep. And keep your phaser out, Lieutenant, who knows what’s watching.”
He’d really rather not sleep with a weapon next to him. Landry’s stare follows him into the tent though, and he does his best to ignore it. Hugh is silhouetted in the light from the setting suns, and he takes a moment to appreciate his partner’s form before lying down and staring at the fabric walls.
A minute later, he gives in to the urge to check, and yep, that is a phaser under Landry's pillow. Great.
********
”So. Doctor.”
”Captain.”
”You been on the front lines before?”
Lorca has his back turned, still doing something with his tricorder that Hugh hasn’t been able to catch a glimpse of.
”No.”
Hugh briefly wonders if he can keep conversation to monosyllables, but it’s not actually an option when he needs to address the issue at hand. He considers and discards a few different openings, ultimately deciding that charm and understanding are a lost cause and going with directness.
”Sir, were you aware that Lieutenant Stamets is my partner?”
It’s not really a question, despite the polite phrasing. He’s sure Lorca knows, which makes his instructions all the more grating.
”Yes, I am aware of that, Doctor.”
”Then you know, sir, that it’s standard practice not to separate an officer from their partner unless it’s specifically necessary for safety or completing mission objectives.”
It's a practice grounded in the understanding that any factor that improves emotional stability is seen as positive. It's also a courtesy normally extended, at least informally, to any intimate relationship recognized by the officer in charge. He and Paul are listed as each other's next of kin and have a registered partnership on file with Starfleet (for locations and cultures where associations short of a marriage or its equivalent may not be given weight), on top of sharing quarters on the crew manifest. It might be below the Captain's notice for a pair of junior officers, but for the chief engineer and senior medical officer?
“I’m familiar with the protocol.”
Despite his replies, Hugh gets the distinct impression that Lorca’s more interested in whatever he’s scanning than the conversation Hugh’s trying to have. He waits for him to elaborate, perhaps to say that he’s found the solution to ending the war or otherwise explain why he’s not paying attention to a member of his medical staff. Not unexpectedly, Lorca does neither, and Hugh counts slowly to one hundred in Spanish and Standard before coming to the conclusion that it’s not going to happen. Homophobia hasn't existed as an institutionalized bias on Earth in well over a century, so he can't imagine what Lorca's excuse is going to be.
”Then may I ask, Captain, why you’ve assigned the sleeping arrangements to have the Lieutenant with Commander Landry and not myself?”
At last, Lorca sets down the tricorder and looks over his shoulder. He pats the boulder next to the one he’s sitting on, and jerks his head to the side, beckoning. Hugh can’t think of an acceptable reason to refuse, even though he'd much rather stay standing. When he’s seated, Lorca turns to face him.
“Because I wanted to speak with you privately, Doctor Culber. And Stamets will be perfectly safe with Landry.”
Hugh successfully manages not to roll his eyes at the implication.
“Privately? About what?”
”You know, Doctor, how many species there are in the universe? Billions. Every kind of evolutionary process, but they all have one thing in common. War.”
Lorca seems to be waiting for some sort of response before continuing, satisfied when Hugh inclines his head in acknowledgement. He's not interested in a discussion on the philosophy of war, but perhaps it will give him more insight into Lorca's psyche.
”And in pursuing war, one needs to know the enemy in the flesh, so to speak, to find their weaknesses and exploit them.”
Something cold trickles down Hugh’s spine. This doesn’t sound like a Starfleet Captain, not even one as battle-hardened and potentially PTSD-stricken as Lorca. Hugh takes care of his body, is trained in hand-to-hand combat as part of his fitness routine, but there's an unspoken menace in the Captain's bulk.
"With all due respect sir, I prefer to advocate for peace."
”Can I count on you to help me win this war?”
Hugh phrases his response carefully to ensure that nothing in it can be misconstrued or turned back against him.
”You can count on me to uphold the oaths I took, both as a physician and a Starfleet officer.”
“Are you a pacifist, Doctor?”
The word twists into something insulting on Lorca’s tongue.
”I’m a medical officer. I swore to do no harm.”
”If a Klingon had a bat’leth to Lieutenant Stamets’ throat, would you pick up a weapon to stop it?”
Well. That went downhill quickly. He doesn’t miss Lorca’s choice of pronoun to suggest that Klingons aren’t people.
“Captain, I believe we have a fundamental difference in our interpretations of my profession. Waging war and defense of one’s self and others are not equally matched.”
Hugh stares at Lorca, trying to look past the hardness in his eyes for a trace of the decorated pre-war officer still inside. He’s unsuccessful.
”Different situation. Klingon still wants to kill your partner, you have a choice to stop it and potentially get killed in the process, which would cause a great deal more harm to the patients you would deprive of treatment. Do you walk away?”
”I fail to see the likelihood of that occurring. Sir.”
A muscle twitches in his jaw, teeth clenched, and he knows Lorca sees it by the predatory way he leans forward.
”Answer the question, Doctor Culber.”
”You’ve presented a highly improbable scenario.”
“And if I order you to do nothing, what then?”
He works hard to not think about the situation suggested, because he knows what he would do. Medicine is a vocation, but he wouldn't think twice about risking his own life for Paul. As for whatever Lorca is trying to do here...
”You’re the Captain, sir, but respectfully, medical is outside your chain of command should one reasonably determine that following an order would put the lives of the crew in danger. And that includes Lieutenant Stamets.”
Lorca grunts, picking up his tricorder again.
“In war, relationships are liabilities.”
"You'll forgive me if I disagree with that statement."
A humorless bark of laughter, then Lorca waves his hand in clear dismissal.
”This has been an...enlightening conversation, Doctor. And tell Landry she can keep an eye on both of you."
It's not necessarily tacit permission to kick Landry out of the tent, particularly if she decides to cite protocol with their ranks. On the other hand, Medical is its own service entirely, and he'd like to think she's not actively interested in whatever game Lorca seems to be playing.
Thankfully, she accepts his, "I'll be heading to sleep" and gesture at the tent where Paul is (probably not) sleeping with a shrug.
"Suit yourself, Doc. Just dump my stuff outside. Extra phaser in there too. I know you medical types don't like it, but it's there to keep you safe."
As expected, Paul is wide awake when he crawls in, rolling over to face him with a sharp retort that dies on his tongue when he sees Hugh. He frowns, watching in silence as Hugh sets Landry's pack outside and seals the canvas, setting the sensor embedded in the fabric to alarm if opened from the outside.
"Hugh...?"
"Not now, babe. Just...scoot over?"
Starfleet survival gear isn't intended for two full grown adult human males to share a sleeping bag, but the ambient temperature is warm enough that they don't need it to be zipped shut.
"What did Lorca want?"
Hugh shakes his head, gathering Paul closer in his arms, letting the steady rise and fall of his chest soothe the raw nerves created by Lorca's prodding.
"Still trying to figure it out."
"Is that your way of telling me to shut up and go to sleep?"
Paul's lips are warm and welcoming, and the kiss works wonders to settle Hugh's thoughts.
"Yes."
"Okay. But you're gonna tell me whatever Captain Hardass said to you when we get back."
"Deal," he sighs, "goodnight, love."
"Goodnight, dear doctor."
He hums quietly until Paul falls asleep a few minutes later, but Hugh's brain won't shut off. Landry's footsteps pass by the tent every ten minutes, regular as a chrono, and he stares up at the canvas. There's something off about Lorca, he thinks, stroking Paul's hair gently, need to keep an eye on that. For both our sakes.
Notes:
Hugh is a healer, and I can only imagine how off-kilter Lorca's attitude would feel. This is my headcanon for why Lorca was so quick to separate Paul from Hugh's care, because he'd already had a prior encounter with Hugh's protective nature.
Chapter 48: Situation
Notes:
Set after “If Memory Serves” and before “Project Daedalus”.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul’s heading off shift when his PADD dings. He waits until the turbolift doors shut before tapping the screen to check. The message is brief, and he frowns as he reads:
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Just got this, meet you there.
>>Forwarded message
[Rhys-Gen-LT/OPS] Can you grab Stamets?
[Detmer-Keyla-LT/OPS] Game night cancelled. We have a Situation, need Stamets and Dr. C if you can. Obs H.
The communication is unsettling for multiple reasons, the most obvious being that he and Hugh aren’t exactly on speaking terms. More to the point, Paul’s been avoiding him since he moved out, down to taking new routes to Engineering and eating at odd times just so they don’t cross paths. He tells himself it’s for Hugh’s sake, but it’s really so that he doesn’t end up breaking down in public.
Detmer and the rest of the Bridge crew are more than aware of it all, so for her to ask for them both isn’t just Keyla being forgetful. Sighing, he orders a new destination and types out as brief a response as he can manage.
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENG] Any idea what it’s about?
The turbolift changes direction with a barely perceptible whir, and he taps his foot impatiently.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR-MED] Your guess is as good as mine.
The last Situation involved one of the junior officers badmouthing Owosekun, and he isn’t keen on a repeat. Detmer’s euphemism had stuck, becoming code for a serious rather than purely social off-duty gathering.
Game Night had been Tilly and Detmer’s instigation, with a lot of support from Airiam. Though he’d never admit it, Paul suspected it was also an excuse to lock themselves in one of the lounges and gossip. It’s not something he and Hugh used to join together, usually spending a mutual evening off ensconced in their quarte-
He quickly shunts that thought aside before the memories of happier times (curling up together to watch a holonovel, Hugh’s hand warm on his thigh; arguing about opera until spirited debate turns to passion) can assault his already fragile equilibrium.
Because the universe has a perverse sense of humor, he meets Hugh coming from the other direction, fingers accidentally brushing a white sleeve as they turn down the corridor to Observation Lounge H. He cringes back, too late to prevent his body’s instinct to reach for the man next to him. There’s no doubt in his mind that Hugh picked up on it too, but he stares resolutely ahead and pretends it didn’t happen.
The panel requests a voiceprint for entry, something Game Night hasn’t ever required before. They share a frown as Hugh identifies them both, waiting on the system to process. Hearing Hugh say his name in a completely dispassionate tone hurts, and he studiously examines the toes of his boots until the doors open.
Lounge H is so unpopular that the odds of anyone else wandering in are slim to none even without a lock. Their friends apparently need them both, and Paul clamps down on the fear that they’re planning to stage some sort of ill-advised intervention.
It’s a smaller room, well off the main corridor and seldom used due to its less than ideal view of the starboard exhaust ports. Tonight, the kadis-kot table and tri-dimensional chess boards sit abandoned. Instead, Detmer, Rhys, and Owosekun sit huddled around someone on the couches in the corner. Judging by Burnham’s concerned expression where she’s seated on the coffee table facing the couch and the shock of red hair visible over Detmer’s shoulder, it’s Tilly in the middle of the pile.
As they approach, Rhys looks up and beckons them closer. Tilly’s sniffling into a tissue, face flushed and hands balled into fists. She’s shaking her head, seemingly in response to whatever Detmer is murmuring. Paul’s concern deepens when they get close enough to catch her words.
”-tell us, but we want to help.”
Burnham scoots over to let them join her on the table, letting go of Tilly’s knee to do so and inadvertently getting her attention.
”...-sir?”
Her hiccup sounds raw and miserable, but before Paul can do much more than open his mouth, Hugh is already speaking.
”We’re off duty, it’s just Paul and Hugh. Remember?”
He waits for her nod, unsnapping his collar and pulling the zipper on his jacket open to toss it on a nearby chair. Paul almost misses the significant look from Hugh, too busy wracking his brain to figure out what’s going on. For a split second as they communicate silently, it’s as though nothing has changed, as if the last few months never happened. Reality comes crashing back in a moment after he catches on, shedding his own uniform jacket with its rank insignia.
Burnham’s side eye feels like a ton of duranium, clearly noticing that he and Hugh aren’t on opposite sides of the room. She opens her mouth, but for once Paul is saved by Tilly’s timing.
”Wha- what’re you...doing ‘ere?”
”Sorry Syl,” Rhys interjects, “thought I’d call for backup. Didn’t mean to surprise you.”
Paul isn’t sure how the two of them became backup, but that can wait for later.
Shut up Stamets, there is no two of you anymore.
”Hey,” Hugh’s voice is the gentle tone he uses on frightened patients, “what’s wrong?”
Tilly presses her lips into a thin line before dropping her head forward onto Burnham’s shoulder.
“...sn’t matter. S-sorry, I- I shoul- shouldn’t be. Upset. Should be used to. It now.”
She waves a hand vaguely in Owosekun’s direction, who turns towards them and he’s shocked by the barely-contained anger on her face.
”Her mother commed.”
Paul’s eyebrow climbs. The monthly calls from Tilly’s mother tend to leave her frustrated and (on more than one occasion) hurt, but he hasn’t seen this level of upset before.
”I think this reaction rates more than the usual.”
Just then, the door opens to admit Airiam, looking very much like she’s on a mission as she heads straight to the group. The table’s getting a bit crowded, and Paul spares an appreciative glance at Hugh’s biceps flexing before he can stop himself when Hugh hauls one of the other couches closer. Paul yields his spot to Airiam, grateful to sit on something softer and both relieved and disappointed to no longer have the heat of Hugh’s thigh pressed against his hip.
”I’m so sorry, Tilly.”
The synthetic pitch of Airiam’s voice conveys genuine sadness.
Paul tries hard to keep his tone level, no point in upsetting Tilly with misinterpreted frustration.
”Could someone please explain what’s happening?”
Owosekun inclines her head, eyes flicking over to Tilly again.
”It’s okay,” Tilly mumbles, “you c’n say.”
Rhys makes a quick trip to the synthesizer, and Owosekun waits until he’s back with a glass of water for Tilly before speaking.
“Her mother called, and told Tilly that she’s pulling her out of the Command Training Program.”
Hugh flicks his eyes at Paul before he can ask the obvious next question, the can she do that? dying on his lips. Owo sees it anyway, and gives Airiam a significant look.
”At 1918, Bryce transferred a comm to Captain Pike with a diplomatic identification.”
Paul ignores the way Hugh’s shaking his head at him.
”Could it just be a coincidence? Ambassador Sarek maybe?”
”Doubtful,” Airiam replies at the same time Burnham shakes her head.
”My father has no reason to speak to the Captain until we have further information.”
“The signal was Earth-based,” Airiam continues. “I checked.”
”She’s coming here, and I told her not to but she’s going to anyway and she’s going to ruin everything, why can’t she just ignore me like she always did before...”
Tilly trails off with a moan before dissolving into a fresh wave of tears.
Airiam gestures, glancing at Paul’s PADD abandoned on the table behind Burnham. He nods, watching as her fingers fly over it. Burnham is being awfully quiet, he thinks, until he sees how completely impassive her face is. That’s never a good sign.
“I’ve created a transcript,” Airiam murmurs and offers the device back. “It wasn’t an encryption, I overheard the Captain take the call from the lab.”
What he sees makes his blood boil, and the PADD clatters to the floor. Paul’s on his feet before his brain even catches up, but only manages two steps towards the door before Hugh grabs the back of his shirt. He’s oddly gratified that his former partner was paying enough attention to react that quickly, even if he’s painfully aware of the heat from his hand inches away from Paul’s skin.
”Let go, Hugh.”
”Not until you tell me where you’re going.”
Rhys retrieves the PADD, scans it, and hands it to Detmer. She takes a look, carefully transfers custody of Tilly to Burnham and Owo, and nods at Rhys. The two of them stand, skirting the table to join Paul.
”We’re going with you,” Detmer states, “he’ll have to listen to us.”
”Paul, what’s going on?”
Hugh’s question penetrates the blood pounding in his ears, and he tries to stay calm enough to speak, pitching his voice low to avoid upsetting Tilly further.
“Airiam heard her tell Captain Pike that she feels her daughter has misled him into believing she’s suitable for command, and she is too emotionally unstable and lacks the resolve necessary to ever be responsible for anyone else’s life.”
Burnham gently releases Tilly’s hands and tugs Airiam’s elbow until she too stands, leaving Tilly clinging to Owo.
”Airiam,” she asks quietly when they’re a foot away, “what exactly did the Captain say?”
“He said that it was a very serious matter and he looked forward to discussing it with her in person, particularly since she’s invoking Medical Reg 14/Delta.”
“Fuck.”
It’s an extremely rare public use of profanity, and Paul’s head whips around to stare at Hugh.
“She’s coming here to convince him that her daughter should be relieved of duty and sent home. And she plans to use her diplomatic immunity to bypass the required psych evaluation.”
His fist tightens abruptly before he lets go of Paul’s shirt, rolling his shoulders in a way that suggests he’d really like to punch something. Or someone.
”Come on.”
Detmer turns towards the door, the other three on her heels, when Burnham catches her shoulder.
”Wait.”
“Why?”
Beside him, he can feel Hugh radiating protective anger, the kind formerly reserved for anyone who came after Paul.
”We would be just as guilty of a breach of propriety if you go directly to the Captain.”
”Michael,” Detmer sounds like she’s speaking through clenched teeth, “to hell with propriety. He didn’t send it to his ready room so it’s not technically a private conversation.”
”I mean, it could negatively impact your records, regardless of how warranted your anger is.”
Rhys crosses his arms.
”You have a better idea?”
”I-“
**”Ensign Tilly, please report to the ready room.”**
They all flinch when Captain Pike’s page comes through, but Tilly jerks as if she’s been hit by phaser fire.
”Tilly...”
Hugh is at her side in a couple of long strides as Tilly struggles to her feet and turns a sickly pale, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and reaching for her wrist to check her pulse. Her other hand is limp in Owo’s grasp, and she starts hyperventilating.
”Ohgod ohgod she’s here and I can’t stop it, I can’t stop her I can’t, I can’t-“
”Breathe,” Hugh is in full doctor mode, “Tilly, I need you to slow down. That’s it, slow breath in, slow breath out.”
“I- I’m. I don’t. Have to.”
”I’m about to beam you straight to Sickbay-“
”You can’t! She’ll- she’ll tell Captain Pike it’s proof that I can’t, I-“
“Tilly, your heart is beating too fast and if you don’t- medical, transport two to-“
”Belay that,” Michael looks far too calm, “it'll be okay. Come on Tilly, we’ll all go with you.”
“Michael...?”
”Trust me, Tilly, you want to be there.”
”Promise? Don’t lie to me, Michael, I can’t take it, not today, not right now.”
”Yes.”
No one moves as Michael taps the comm panel on the wall and acknowledges the summons. If anyone on the bridge thinks it’s odd that Tilly isn’t responding directly, they don’t say anything.
”Airiam, Owo, Rhys, you go ahead and check the hall’s clear.”
She’s using the command tone, the one Paul imagines she learned from Philippa Georgiou. There’s something galvanizing in her confidence, and he wonders if he’s seeing the rising star she was as the Shenzhou’s first officer. The three of them nod, and are gone out the doors a moment later.
Michael grabs their discarded jackets off the chair and turns to follow.
“Paul.”
His focus shifts from Michael to where Hugh is holding Tilly’s elbow, and he moves to the opposite side, tucking her other hand in the crook of his arm.
“Hey kiddo,” he murmurs, hating the way her tiny smile wobbles before collapsing, “Michael says it’ll be okay. Lets get you up there.”
********
Old habits never vanish, he muses sadly as they move towards the turbolift, strides perfectly in sync with Hugh’s while he keeps up a soft one-sided conversation with the woman between them.
A half-step behind, Detmer is still arguing with Burnham.
”We can’t let her get away with it,” Detmer spits out.
“I’m not suggesting that.”
”Then what?”
Paul glances over his shoulder to see Michael smiling slowly, and it’s not a nice expression.
“All of the ambassadors and lead diplomats are currently supposed to be on Vulcan for a Federation Council meeting. I’m sure my father would not be pleased to hear that one of them has left the closed session and travel to a ship where her daughter is stationed without an official reason. It would create the appearance of a very unprofessional conflict of interest, particularly since her daughter’s commanding officer has not agreed.”
Airiam, Rhys, and Owo are nowhere to be seen, but the turbolift is open and waiting.
”Fourteen/delta requires concurrence from the patient’s commanding officer,” Hugh picks up the thread once the doors close after casting a worried glance at Tilly’s distant stare, “as well as a medical record with substantiated evidence of diminished capacity.”
”But she’s a diplo-“
Burnham raises a hand, cutting Paul off.
”It doesn’t matter. Without the Captain’s agreement, it can’t be used as a reason to breach the closed session. And I see no transmission indicating that he’s submitted any request, as well as the fact that Captain Pike has no reason to believe it.”
”So, where does that leave us?”
”I trust the Captain on this one. He wouldn’t have let Airiam hear it unless he wanted us to know. And he wouldn’t want us to know unless he also plans to ask for our assistance.”
The turbolift stops, doors opening into the short corridor leading to the ready room.
Tilly stops two steps away from the ready room doors, sniffling once and wiping her hands over her face. She frowns, taking in the way they’re hovering.
“Are you all...coming in with me?”
Michael only smiles, tapping the panel next to the door.
”Of course.”
Pike’s acknowledgement is immediate.
”Come.”
Tilly squares her shoulders, and the doors open.
Notes:
This began as a lighter tale of everyone going into full protective mode when Tilly has her heart broken, and it evolved into a whole lot more. Not 100% happy with the flow, and still trying to figure out how to write a second part.
Chapter 49: Supposition
Notes:
Takes place during “Choose Your Pain” after Michael takes Hugh to Engineering to try and convince Paul not to use the tardigrade.
Chapter Text
The spore bay doors close behind him, and Hugh shakes his head to clear it before heading off down the corridor. Burnham is intensely driven by good intentions, but he doubts she’ll be able to break through Paul’s focus on the drive.
Waiting for the turbolift, he wonders what she made of their interaction. It’s possible that-
“Doctor Culber!”
As if on cue, Burnham jogs up behind him as the lift doors open. He holds the carriage, smiling and waving her in.
”No need to run, I’m not going anywhere.”
She slows to a fast walk, nodding gratefully as the doors close behind her.
”Medbay,” he orders, watching out of the corner of his eye as Burnham shifts in apparent indecision.
”Doctor.”
He doesn’t comment on her lack of a specific destination, wondering if she’s worked it out yet.
“Yes?”
”Back in Engineering. Lieutenant Stamets wasn’t receptive to my suggestion.”
”The Lieutenant doesn’t appreciate interference with his work.”
”Its not just that,” her frown turns thoughtful, “confounding factors. If I may, Doctor, he seemed almost...resentful of your presence.”
Hugh can’t decide if he should smile or groan. Instead, he settles on a wry glance.
“Not exactly.”
“Computer, halt turbolift.”
He turns to face her fully and can almost see the wheels in her head turning, like intricate Vulcan machinery. It’s a privilege to witness a powerful intellect in action, even if the issue isn’t vital in the grand scheme of things.
”Permission to speak freely, Doctor.”
”You don’t have to ask me for that, but I appreciate the intention.”
Her expression is a mix of bemused and something vaguely resembling impressed.
”Andorians don’t have tonsils.”
”Technically, they do have organs analogous to tonsils, but they’re vestigial at this point in their evolutionary progression.”
“Second, sir,” she levels an eyebrow at him and he smiles, knowing they’re on the same page, “I believe you’re the CMO.”
Hugh shrugs cheerfully.
”That’s me.”
”So...” the wheels are turning again, “you offered a reason which someone who has been on this ship ought to know at least one of the things you said isn’t logical.”
It could sound accusatory, but from Burnham it’s merely a statement of facts.
”Given that Lieutenant Stamets is the chief engineer, one would assume, even if he isn’t familiar with xenobiology, that he would know it to be false.”
He doesn’t reply out loud, but gestures for her to continue.
”Forgive me, but do you and the Lieutenant not get along? Nothing else explains why he would address you with a lack of respect, if only for a fellow officer, but also given your position on the ship.”
Ahh. Vulcan logic does have its limits after all.
”I can see how you would come to that conclusion, but no.”
“I...don’t believe there’s another conclusion to be made with the situation?”
”Computer, resume turbolift,” he orders, grinning widely.
Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t say anything else for the twenty seconds before the lift comes to a halt. The doors swish open, and he‘s out before she can do more than open her mouth.
”Consider your observations from a different angle.”
”Doctor?”
He nods at her, stepping back out of range of the door sensors.
”It’ll make sense when you do.”
Her raised eyebrow follows him down the corridor.
Chapter 50: Suggestive
Notes:
Dialogue-only again.
Chapter Text
“Hugh?”
”Mmmm...”
”Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.”
”S’okay, I was-“ yawn “-waiting for you to get back.”
”I’m here now.”
”Mmhmmm. C’mere.”
“Still dressed though.”
”Don’t care. Long day, missed you.”
”Missed-“ kiss “-you too.”
”S’good.”
”Yeah, it- uhhh....”
”Hmmm?”
”Hugh, is that a hypospray in your pocket or are you happy to see me?”
”You’re lucky I love you, that’s a terrible line.”
”No, really, I mean...”
”Uhhh huh.”
”Seriously.”
”Wha-? Oh. Sorry love, forgot to take that out.”
”...okay.”
”I am happy to see you. For the record.”
”You fell asleep with a hypospray. In your pocket.”
”I’m a doctor, this shouldn’t be surprising.”
”This is an actual cliché.”
“Could be worse.”
”Oh?”
”Like the time you had a specimen canister in yours.”
”How many times do I have to apologize for that? I didn’t mean to get stella- spores on your crotch.”
”At least one more time.”
”Okay. I’m-“ kiss “-sorry about that. No more mushrooms in bed.”
”Well...”
”...very funny. Dinner?”
”Sleep.”
”Nap? Then late night food.”
”Deal. Get back here.”
”Comfy?”
”Yes, but my pillow needs to stop talking.”
”Shhhh. Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you in forty.”
”M’kay.”
Chapter 51: Sloshed
Summary:
Paul, Tilly, and Reno get stuck in Engineering after being exposed to a variety of spores whose effect is analogous to alcoholic intoxication.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Sorry Commander,” Michael’s voice is tinged with genuine apology, “Doctor Pollard says you all have to stay down there until the bio filters and air buffers are repaired. We can’t risk it spreading.”
”...great. How la- how long will it take?”
His diction is starting to fade. This can’t be good.
”A couple of hours at least.”
”And what’ll happen to us?”
”The spores you were exposed to have a moderate neurophysiological effect similar to alcoholic intoxication.”
Tilly pauses in her pacing, staring wide-eyed at the comm panel.
”You mean they’re gonna make us drunk?”
”Yes. The magnitude of the effects is directly proportional the degree of exposure. The effects won’t cause permanent damage, but will likely result in lowered inhibitions and lack of fine motor coordination. We’ll keep you updated on progress of the repairs.”
He sighs, resting his head on the console briefly.
”All right. Thanks. Engineering out.”
“Look on the bright side, kiddo,” Reno’s voice drifts up from the floor on the other side of the console, “free relaxation time.”
He peers over to find her lying flat on the deck plates, ankles crossed and arms folded under her head.
”Join me,” she pats the deck next to her, “we can stare at the mood lighting and talk about why you keep trying to date assholes.”
Tilly gives him a side-wise glance, but he just waves her towards Reno. No point in trying to work if they’re going to be the equivalent of drunk.
Space drunk? Spore drunk. Hmmm. Unlike Tilly’s suggestion that adding ‘time’ to any word made it sound more exciting, drunk was just...drunk.
”Room for you too, mushroom lord.”
”No thanks,” he shakes his head and gestures over his shoulder towards the stairs, “I’ll leave you two to your...gossip.”
”Don’t knock it till you try it. Suit yourself though. All right kid,” she turns to Tilly who’s gingerly making herself comfortable on the floor with her back to some crates, “start at the top with it.”
Paul walks across the bay and drops down to sit on the stairs, staring blankly into the spore cube and listens to Tilly and Reno discussing the merits of some-ensign-or-other. He’s got no reason to join them, and realizing that Tilly might not be comfortable talking about it with him in obvious engagement, it wasn’t hard to decline.
Hugh would have loved it, he thinks with a pang. Grief is his constant companion these days, running in parallel with the everyday business of investigating mysterious red bursts and trying to stay out of Section 31’s plots. It’s become such a part of him that it’s no longer even a sharp pain, just an ache that shadows every step.
Really though, Hugh would be sitting right there with Tilly and Reno, listening and laughing and offering gentle advice. He’d use his ability to read people to have a full list of potentially suitable candidates for her by the time they finished detoxing. Probably offering his shoulder for Tilly to cry on too, would let her mascara run over the clean white uniform.
Paul’s watched it all. The first time he saw Hugh in full doctor mode, he knew the profession was a calling and not merely a duty (also...competency is a major turn-on for him). He was the one people went to with problems small and large, for his empathy and understanding. Crew members would somehow instinctively know that Doctor Culber could be trusted, would open up to him. It resulted in Hugh taking on some of the most critical post-trauma cases, making house calls to check up on his patients, always with his endless well of compassion.
He wonders what they thought, seeing Hugh with his wide smile and gentle hands, partnered with Paul’s awkward unease in social situations. Over the years, he’d run up against everything from confusion to bemusement to outright hostility, the last from the occasional person who sought to detach Hugh from him “because he could do better”. It’s a bittersweet set of memories, Hugh flying to Paul’s defense more intensely than his own. They may have argued on occasion, but he never had any reason to doubt Hugh’s commitment to their relationship.
I should have asked him to marry me. We just weren’t ready yet.
Leaning against the railing, it feels like the deck is wobbling slightly. He’s already reaching for his PADD to check the local gravity controls when he remembers their situation. Paul checks anyway, confirming that the environmental settings are indeed all within standard operating parameters, and wonders how much worse it’s going to get. His fingers already feel clumsy and his vision isn’t so sharp either, so reading isn’t an option while they wait this out either.
He closes his eyes and rests his head on the cool metal, focusing on breathing and trying to empty his mind. Predictably, he’s unsuccessful. Thinking about nothing reminds him of all the times Hugh tried to teach him to meditate, unable to quiet his thoughts. He’d even tried having Paul lie in his arms, cheerfully suggesting that maybe the place Paul claimed he felt most relaxed would help. It didn’t work, and Paul went back to covertly watching Hugh when he meditated, seeing the lines of his face relax and breathing slow.
Paul’s the sort of person who tends to be focused either inwards or outwards; lost in thought or unable to ignore his physical surroundings. Today is very much the latter, down to the way the edge of the stairs are cutting into the backs of his thighs, and Tilly and Reno’s increasingly louder conversation. He can’t help but listen.
“...the Captain,” Tilly sounded about two drinks past the comfortably tipsy stage if they’d actually been imbibing alcohol, “...Capt’n Pike, more like Captain Sexypants. Ohmygod Reno, when he first came on the bridge n’I had to repost-reposin- move his hands n’I touched ‘em. He’s got beautiful nailbeds ‘n big hands and dimples Reno, dimples. When ‘e smiles...”
”You got it bad for the man in the big chair, kiddo.”
”C’mon C’mander,” he jumps a little at her cajoling tone, realizing that Tilly means him, “need some backup here.”
”Get over here Stamets, quit moping in the corner.”
He opens his mouth to deny it, but then he thinks, what the hell, why not?
Stumbling a little, he makes his way over, flopping gracelessly on the floor beside Reno who’s still lying on the deck and now has her boots propped up on a crate.
“Oh good. You can help me here. This is the kinda advice your mom should’ve given you, kid.”
Paul watches the sides of Tilly’s mouth turn down at the mention of her mother, and quickly steers the conversation away.
”Why are we discussing the Captain?”
Tilly’s not so much resting on the crate anymore as it’s holding her up. She’d gotten doused in spores, which explained why her symptoms were worse than his or Reno’s.
“Isn’t he so fuckin’ hot? And he looks like a hero, that hair I wanna touch it, looks so soft and every thin’.”
”Don’t think he’s Paul’s type, kid.”
”Why do you always call me tha’? M’not a kid, m’an ado- adult.”
“A bit too shiny and heroic, if you ask me.”
She’s too spore drunk to notice that Reno’s changed the subject, and ten seconds later seems to have forgotten it completely. Paul tosses a knowing look over Tilly’s knees, tipping his head in acknowledgement.
”...much as I hate to say it, Reno’s right.”
”Can we note the day and time where the mushroom lord agreed with me?” She pauses for effect, smirking when Paul rolls his eyes. “The Captain seems like a nice guy. If you’re into that kind of thing.”
”But he’s all silver fox an’ I would totally climb him like a tree. A sexy Captain tree, that smells good.”
He’s torn between amusement and a deeply awkward sense of hearing a younger sibling discussing their sex life. And since when did he-
Oh for fuck’s sake, of course you think of her as family.
They're both staring at him, and he realizes that they expect some sort of answer.
”Sure Tilly, he’s nice looking but he’s not-“
Abruptly, Paul realizes what he’s about to say. It hurts, but the spores make him not care about the pain, Tilly is family and Reno isn't going to make fun of him for this, and he thinks fuck it.
”He’s not as handsome as Hugh.”
”Tilly,” Reno’s voice gentler than he’s ever heard, “Stamets is the kinda guy...falls in love once, and that’s it. I didn’t see how they looked at each other, but I’d lay odds this guy here isn’t gonna even look at anyone else.”
She looks impossibly weary just then, and continues in a tone that says she’s not just talking about him.
”Prob’ly won’t for the rest of his life.”
They share a look full of understanding. Tilly’s frowning, but she’s focused somewhere in the middle distance. He’s not used to her doing her thinking silently.
”M’sorry,” Tilly suddenly sounds a whole lot less intoxicated, “you two just...seemed really happy together. Even tho’ I know I fucked it up by tellin’ tha Doctor ‘bout the side effects. S’just, tha way he looked at you, used to think, ‘f I could find someone like that.”
He looked at me like I was the only thing he could see.
“You didn’t mess up, I should have told him. I- I thought I was protecting him. But it didn’t matter in the end.”
A hand lands on the fist he hadn’t even realized was clenched on his knee. It’s Reno, and she squeezes once before letting go.
Tilly’s eyes are large and sad, and he wishes he hadn’t brought it up, wishes he’d just let it be an exposition of her (slightly Command-obsessed) hero-worshipping crush.
”Of course it mattered. Let me tell you a secret,” Reno nudges Tilly’s ankle to get her attention, but it feels like she’s talking to him. “I’ll deny it when we all sober up, so listen. Things we do out of love, for someone else, even if it hurts us...all the what if and should have aren’t what’s important. It’s caring that much that you do it at all.”
********
It’s close to three hours later when Doctor Pollard finally declares them and the bay purged of contamination. She, along with Michael and Pike, are waiting outside the doors when they open.
Paul doesn’t miss Tilly’s blush when the Captain catches her elbow as she stumbles on the threshold.
Reno shrugs off Doctor Pollard’s scan, declaring that she’s going to have dinner. He sighs, wondering if there’s a way to avoid the medbay without it being obvious. Too many memories there.
“Whaddya say, Stamets?”
”...what?”
He wasn’t focused on whatever Reno asked, but wishes he had been if only to avoid everyone’s attention homing in on him.
”Commander,” Pike’s watching him with mild concern, “Doctor, is he all right?”
She snaps her tricorder shut, tucking the probe back inside.
”They’re all fine. Minor dehydration, low blood sugar, but otherwise certifiable. I’d recommend they all eat something and take a day of rest just in case something changes.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then. Glad to see the spores at least don’t give you a hangover, but listen to the Doctor. Burnham, shift ended two hours ago, why don’t you head out now? Reno, Stamets, try to get some rest. That means out of Engineering for the night.”
Paul nods, watching as Doctor Pollard heads off down the corridor.
“Come on, Tilly,” Michael accepts custody of her from Pike’s careful hold, steadying Tilly’s wobbly knees, “I’ll bring you something, let’s get you settled.”
He waits until they’ve departed, knows Reno is watching him.
”What?”
”Let’s eat. I could use a week on Risa, but synthesized protein is gonna have to do. Coming with?”
He can’t exactly say he was planning to go back to his quarters and hide from everyone’s concern. Well he could, but in reality he’s pretty hungry too, and he suspects Reno isn’t going to bring up anything they said earlier.
”Sure.”
Notes:
This was supposed to be a purely lighthearted look at Tilly’s obvious crush on Pike (can you blame her?), I swear! I don’t regret the opportunity to explore Reno’s more thoughtful and compassionate side, though.
Author’s secret: Time skip because I ran out of ideas to neatly bring it back around to humorous after the seriousness.
Chapter 52: Sore
Summary:
A sensual massage. Post-workout.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul picks up on Hugh’s groan the moment his back hits the mattress. He sets down the PADD, reading everything he needs to in Hugh’s body language.
”You overdid it at the gym, didn’t you.”
His voice is four parts sympathetic and one part chiding, and he knows it hits home when Hugh winces in a way that has nothing to do with how stiffly he’s moving.
”Maybe.”
Rolling onto his side, Paul sets a careful hand on Hugh’s chest, stroking the fabric of his pajama top. The pectoral muscles under his fingers, as delicious as they are to fondle - and he’s spent hours fascinated by the power inherent in Hugh’s sculpted form - feel a little too firm when their owner is supposedly relaxing.
”I’m going to upgrade that to ‘probably’.”
Hugh does look genuinely miserable though, and Paul flicks his thumb over a covered nipple in consolation, rubbing teasing circles.
“Mmmm. Does this mean you’re not too mad at me about it?”
”Who ever said I was mad? I just don’t understand it. You’re-“ he gestures at the length of Hugh’s body, “-this. Already. Perfect.”
“Always work to be done, love.”
The wry twist of his lips suggests dismissal even as the way his lashes dip also says he’s pleased at the compliment. Hugh has a healthy sense of himself, but is also still flustered with Paul’s attention, even after all this time. He can definitely live with that.
”Why’d you push so hard today?”
His fingers wander over Hugh’s torso, tracing lazy patterns across his chest and stomach.
“Couple of Ensigns were on weights, but their form was bad. I didn’t want them to get hurt, so-“
”So you not only corrected them, you also demonstrated proper form.”
Hugh’s smile grows more self-deprecating.
“Yeah.”
Paul tugs at the hem of his shirt.
”If you’re going to get all worked up, I wanna at least appreciate the results.”
It’s a flimsy excuse, but the shirt lands on the floor moments later. Without the barrier of fabric, he can see the visible swell in Hugh’s chest, the cuts between his abdominal muscles even when he’s at rest. He bends to place a series of kisses from navel to sternum, ignoring the way something below his waist gives a hopeful twitch.
Down boy.
He promptly belies the thought by licking an exposed nipple, feeling the solid bulk under his lips as he starts to suckle. The resulting shiver has Hugh arching into his touch, followed immediately by a loud moan that doesn’t sound erotic at all.
“Oh- fuck. Babe-“
”Sorry,” Paul pulls back with an apologetic grimace, “you okay?”
”Yeah,” Hugh groans, gingerly settling back down on the sheets.
”Roll over.”
”What?”
Paul already has a leg swung over Hugh’s waist, reaching for the nightstand on his side.
”Sweetheart, I don’t think I can handle sex tonight.”
He finishes rummaging in the drawer, holding up a bottle of massage oil.
”Who said anything about sex? Now roll over, let me rub your back.”
It takes climbing off Hugh to let him slowly maneuver his sore body, but once he’s sitting astride Hugh’s ass gazing down at the planes of his back, the view is completely worth it.
He pours a puddle of oil into the dip of Hugh’s lower back, thumbs rubbing circles in the dimples there.
“You have all night to stop that,” Hugh mumbles into the pillow, “feels really- owww!”
”Quit trying to push back, and relax, would you?”
”You need to put more pressure on the-“
”I don’t have a medical degree, but I’ll have you know that I’m a certified PhD in all things Hugh, and I know exactly what I’m doing. So quit squirming.”
As he speaks in mock annoyance, Paul’s hands are busy spreading the oil up the valley of his spine, fanning out over his shoulderblades.
”That’s more like it,” he murmurs as the tension lessens just a little when he skirts the trapezius muscles, “let me get you there.”
Ten minutes later, he’s still working on Hugh’s back. His fingers are starting to cramp, but he keeps up even pressure, fingertips seeking out knots and putting years of physical experience with this man into practice.
Eventually, Paul can’t keep up the massage any longer, but he’s pleased with the progress. Hugh’s shoulders slump towards the pillow, and he’s pleased to see that they’re no longer being pulled tight together. He’s also thrusting a little against Hugh’s ass, but he’s only human and Hugh’s body is a work of art, not to mention the fact that his brain is interpreting the soft moans and appreciative noises as something else entirely.
He groans quietly, working his fingers open and closed as Hugh rolls back over underneath him.
”You okay, babe?”
”Mmhmm. I’ll be fine in a minute.”
Paul can’t help noticing that Hugh’s half-hard too, rolling their hips together a few times for the pleasure of it. He’s not going any further, but there’s no reason for them not to enjoy a little tease.
Hugh’s eyes are half-lidded with drowsy relaxation, the frown of pain nowhere to be found. His lips curve in a lazy smile, and he brings his own hands up to rest at Paul’s waist.
”Sorry, still not going to be able to do anything besides lie here.”
He stills, checking the cap is firmly on the bottle of oil and wiping his hands on the sheets (they’re due to change them tomorrow anyway) before climbing off and kissing Hugh affectionately.
“I know, just playing a little.”
Ordering the lights off, Paul pulls the duvet up over them both, arranging himself to curl around Hugh’s side, minimizing the chances of his muscles seizing up again if he’s restless tonight. They share another few caresses, Hugh kissing Paul’s knuckles and palms before closing his eyes.
”Thank you-“ Hugh’s interrupted by a yawn, “-night sweetheart.”
”Goodnight, dear doctor.”
Notes:
Yep, totally possible to be slightly aroused and not have it lead to sex. The intimacy is what I was going for, but Paul’s only human and Hugh is attractive on *so* many levels.
Chapter 53: Sometimes
Summary:
Post-coital conversation about wants, specifically something Paul wants but Hugh is somewhat reticent to give, because he worries too much.
Chapter Text
Hugh’s still riding out the last waves of orgasm, higher functions floating several feet from where they lie tangled and panting on the sheets. Their hearts are pounding, Paul’s knees fallen wide and ankles resting on the back of Hugh’s thighs instead of where they’d been crossed above his ass until a couple of minutes ago. Paul has his arms wrapped around Hugh’s torso, hands rubbing over his back and sliding in the sheen of sweat on both of their skin. He’s also making the occasional soft sound of pleasure, shivering with aftershocks from where they’re still joined.
Sated, Hugh nuzzles further into the dampness of Paul’s neck, unwilling to move despite the mess between them.
“...me.”
His brain sluggishly suggests that Paul might be saying something, but mostly he’s too content to do anything other than concentrate on the rapid rise and fall of the chest beneath his. He’s considerately keeping some of his weight off his partner, elbows braced to either side of his head, so it can’t be that Paul’s having trouble breathing. If he was too sore, Hugh would have a heel tapping insistently on his ass, so it’s not that either.
He lifts his head enough to mumble, “s’that, sweetheart?”
Paul squirms a little, so he pushes up on his arms until they’re face to face.
”I said, you’re usually more careful with me.”
That gets his attention.
The evening hadn’t started well, Paul frustrated with failed drive tests that he took as personal failures. He’d snapped at Hugh about something inconsequential, the kind of behavior that should have evoked a (useless) reminder not to bring his bad mood home. Instead, Hugh had come off shift from patching up a set of cadets whose supposed prank led to the evacuation of two labs, and was running a short fuse too.
(“For heaven’s sake, would you for once consider that you’re not the only one on this ship whose job is frustrating?”
”You’re the one who asked about my day. So now you don’t want me to tell you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
”Then enlighten me, Doctor.”
”Oh for- I didn’t spend hours dealing with cadets completely lacking in common sense and nearly getting each other killed, to come home and deal with this.”
”What’s that supposed to mean?”
”Do I have to explain myself every time?”
”You know what? Fine. You don’t wanna listen, then come shut me up.”)
They’d both known the “argument” couldn’t hold water, but it hadn’t stopped Hugh from marching across the room to slam their mouths together in a kiss that was more teeth and tongue than anything else. Paul’s infuriating smirk was still pasted on his lips when he pulled back, but it vanished the moment his back hit the mattress. Momentary shock turned into primal lust as Hugh followed up by stripping in record time and nearly tearing Paul’s uniform off before climbing on top of him and pinning his arms to the sheets.
Hugh was most often a gentle lover, channeling his affection into sensual pleasure. Seeing the other side come out to play was rare enough that it always felt like Paul did everything in his power to provoke further display, straining to break free and maintaining a challenging stare. It was, to no one’s surprise, a losing battle against Hugh’s superior strength, and he moaned unabashedly as Hugh sucked an obnoxiously large mark into the side of his neck.
All things considered, it was probably the most physically draining sex they’d had in a while - fucking against the wall in the shower notwithstanding - and the fog clears from Hugh’s brain at the cold chill suddenly gripping his body.
”Fuck...I’m so sorry sweetheart, did I hurt you? I didn’t- are you-“
“Whoa, hey,” Paul’s previously boneless legs are now locked tight around his waist, not letting him pull out, “you don’t have to go anywhere.”
Hugh bites the inside of his cheek, taking a moment to actually look at Paul now that he’s halfway to sitting back on his heels. Paul’s torso is streaked with sweat and other fluids, skin flushed with evidence of arousal. There’s a series of purpling love bites scattered over his neck and shoulder, his normally neatly styled hair is in complete disarray, and the lower half of his face is pink with beard burn. He looks completely debauched, the picture of sin in Hugh’s fantasies as his swollen lips curve into a smile.
”I-“
”Hugh,” his voice is amused, “I liked it.”
”...what?”
”I wish you’d be rough with me more often. If you want, I mean.”
He blinks, letting the words sink in.
”So...this long and we haven’t talked about it before?”
Paul slides one hand off his back, curving his palm around Hugh’s jaw, reacting to the hint of uncertainty in his question.
”What I’m saying is, I’ve always enjoyed what we do together. No matter what we’re doing. And I love that you’re careful with me.”
”But...?”
Bracing his feet on the mattress, Paul rolls them over until he’s on top, both sighing as Hugh finally slips free.
“But once in a while, it’s nice to know I can make you lose control. Like holding me down? Hot as fuck.”
”Okay- okay. So you’re telling me all the times in the past it felt like you were deliberately poking at my last nerve?”
The corners of Paul’s eyes crinkle in a conspiratorial smile.
”Not every time. But yeah.”
It makes a large amount of sense, especially recalling instances where arguments led to mind-blowing sex.
“Babe?”
”Yeah?”
Paul’s fingers slip behind his neck to pull him in for a kiss, one far softer than those they’d been sharing.
”Why didn’t you ever ask me. Tell me. Before, I mean.”
”Because I know you. And you, dear doctor, are too worried about hurting me that asking didn’t seem like it would be enjoyable for you. Because you’d spend the whole time thinking too hard.”
He’s not wrong, but Hugh hates the idea that he might be depriving the man he lov-
“Stop it.”
”Stop what?”
”You’re thinking too hard right now. I don’t want to be hurt, that’s not what I mean. But when you get rough, it’s like you’re hungry and you want me to satisfy it, and- fuck, Hugh, you should see yourself. Your eyes.”
”...you’ve totally masturbated to that thought.”
”Obviously.”
They grin at each other in perfect understanding, but Hugh’s expression sobers shortly.
”You don’t worry that I’ll, I don’t know, accidentally-“
Paul’s already shaking his head before he’s even finished the sentence.
”No. Because I know you’ll always listen if I say stop, or if you think I don’t like it. I can be an ass sometimes-“ he smirks as Hugh’s eyebrows raise, “-okay, a lot of the time. And you’ll still come to bed with me.”
Hugh nods, reaching for the towel on the nightstand. They should shower, but he doesn’t feel like moving from where he’s warm and safe under Paul’s weight.
”Of course I do. But next time?” he waits for Paul to pause in wiping down their stomachs, “you don’t have to pick a fight for it.”
”Oh, I wasn’t planning on that. It just sort of tended that direction and I didn’t think it was a good idea to say ‘hey honey, I know you’re a little pissed off right now and projecting it onto me because you can’t tell your patients when they’re being reckless fools, but can you please fuck me until I scream?’ “
His dry delivery makes Hugh laugh, the last of the tension draining away.
”Point taken.”
Paul tosses the towel in the direction of the bathroom doorway before snuggling down onto Hugh’s chest, retrieving the duvet with his foot.
“Do you want the dermal regen before we fall asleep?”
”Hmmm? Oh. No.”
”No?”
“I like it,” he murmurs, “just leave them.”
“Okay.”
They settle more comfortably under the covers and Hugh orders the lights off.
”Do you think we should do a list again?”
”Hmmm?”
Hugh’s questioning hum tickles the hair at the crown of his head.
”Like the one we had before we finally got on Discovery.”
”Oh. Huh. I thought we finished everything on it?”
”Well,” he nuzzles at the sparse hair under his cheek, “we still haven’t done it in the bay with my mushrooms.”
”Paul Stamets, are you trying to get laid for science?” Hugh gasps in mock horror, “As long as you don’t decide to stop in the middle to take readings or something. You sound way too happy about that.”
”I’m combining the two things I love most in the universe, of course that makes me happy.”
”I love you too, sweetheart.”
Notes:
The fluff got away from me again and demanded to be serious.
My headcanon is that Hugh’s compassion and personality leave him with two tendencies for sex: sweet and sensual, or downright filthy.
Chapter 54: Sparkle
Summary:
Post-If Memory Serves, Hugh is faced with reminders of his old self.
Notes:
Written as a later chapter for When Sorrow Turns To Joy, but I couldn't wait to share it. Will likely make its way back into the story for the future, because I have plans for what's mentioned here.
Chapter Text
He's going through the pile of belongings (it's difficult when it should be the easiest thing in the world to think of them as his), laying them out on the bed and handling them on autopilot. Hugh sets aside boxes with old badges holding his rank from Ensign to Lieutenant, wondering if he ought to send them to his mother as keepsakes.
He's not thinking about it much when he lifts a small leather case off the bed. It's worn smooth and shiny with years of handling, and he flicks open the catch with his thumb, letting the contents spill over the sheets. A multitude of bits of jewelry tumble out, and he considers them numbly - his Starfleet Medical ring (his parents bursting with pride at his graduation), a few pairs of cufflinks inherited from his abuelito (his worn, kind face smiling down at an eight year old Hugh, tiny hand held safe as they walked through yet another museum). All things that meant something profound to the old Hugh, carried with him across thousands of light years and over two decades away from home.
The velvet bag underneath them crinkles with real paper inside. He opens it with shaking fingers, pulling out the folded note.
For my dear doctor,
While you're off saving lives across the universe from me...keep these safe. My mom will have both our heads if you lose them.
Love you,
Paul
He stares down at the tiny stud earrings, their diamonds sparkling up from his palm. Paul's great-great-grandmother's earrings, made from her grandmother's wedding ring. A precious heirloom, passed from parent to child for generations in the Stamets family. And Paul gave them to Hugh.
He can't even wear them anymore, not unless he gets his ears re-pierced. It's a minor thing, everything else considered, but a wave of loss crashes over him.
Hugh clenches his fist shut around them, ignoring the prickle of them digging into his skin, and lets the tears come.
Why does he have to feel this?
Chapter 55: Summary
Summary:
Hugh’s personnel file.
Notes:
A deleted scene from season 2 has Pike referring to Hugh as an extremely gifted doctor, one of the best in Starfleet, and I wanted to reflect that below.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
>> Accessing Starfleet personnel file for Culber, Hugh
>> Working...
Name: Culber, Hugh
Species: Human
Planet of origin: Earth, Sol III
Date of birth: December 27, 2210
Degrees: M.D. (specialty: trauma, general medicine, xenobiology)
Commissioned: 2236
Current rank: Lieutenant Commander
Assignment: Chief Medical Officer; U.S.S. Discovery, NCC-1031
Commendations and honors: Graduated magna cum laude (2236); Albert Lasker Basic Medical Research Award (2244); Helene D. Gayle Infectious Disease Research Award (2250)
Next of kin: Stamets, Paul (Lieutenant Commander, Chief Engineer, U.S.S. Discovery)
Partner: Stamets, Paul (Lieutenant Commander, Chief Engineer, U.S.S. Discovery)
Current status: Deceased, 2256 (Mission classified)
>> Personnel file closed
Notes:
Assumptions:
Using Wilson’s birthdate and real age relative to the time Discovery takes place, circa 2256.
Assuming medical school still takes at least five years on top of any pre-graduate study at the Academy / Starfleet Medical.
The Lasker prize is currently the most prestigious award in medicine. Helene D. Gayle is a real life physician notable for her contributions to the field of HIV/AIDS (I thought it seemed fitting that in the future they would have an award in her honor).
Chapter Text
Paul is aware that his mouth is hanging open, cup halfway between the table and his mouth, arrested motion when reality defied expectation.
The humming stranger, who moments ago sat down right beside him, is watching Paul cheerfully. His eyes shine with affable good humor and mischief, his whole manner suggesting that he’s willing to continue humming until Paul says or does something to indicate otherwise.
”...you- wha-how?”
Why is he suddenly so unable to form words?
The man tilts his head and smiles, wide and uninhibited, brilliant white teeth and crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes.
An indescribable feeling washes over him, skin tingling with unexpected warmth. He’s acutely aware of the way the table is just a little sticky under his elbows, how his hair catches on the back of his jacket collar, the smell of coffee from the cup clutched in his hand.
Something twists in his chest, not painful, but more like being unlocked, open to what he’s not sure.
”Hi, I’m Hugh.”
Notes:
Rough times for the world. Here’s hoping a little fluff helps.
Chapter 57: Shelter
Chapter Text
Hugh wakes up slowly, sleep falling away into a drowsy awareness. It’s a rare day where they’re both off shift, and he hopes Paul’s chosen to actually take the day in their quarters instead of finding a reason to be in Engineering.
A less understanding partner might accuse him of being a workaholic and avoiding social obligation. Hugh knows better - Paul can’t stop the way his brain constantly turns over problems, suggests solutions, innovates. It overrides everything else, and that’s just how he’s wired.
What he can do, and that’s where Hugh gives himself space to be annoyed, is at least do that thinking in the same room together. It costs him nothing and does them both good if he’s frowning at a PADD and making calculations on the couch beside Hugh, or sitting on the bed while Hugh reads his own medical journals.
Preferably, though, not during sex. There’s nothing more off-putting than realizing the moment Paul’s having a scientific epiphany when Hugh is enthusiastically going down on him.
As he wakes up further, the heat pressed along his front tells him that Paul is still in bed. His pleased smile widens when he realizes that Paul’s tucked up facing him, arms folded to his own chest and head under Hugh’s chin. Paul’s face is buried in the valley of Hugh’s pectoral muscles, lips brushing his sternum with every breath, and Hugh gently smooths damp hair away from his cheek.
The war is still going on around them. Paul is being stretched to the limits of his brilliant mind by the demands of more, faster, better, and it’s slowly eating away at his ability to rest at all. Today, then, Hugh is going to cradle him close and let him sleep as long as possible. It’s an illusion, of course, but he can pretend that Paul will be safe - that they’ll both make it through this - if Hugh just loves him hard enough. And he plans to love him for the rest of his life.
Chapter 58: Shelter, Part Two
Summary:
Continues from the previous chapter.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul wakes up slowly, gradually becoming aware again of the presence of his own body, his weight on the sheets, the space he fills. He doesn’t dream much these days - nightmares don’t count. Instead, he comes to with an immediate sense safety, the kind of feeling that tinges memories of sitting on his grandfather’s shoulders as a child, leaning forward precariously and knowing Grandpa would never let him fall.
The air is humid, breathed against the surface his cheek is pillowed on. It rises and falls in steady, even motions, and he shifts with it, burrowing further into the solid warmth. There’s something else he’s now faintly aware of beneath his lips - a vibration? - a regular, if muffled, thump.
A heartbeat.
Skin, the taste of salt-sweat with slumber.
Fingers combing through his hair, soft bristles against his forehead.
A familiar smell that makes him think of golden sunlight spilling over his face, of laughter and deep contentment.
Hugh.
Without opening his eyes, Paul locates one hand fisted beneath his chin and opens it to splay his fingers over the expanse of skin under his nose.
Thump. Thud thump.
His world tips slightly and he makes a noise of disquiet when his face is shifted away from its warm hiding place. The scratch of beard vanishes, replaced by lips pressing firmly to his temple, and his protesting whine trails off into a sigh.
”Good morning, sweetheart.”
Notes:
The scene in my head is all in a sort of hazy, soft focus that gradually sharpens as Paul wakes up. It’s such a small thing, but trying to capture this intimate moment in their tiny pocket of reality makes me happy.
Chapter 59: Suggestiveness
Summary:
Poor Tilly just can't seem to catch a break with these two.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Lieutenant Stamets? I finished those calculations we were talking about on the spore decay rate, and-”
"...Cadet?"
Tilly blinked rapidly as her very disheveled boss emerged from the lab, hair in more disarray than she thought his coif would ever tolerate even without his intervention, and eyes a bit glazed. Behind him, Doctor Culber followed him out with a twinkle in his eye that could only be described as smug.
While Stamets seemed flustered, fumbling with the PADD clutched firmly in front of his hips, Doctor Culber merely nodded at her and placed a gentle hand at the small of Stamets' back to steady him as he swayed in place.
"Sir, are you...okay?"
"Ummm."
"He's fine, Tilly. Just a bit of dizziness and a headache."
"Dizzi- okay. Right. Are you sure, sir? I mean, not that I'm questioning your medical opinion, you being the doctor and all, but is he okay to still be here?"
Doctor Culber glances sideways at Stamets, waiting for the man to respond.
"...no. What do you- No, I'm fine. Thank you, Doctor," he clears his throat, "Tilly. Calculations?"
Giving them both a cheerful smile - and Tilly really appreciated how natural it looked on him, instead of the fake professional smile other doctors seemed to have - Doctor Culber walked out of Engineering.
"So I looked at the equations again, and I realized that maybe our constant needed to be different. Like, of course time is a thing, but since they're disconnected from our quantum reality, maybe that shouldn't be a constraint?"
Stamets frowned, staring off into the distance for a few seconds, clearly turning the idea over in his head. Then he held out his hand for the PADD, setting his own down on the console next to them.
"Hmmm...could be. But we'd have to account for the differential in- what?"
Tilly was sure she was almost as red as her hair, eyes flicking downwards and back up again.
"Uhh, nothing! Nothing, sorry sir."
"Okaaaay. So, we'll have to make a second set of equations that can adjust for- are you listening?"
”Ummm sir?”
”Yes?”
”Is that a ummm...in your- I mean, I didn’t mean to look but it was just there and I wasn’t looking looking, and uhhh oh god. Sir, is that uhhh something in your pocket?”
Paul’s eyebrows raised higher the longer Tilly spoke. He followed her glance down quizzically. A definite ridge ran diagonal from his groin nearly all the way to his hip.
"Oh. That."
Unzipping his pocket, Paul fished out an empty hypospray.
"Huh. Guess I forgot to give this back."
Tilly blurted something that sounded like, “ohgoditwasntimsorryithoughtitwas," before clapping her hand over her mouth.
"Cadet?"
"Nothing. Nothing, I mean, why wouldn't you have a hypo in your pocket? The Doctor probably uhhh left it and you put it in there and meant to bring it back to him later, but given how- uhhh, sorry. Sorry, sir, can we please keep talking about the equations?"
That was definite side-eye, but Tilly gritted her teeth and stared resolutely at the PADD until he resumed his earlier train of thought.
Five hours left on shift. Keep your eyes above the waist, Tilly, and get your mind out of the gutter.
Notes:
...for some reason this chapter ended up in a different verb tense. Oops?
Chapter 60: Seduce
Summary:
Comm sex before they’re reunited on Discovery. Absolutely filthy dirty talk, sexy times, and a side order of feelings.
Notes:
Mild, consensual verbal domination, please skip this chapter if you're not comfortable with it.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“...I want to watch you.”
”Are you offering to return the favor, or is this just a private show?”
”Oh sweetheart, this is definitely private.”
”That’s not an answer.”
”Do you really have to ask?”
”No, but it stands to-“
”Babe, would you shut up and take your pants off?”
”Is that an order, Commander?”
”Do you want me to make it one?”
”If you want to.”
”Hmmmm. What’s gotten into you today?”
”Not you.”
”...”
”Sorry. Just, I miss you. And your dick, but you know that already.”
”Yeah. Just a few more weeks though, love. Then you can have me every night, as much as you want.”
”I’m going to hold you to that.”
”I’m going to hold you. All night, so close.”
”Promise?”
”Yes.”
”I hate the waiting.”
”I thought you’d be too busy masturbating over the specs to your lab to worry about it.”
”Oh, the bay is going to be amazing. But it doesn't kiss me or go down on me in the shower. As soon as we’re together, I’m fucking you on every flat surface in our quarters.”
”Mmmm, I love it when you talk dirty. Our quarters. Think you can last long enough?”
”Hugh, I’m probably going to come in my pants from kissing you.”
"Might be better to get the first one out of the way quick, then we can spend a few hours making all of your fantasies come true."
"Gonna pick me up and fuck me against the viewport?"
”Mmmhmmm. Tell me more.”
”I’ll- I’ll just. Ummmm...”
”What?”
”Are you touching yourself? You know how bad I am at this.”
”You’re better than you think.”
”I’d rather show you.”
"Well hello there, are you happy to see me?"
"Can I see some skin? Please?"
”Oh. Oh, yes. Here- hang on...that’s better.”
”Fucking...how hard are you hitting the gym, Hugh?”
”Don’t change the subject.”
”I’m not. Believe me.”
”Focus, babe.”
”You’re naked. All I can think about is rubbing off on your abs.”
”That I could get behind.”
”I’d rather you got behind me.”
”Oh, we can do that too. But for now- I want your pants off.”
”Or what?”
”I want your pants off Lieutenant. Now.”
”...fuck.”
“I’m waiting.”
”Okay. That better?”
”Mmmm, yes. Back up a little sweetheart, let me see you.”
”Like that?”
”Oh, yes, I do.”
“What now?”
”We’re playing this tonight? You want me to tell you what to do?”
”Only if you want to.”
”Babe...”
”Please, Hugh. I’ve spent all day dealing with incompetent engineers who think the sciences are separate and if I don’t get off tonight I’m going to crawl out of my skin.”
“Okay. Okay...shhh, I’ve got you. I’m going to make it so good for you, sweetheart, but I want you to do something for me first.”
”Yes.”
”I want you to take the rest of your clothes off so I can see all of you, love.”
”Okay. Hang on, I'm moving over to the bed.”
”Perfect. Lie back for me? Fuck, you have no idea how sexy you are.”
”Have you looked in a mirror recently?”
”I mean it. I’m going to lick every inch of your skin, taste you. Then I'm going to mark up that pretty pale neck, pull you into my lap and play with your nipples until you're so hard it hurts."
"...holy, fucking hell- oh, I want that Hugh. All of it."
"I'll suck on them the way you like, use my tongue and flick them till you're too sensitive and I have to stop. Play with them for me, babe?"
"Mmmhmmmm. Not the same, fuck, I want you so much..."
"And when you can't stop yourself from rubbing against me, letting me feel what I'm doing to you, I'll push you down onto the floor. On your knees."
"Yes. Please, I need...more, please."
"I'll pull my dick out and stroke it right in front of you. See how hard you're making me right now, sweetheart?"
"...yeah. Gonna give that to me to play with?"
”I want to watch you suck me off. Put your fingers in- mmmmm. That’s right, fuck, your mouth is going to feel so good on me."
"Make me take it."
"That what you want? Rough you up a little, shove your head down on my cock? Pull your hair and fuck your mouth, use you."
"Yessssss. More."
"That- that thing you do with your tongue. I want that while you're sucking me."
"Anything, you can have anything."
"That's quite an offer."
"Don't care. Just don't stop."
"..."
"...feels so good..."
"Just when I'm about to come, I'll pull out. Want me to come all over that pretty face?"
"No, I want...oh god...please, Hugh."
"Oh. I know what you wa- what you want. I won't come down your throat, I'll push you down on the floor. Find that bottle of lube you put under the couch, open myself up for you to see. Make you watch me, hold your hands down so you can't touch."
"...I need to touch you Hugh, please don't-"
"Shhhh, it's okay sweetheart, I'm sorry. I'll let you touch me all you want, until I'm ready for you. You ready for me?"
"Yes. Love watching you do that, oh fu- fuck-"
"...babe?"
"Sorry. Almost came."
"S'okay. Want me to stop?"
"Oh god no, keep going. I just want to wait."
"Wait?"
"I want to see you come first. You always...always take care of me."
"Did you ever think- oh god, getting close- I like to watch too?"
"Oh, I know you do. But it's my turn this time, when you've got me all spread out under you, watch you fuck yourself on me, let you use me, take what you need. As hard as you want, as long as you want, I'm yours."
"Fuck. Gonna ride you till I can't last any longer, have to- oh fuck...have to touch myself."
"No, that's mine. I'll jerk you off while you're riding me, make you come that way..."
"Close, sweetheart... wanna feel you inside of me, filling me up, god, Paul, I need you."
"Come for me, Hugh. Please. Come all over me, you feel so good-"
"...fu- gonna come, baby..."
"Yes. Yessss. Oh! Oh, fuck..."
"..."
"...unnhhhh."
"Mmmmm, that's right. You're so pretty when you come."
"..."
"Babe? You still alive over there?"
"Oh my god, that was good. Hang on- oh, wow, I didn't know I could still shoot that far."
"I want to lick that cum off your chin."
"Fuck. Hugh, you can't say things like that when I can't get hard again."
"Sorry."
"I miss you."
"I miss you too. Just a few more weeks, and we'll be together for good."
"Yeah. What time is it over there?"
"0120, why?"
"Hugh! Why didn't you tell me, I know you've got an early shift tomorrow, why did you let me-"
"It's fine. I'll just make my cafe con leche extra strong in the morning."
"Only you. I miss your coffee too."
"Mmmm. I do need to- need to sleep now though, you wore me out."
"We're getting old if we're stopping at one round."
"Wait till I'm there."
"Impatiently."
"I love you, sweetheart."
"I love you too. Little earlier tomorrow?"
"I'll message you when I'm home for the evening, how does that sound?"
"Perfect. Well, as much as me being here and you being there with all this actual space between us, can be."
"Goodnight, love. Say hello to your mushrooms for me."
"They're fungi, not mush- you did that on purpose."
"No idea what you're talking about. Night, sweetheart."
"Goodnight, dear doctor."
Notes:
**fans self** Paul may get tongue-tied and self-conscious, but I can only imagine that Hugh probably knows how to have the hottest comm sex.
Sorry for the long absence between posts! We're doing budgets at work, and working from home means I'm at the computer more than twelve hours some days which doesn't leave a lot of time to write Culmets. But stay tuned if you're reading "When Sorrow Turns to Joy", I've got at least thirty chapters planned.
Chapter 61: Short
Summary:
Paul's last message for Hugh.
Notes:
I refuse to believe that Paul would only record a message for his sibling. Text will be in a later chapter of "When Sorrow Turns To Joy".
Warning - I cried while writing this. Not a joke.
Chapter Text
>> Recording message for Culber, Hugh.
"Hugh...I lied. It feels wrong to tell you this now. By the time this reaches you, hopefully Discovery will have made a successful jump to the future. And I'm going to be on it. I hoped that maybe we'd get another chance, someday. We're just - hah - out of time. But uhhh, funny thing...okay, not funny at all, and you're probably going to be upset I didn't tell you before this. Or maybe not, because I'm supposed to be moving on. Okay, I didn't lie, but what I meant was...I do want you to be happy. Fuck, that's the only thing I want some days. When you- when you died, I thought I couldn't live without you. And I'm not sure what I was doing was living. But then I got you back, and I know I'm really bad with figuring feelings out sometimes. Just- I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I was being selfish and just wanting you to be exactly the same. So I could apologize and make it all right, because while you were gone, the only thing I could think about was how I could have done so much better. I hope you knew that you were so much more important than anything else. Just...please, Hugh, take care of yourself. I'll uhhh - hah - see if I can check up on you on the other side. This is the last time I'll be able to talk to you...if you're still listening, I'm going to do one more selfish thing. And I hope someday you'll forgive me for it. I still love you. I will never love anyone else the way I love you, and the years we had together were the happiest in my life. You made me such a better perso-"
"Commander Stamets, status update?"
>> Recording paused. Message is unfinished, do you wish to review?
"Computer...del- no. Save message. Fuck, he doesn't need you ruining his life now."
>> Message saved.
"Commander Stamets, are you there?"
"Yes. Sorry, I'll- yes. We've uhhh almost got the crystal completely charged. Ninety-one percent."
"Thank you Commander. Bridge out.
"Computer, record new message to Culber, Hugh."
>> Recording message for Culber, Hugh.
"Hi Hugh, I uhhh don't know if you knew what we were doing, I just hope you're safe on Enterprise. Take care of yourself. And thank you, for...everything."
"Computer...send message."
>> Message sent.
Chapter 62: Savory
Notes:
No real plot, just some adorable sleepy Paul with an indulgent Hugh and confused Tilly.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Are you going to finish that?”
”-what?”
Paul blinks slowly a few times, bringing his focus back outwards to find Tilly’s concerned face peering at him closely.
”Sorry, I was...thinking.”
”About- uhhh, sorry.”
He sighs, struggling to keep his attention focused on her.
”You were saying?”
Tilly glances down to the left, and he follows her eyes to his fork poised in midair over the potato salad on his plate.
“I was just wondering, sir, if you were going to finish that?”
Hmmm. That’s a new one, Tilly’s never been brave enough to ask for his food before. He’s too tired to think much on it though, and sets the fork down with as much care as possible, ignoring the way it clatters against the dish.
”Go ahead,” he mutters, pushing the plate across the table towards her, “m’not...yeah.”
Tilly boggles at him like a landed fish, mouth hanging open. The silence drags out as she stares at the potato salad like it’s a live concussion grenade.
”Oh! No, umm wow, that would be- I totally wouldn’t- that wasn’t...I just meant, Lieutenant,” her cheeks flare red with self-conscious embarrassment, “you’ve barely touched it and I know you didn’t eat earlier because we were re-wiring the auxiliary regulatory console, and you told me to go have a snack but you were in exactly the same place when I came back and said you weren’t hungry-“
He waves his hand vaguely between them, cutting off the flow of words.
”You don’t want my food.”
It’s a statement, but he ends on an upward lilt, trying to figure out what’s happening.
”No sir, I mean I’m sure it’s tasty but uhhh I don’t really eat potatoes, not since- well, this is going to sound weird, but when I was in fourth grade my mother told me-“
”Cadet! Do you mind if I join you?”
Both of their heads turn at the question, and he struggles to focus on the expanse of white stretched over a broad chest and a pair of warm-skinned hands holding a tray with a steaming mug and plate of pasta.
Oh.
His body sways a little, unconsciously yearning towards the solid body standing beside him.
“What? Oh, of course, I mean no, you’re welcome to join us Doctor Culber.”
Hugh smiles broadly, setting his tray down and sliding into the seat next to Paul. The line of heat from shoulder to knee where Hugh presses up against him is nice, and he leans into him.
He and Tilly are exchanging pleasantries, but he’s not paying attention. Instead, he frowns down at Hugh’s tray.
”...since when do you like carbonara?”
”I don’t,” Hugh nudges him with his elbow when he lists a little too far off-center, “but you do.”
Without another word, he trades plates between them and digs into the heretofore untouched pile of potato and boiled egg with cheerful relish.
Tilly’s giving them the landed fish look again, but he’s too tired to wonder why. The steam from the dish is drifting upwards, redolent with the aroma of black pepper and Parmesan. His stomach, previously unimportant, growls audibly, and is Hugh smirking at him? The pasta smells too good to worry about that though, and he twirls up a huge forkful, appetite making itself known.
Flavor bursts across his tongue, rich cream and smoke, and he groans unashamedly.
“Sir...Doctor, he- he wasn’t hungry I thought? How-?
Hugh wipes a smear of mayonnaise off his lower lip and subtly adjusts his posture to rest a supportive hand at the small of Paul’s back.
“Just tired,” Hugh’s hand is rubbing circles over the base of his spine, distracting but welcome, “fettuccine carbonara, works every time.”
He leans over the table with a conspiratorial smile, setting down his own fork.
”Thanks for trying to get him to eat earlier though.”
Paul narrows his eyes, although they’re half-closed as it is and the effect probably isn’t very intimidating.
”Are you two conspiring against me and not even behind my back?”
”Uhhh...”
”Generally, yes.”
”Hmph. I should- “ he drops his head onto Hugh’s shoulder on the pretext of looking at his tray, “wait, is that...?”
His partner passes over the plate of garlic toast without comment.
“I hate it when you do that,” he grouses around a mouthful of bread.
”No you don’t.”
He’s busy chewing and can’t do more than shoot Hugh a side-eye that’s more affectionate than anything else, but mentally shrugs and takes another huge bite, dusting crumbs off his fingers.
Tilly will just have to deal with it.
Notes:
I imagine Hugh sitting on Paul’s left, to be able to eat left handed and leave his right hand free for those little touches.
This started out as writing Paul with no appetite after losing Hugh, but I’ve been writing so much angst I needed some fluff.
Chapter 63: Shocked
Summary:
Paul’s briefing on how to rescue Tilly is interrupted by an unwelcome visitor.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“She was taken into the mycelial network against her will.”
Drawing a breath to begin the next sentence, he’s interrupted by the hiss of turbolift doors opening. Michael. There’s someone taller, male next to her, but he’s not paying attention. She’ll be able to follow the explanation about transference.
Why is everyone looking at him like-
Oh.
When he sees who else is in the lift, everything just...stops.
Iron bands strap themselves around his chest, squeezing tightly. Things he’s able to somewhat successfully shut out by concentrating on his science come flooding back in.
The absence at his side that still surprises him every time he turns in search of a familiar presence.
Reaching across the bed in the dark and encountering only cold sheets, not warm skin.
The other side of the sink clear of the usual scatter of items, no wet towel carelessly slung over the edge.
No one waiting up for him at the end of a long day, sprawled asleep over the couch with a PADD in their lap.
Flinching a little every time he sees a wide, bright smile, because none of them are right anymore.
Pike clears his throat softly, shattering the icy stillness.
“How do we get her back, Mister Stamets?”
The Captain’s face is set in sober concentration, but there’s gentle understanding in his eyes as he pulls focus to the center seat, giving Paul a few seconds to compose himself.
Tilly, he thinks, you can do this for her.
You have to find her.
You can’t lose her too.
Notes:
Re-watching “Saints of Imperfection” and fixated on the look Paul gives Tyler when he comes into the bridge. Once again, Anthony’s acting skill is top notch; he conveys more with his face than others do with an entire monologue.
Chapter 64: Slip
Summary:
A mishap during a heated moment.
Chapter Text
"...oh god, yes- yeah, so good, right there-"
"Fuck, Hugh, I'm gonna..."
"Yes, yessss- owww!"
"FUCK!"
Hugh's brain takes a moment to catch on that Paul's yelp into his ear is a cry of pain and not pleasure, and the sudden stillness. Paul's dropped his head between Hugh's shoulder blades, body landing heavily on his back, and his grip on Hugh's wrists increases from exciting to uncomfortable.
"...babe, what's wrong?"
He wiggles his hands a little, relieved when Paul releases them. The harsh panting behind him is worrying, as is the definite sensation of previously enthusiastic interest going soft.
"Sweetheart?"
Still no answer. Frowning, he pushes up off the sweat-soaked sheets, pulling his face out of the pillow and getting his elbows underneath his chest to roll Paul off of him. His partner lands on the bed with a groan, and the sight that greets him when he turns is alarming.
Paul's eyes are squeezed shut, moisture clinging to his lashes, and he's cradling his right forearm against his chest. Whimpers of pain slip out between breaths.
For once, the doctor and concerned lover aren't in conflict with each other. Arousal forgotten, Hugh immediately reaches for the tricorder on the nightstand with one hand while resting the other gently on Paul's shoulder.
"Paul? What's wrong?"
"...hurts..."
Hugh lets go of him to pull the scanner out and runs it quickly over Paul's right arm. There's increased blood flow, but nothing too far off baseline as to be alarming, and the augment seems to be functioning normally.
"Sweetheart, talk to me."
Paul bites his lip, shaking his head slightly.
"You're scaring me, please, tell me what's wrong."
The distress in his tone must register, because Paul's eyes slowly open and he tries to focus on him.
"-elbow."
"What?"
"...your elbow," he gasps out, "the augment, hit me- fuck, it really hurts."
Oh. Fuck.
Hugh had been pretending to struggle underneath Paul (because they both knew if he actually wanted to break free, it wouldn't be difficult).
"I'm so sorry, I didn't realize..."
Paul's breathing is gradually slowing, returning to something closer to normal.
"S'okay. I just- wasn't expecting that."
Very carefully, he tugs Paul's hand away from his forearm, looking at the augment. The scanner didn't pick up any problems, but visual inspection helps settle the knot of worry in his stomach.
"I'm sorry. I should have been more careful."
Paul sits up, reaching for Hugh's hand and squeezing. It might have been an accident, but he still feels terrible.
"Really, it's okay. Just give me a minute, and we can-"
"Babe," he rests a finger on Paul's lips, "we don't have to."
"I know that, but..."
Hugh quirks a half-smile, looking down conspicuously.
"I don't think either of us is in the mood for that."
"...yeah. Okay."
"Sor-"
Paul cuts off his next apology with a kiss.
"Quit apologizing. We just have to be more careful next time."
Hugh closes his eyes for a moment, resting their foreheads together. He lets the silence stretch out for a few breaths, willing his own pounding heart to calm. The cool air is starting to make sweat dry on already sticky skin, and he can think of one thing that might help them both feel better.
"I know. Shower? Let me make up for hurting you?"
"Hugh...you really don't have to be sorry. I mean, it was bound to happen sometime."
"Still," he tugs gently on Paul's hand, pulling him off the bed, "...come on, let me look after you."
"Wash my hair?"
"Anything you want, babe."
Paul pauses in the bathroom doorway, some of the mischief in his eyes from earlier that evening returning.
"You know what this means though."
"What?"
"Next time, I'm tying you down."
"Deal."
Chapter 65: Stumbling
Summary:
Paul’s thoughts as Tilly and Nilsson take him to the medbay during the finale.
Chapter Text
There’s shrapnel sticking out of his chest.
Breathing doesn’t hurt; breathing is absolute agony, white-hot lances of pain with every attempt, like he’s being crushed.
”You’ll be okay, Commander, just a little further, we’ve got you, you’ll be okay-“
Tilly’s voice filters in past the haze that’s been closing further in on his vision ever since he attached the final panel on the suit. The familiar nervous patter has taken on a coaxing quality, but there’s also a hint of steel beneath it.
Blue.
Tilly’s voice is blue.
He called her incandescent before - she glows with it, her sense of purpose and faith in others - but this is like waves breaking on the shore of a jagged cliff, cool and soothing.
He wishes he could get enough air to tell her how proud he is that she’s found her command voice.
They stumble as his feet catch on the deck, and there’s a very alarming numbness taking hold of his limbs. He’s been forcing himself not to look down, to try to ignore the squelch and fresh heat running down the front of his uniform when he coughs.
Tilly’s talking again, but she sounds much more frantic, leaning around him to say something to Nilsson.
He watches her lips move, but he can’t make out many of the words over the pounding in his head.
“-medbay- Doctor-“
Doctor.
Oh.
They must be taking him to Hugh, right?
Hugh can fix him, he always does, putting Paul back together even better than before.
He’ll make it good as new, and Paul will be able to get back to Engineering to make sure that the ship holds together while Enterpri-
Enterprise.
”Once the Enterprise catches up with us, I’ll be joining them.”
No.
How could he have forgotten?
Hugh isn’t going to be waiting for him this time, with his gentle, capable hands and a sharp word about being more careful.
Hugh isn’t ever going to be waiting for him again.
”Commander?”
The metal in his chest looks like it’s hit him in the heart. It would be appropriate then, just a delayed physical manifestation of how it felt to smile and wish the love of his life happiness with someone else.
“-ctor Pollard!”
The world tilts on its axis and he’s falling- no, he’s being lifted and laid on a biobed.
Nilsson and Tilly are having some kind of argument over him, at least he thinks they are judging by the way Tilly’s squeezing the hand she still hasn’t released.
”I’m sorry, Commander...”
He tries to tell her that whatever it is will be okay, but his lips won’t move right.
The ship rocks again as it’s hit by weapons fire and his head lolls to the side, too heavy to move.
”...Paul?”
What?
Impossible.
This has to be some trick of the mind, an oxygen-starved construct of his dying brain meant to soothe him in his final moments.
He blinks sweat and soot and tears out of his eyes, trying to clear his vision, but the figure is still there.
Hugh is at his side, haloed in the glare of procedure lights in a darkened medbay.
”I’m gonna induce coma.”
No.
If he closes his eyes, Hugh might vanish. And if he’s dying, he doesn’t want to give up this last comfort, even if it isn’t real.
”...everything, always, came back around to you.”
Surely his mind couldn’t reproduce the worry in Hugh’s tone, the furrow of his brow, in such exquisite detail?
“You go to sleep now. You let me take care of you.”
His heart has always been in Hugh’s hands.
Fingers curve around his jaw, warm and familiar.
”-we go together.”
He hopes with everything he has left in the tattered remains of his heart, that this is somehow real. If it’s not, well, there are much worse ways to die (to live) than this.
The last thing he feels is Hugh’s lips pressing a kiss to his forehead, the same way he’s bid Paul goodnight for years.
Paul smiles, surrendering to the pull of sleep.
Chapter 66: Symbols, Part One
Summary:
We see Hugh in the medbay with a duffel, but Paul leaves Engineering empty-handed. How did they decide what to take with them to Enterprise after the decision to destroy Discovery?
Part one of two, from Hugh's perspective.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“...when Enterprise arrives, we will abandon ship. Evacuation corridors are being prepared. Section chiefs, begin checklist protocols for shutdown and initiate crew rotation. Enterprise’s estimated ETA is three hours.”
Captain Pike’s voice is solemn but unshaken, and Hugh makes eye contact with Tracy across the biobed where they’ve been running diagnostics on a cadet’s malfunctioning cardiac shunt.
”You’re doing fine,” Tracy reassures the frightened woman, “just a simple repair, you won’t even have to go under.”
She reaches for another scanner, before looking back up at Hugh.
”Go on,” she offers a half smile, “I’ve got this, go pack.”
”I’ll be back in twenty,” Hugh squeezes the cadet’s hand reassuringly before turning away.
”Take thirty,” Tracy calls as he moves towards the door, “we’ll do shutdown when you get back.”
He doesn’t remember the walk to his quarters, but everything pulls hard into focus when the doors swish shut behind him. Anxiety rises up his spine, and he swallows convulsively, forcing it back down. There isn't time to indulge now, might not be for quite a while. He'll pay for it later, locking down his feelings like this, but given what's about to happen, that's probably for the best.
His duffel is in the wardrobe, and he sets it on the bed before rounding the room, opening drawers and cabinets to consider their contents. Once he’s completed the circuit twice, he examines the pile of things on the duvet, wondering how the important material possessions in his life wouldn’t fill the bag completely.
His opera solids.
Two boxes containing his grandfather’s cufflinks and the few pairs of earrings he used to wear off-duty.
A half dozen antique copies of medical texts and his three personal PADDs.
The plaques inscribed with his awards and commendations, emblems mounted in transparent blocks.
A patterned throw that his abuelita gave him when he shipped out on his first mission twenty years ago.
Everything else is neatly stacked in the bag when he finally makes himself look at the last item sitting innocuously on a pillow. He checks the chrono - ten minutes before he has to start the walk back - and sits down on the duvet next to it, staring at nothing while he tries to bring his heart rate back down.
It's a case the size of an old fashioned shoebox, a standard 'fleet protective container, but what's inside might as well be explosive ordinance. Hugh needs to try twice before he manages to place his thumb on the reader, confirms his identity with a shaking voice.
>> Voiceprint required for access.
"Hugh Culber, authori- authorization one zero two six."
Why hadn't he ever thought to change it?
The top of the case unseals with a small pop, and he pushes the lid up out of the way. Inside, data chips full of holoimages are scattered between small mementos and things gifted to him for anniversaries and birthdays that he couldn’t discard but couldn’t bring himself to think about on a daily basis.
A miniature sphere etched with the continents of Alpha Centauri, a heart drawn around one of the cities.
Buttons from his favorite pajama shirt, saved when the silk finally wore too thin and had to be recycled.
A tiny stasis cube of cologne, sent to him during the war.
Paul’s Academy ring in its box, safely wrapped in a blue dress shirt.
Sighing, Hugh shuts the case again and lifts it onto his lap. It feels heavier than he knows it to be, turning to nestle it in the bag amongst the scant few other items. He zips the duffel shut with an air of finality, glancing around the room again to be sure he hasn’t missed anything, but the rest - uniforms, workout clothes, hand weights - are easily replaced. These quarters never felt like home, no sentimental memories attached to them.
No memories made here.
Forward motion.
Notes:
Recognize Hugh's access code?
Chapter 67: Stationary
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Computer, time.”
”The time is 0245.”
Sighing, Paul considers again whether he can reach his PADD on the nightstand without actually moving. His conclusion, for the fourth time, hasn’t changed; it’s a few inches too close to the other side of the table, and he’s not flexible enough to maneuver his leg up to use his toes to retrieve it.
Turning his head on the pillow, he contemplates the thing keeping him immobile more strongly than a restraining field. In sleep, Hugh’s expressive face goes still, laugh lines smoothing out and lips slightly parted. His partner is on his side facing Paul, one arm thrust under the pillow and the other heavy across Paul’s stomach. Hugh’s chin is resting against his shoulder, every exhalation tickling the side of his neck, and Paul’s left arm is squished between his own side and Hugh’s chest. It’s a little uncomfortable to be honest, pinpricks warning him that his hand is going to sleep where it’s sandwiched between Hugh’s thighs, but he ignores it in favor of using his thumb to rub tiny circles over a pajama-clad leg.
Technically, there’s nothing stopping him from changing his position in the middle of the bed or even getting out of bed altogether to get dressed and head down to Engineering and test his hypothesis. It would take a bit of delicate maneuvering, but he could detach Hugh from himself, reclaim his hand and carefully slide out from under Hugh’s arm, tuck a pillow underneath it instead. He might even be able to make it back to bed before Hugh wakes up and notices that he’s gone, and his dear doctor need be none the wiser.
Instead, Paul pulls the covers further up over them both and relaxes into the mattress. He’d come home after a double shift to find Hugh still gone, in surgery until almost midnight. Paul was already in bed reading when his partner dragged himself in, stumbling a little in exhaustion. Hugh was barely keeping himself upright, and from the looks of it would be losing the battle with both gravity and consciousness soon. He’d flashed Paul a hint of a grateful smile when he steered him into the shower, blinking slowly as Paul held him up and quickly washed them both, stood there docilely to be dried and dressed for bed. Hugh’s eyes were already closed when Paul handed him a nutrient drink, downing it in a few clumsy gulps before he was allowed to lie down. Once horizontal with Paul arranged to his liking, it hadn’t taken long at all for him to succumb to sleep.
He looks down to where Hugh’s hand is fisted in his pajama top, traces over his knuckles gently. Hugh wrinkles his nose, making a sleepy noise of displeasure, and his arm tightens around Paul’s midsection. No, Paul isn’t going anywhere tonight, even though he’s itching to test out the new equations. Having a warm Hugh snuggled close is stiff competition for his science, even if he doesn’t make it as clear as often as he ought to.
Yawning, he leaves a corner of his brain to turn the figures over, out of focus but working on the problem. Hugh’s rhythmic breathing is lulling him to sleep, and Paul goes willingly. He can worry about things in the morning.
Notes:
It’s so easy to imagine Hugh always taking care of Paul, but I like to think that sometimes it’s Paul’s turn to look after him instead.
Chapter 68: Separated
Summary:
Paul and Hugh's farewell in the mycelial network.
Be warned - this one hurts.
Notes:
Originally written as part of Hugh's dream in chapter 21 of "When Sorrow Turns To Joy", but ended up going a different direction with it.
Chapter Text
"Did you know I loved you?" Paul's eyes are brimming with anguish, "I don't think I told you enough."
How could Paul think Hugh didn't know, when he could see it in his smile, feel it in his touch, hear it in the sound of his name? Hearing it was wonderful, but Paul never needed to say the words for him to know.
"You showed me. All the time."
It would be so easy, to give in and re-create the gentle intimacy of their bedtime routine. To draw Paul close and kiss and caress until the growing heat of passion consumes them both, to make love and forget about anything beyond the two of them. He's already dead, what should it matter if the network unravels around him, if the universe crumbles, so long as they're together?
Hugh cradles Paul’s face in his hands, memorizing the familiar, beloved features. Curls his fingers behind Paul's neck, thumbs brushing his jaw, and swallows down a wave of tears at the familiar scratch of stubble dragging at his skin.
"I don't want to say goodbye."
"It's never goodbye," he murmurs, willing the words to be true beyond his own doubt, "isn't that what you've been trying to teach all of us? Nothing in here is ever truly gone."
Hugh smiles despite the overwhelming sense of loss, the mourning for the life they should have had together. There's a place in his chest that already feels hollow, but Paul needs to be strong, and that means he can't let his own grief overwhelm him in this moment.
“I believe in you, Paul. I love you.”
He breathes in his scent one last time, gazes into his eyes, hoping he can see everything he means to Hugh in that look. Hugh's out of time to tell him how much he's loved, how Hugh cherishes each memory of them, from the mundane and routine to the night they spent watching the stars on Deneva when Paul asked him to be his partner. To explain how proud he is of him and all he's achieved, how his relentless pursuit of scientific truth fills him with a conviction that Hugh can't look away from.
There aren’t words to express it, but maybe...
He tilts his head to the side, lips parting, and pulls Paul into a kiss. Pours everything he’s felt about this man for years into their mouths moving together, the love and lust and trust, the way his embrace makes Hugh feel safe. Traces the tip of his tongue over Paul’s lower lip, tastes him. They're so close, as close as two people can be but still remain separate.
It's the most difficult thing he's ever done, letting Paul go.
He has to.
Hugh draws back slowly, hands dropping away.
”Open your eyes...”
Paul vanishes, falling away from underneath his hands.
He breathes out, exhale becoming a sob as the Discovery dissolves around him.
Alone.
Chapter 69: Sex
Summary:
They've made love and fucked hard and everything in between over the years, but sometimes sex is just comfortable and sweet.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
They're lying in bed, Paul frowning at simulations on his PADD and Hugh doing the same to the medical journal he's reading. Neither of them has spoken in about ten minutes, but the silence isn't unwelcome, the only sound the occasional rustling of sheets or a contemplative murmur.
Eventually, there's not much more he can do to the sim without being in the lab with Tilly's help. Sighing, he sets down the PADD and flexes his fingers, wiggling his thumb to get the scrolling cramp out of it. Hugh is still reading, eyes narrowed as he peers closely at a figure in the article. From what Paul can see, it looks like some sort of complicated diagram of a distinctly non-human cardiovascular system, and he spares an indulgent smile at Hugh's dedication to healing others.
Hugh doesn't look away from the screen when Paul closes the foot or so of space between them, but he does let go of the PADD and raise his arm for Paul to settle comfortably against his shoulder. He flicks to the next article, now-free hand coming up to where Paul's head is pillowed on his bicep and burying his fingers in blond hair, scratching gently. Paul's eyes drift half-closed in contentment, working his own hand up under Hugh's pajama top to trace idle patterns on his stomach.
Flick.
Zoom.
Frown.
Hugh hums quietly, and Paul looks up, worried that he's disturbed his partner's reading. Instead of a reproach, he can see the frown relaxing ever so slightly. Interrupting Hugh when he has the this-is-important-medical-information expression would be rude, so he continues his caresses, following the lines of muscle across his torso.
Paul admittedly goes a little mindless under Hugh's petting, world narrowed down to the sound of breathing and the feeling of skin under his hand, so he's not really paying attention when his fingers decide to start playing with the thin trail of hair leading from chest down to where it disappears under the waistband of his pants. The fabric is in his way, so he unties the drawstrings until he's free to delve beneath. Hugh's defined V-line catches his attention the way it has since the first time Paul saw him shirtless, fingers gravitating to stroke from hip to groin.
Flick.
Rotate.
Sigh.
There's nothing he doesn't love about the sensory experience that is his partner's body.
Flick.
Tap.
Tap.
Hugh's so warm down here, heat rising from the smooth skin of his inner thighs as Paul's fingers travel over them, wrist just brushing crisp curls.
Flick.
Paul cups Hugh's soft cock, palming his balls and enjoying their heft.
Flick.
"Sweetheart."
He's pulled from the hazy drift of his mind by Hugh's voice.
"What?"
A quiet laugh accompanies the next exhale and Paul blinks, focusing on his face. Hugh's wearing a soft half-smile, gentle affection in his eyes as he sets down the PADD on the nightstand and tucks his hand under his head.
"You've got my attention."
"Hmmm?"
Hugh shifts the arm he's lying on, pulling Paul closer, and the movement draws attention to the way he's fondling Hugh's cock.
"Oh."
"Mmmhmm."
"Sorry, I wasn't trying to-"
"I know," a kiss on his forehead, "I was done reading anyway."
He's half-hard, just beginning to thicken under Paul's fingers.
"Umm. Should I stop? Or keep going."
Another smile.
"Up to you, babe. It feels good."
"Okay."
The hand in his hair nudges him forward and Paul tips his chin up to meet Hugh's lips, the kiss light and undemanding, setting up a rhythm of slow strokes. Hugh sighs against his cheek, mouthing at his ear and breathing quiet noises of pleasure into his hair.
Paul loses track of time, hand moving steadily. Hugh has both arms wrapped around his shoulders, eyes mostly closed as they continue to exchange occasional kisses. By the time he's fully erect, he's pulled Paul up slightly to lick under his jaw, working a love bite into the skin. The feeling of Hugh's tongue lapping at his neck, the scrape of his teeth, mix with the steady stream of moans that eventually trail off into whimpers.
"Close?" he whispers into the air between them, already knowing the answer. Hugh's been leaking steadily, Paul's hand slick with evidence of his enjoyment.
Not long now.
Hugh's lips pull away from his neck, head falling back on the pillow.
"Don't stop..."
Paul tightens his fingers and picks up the pace, feeling the shaft beginning to swell.
"Gonna come?"
Hugh nods, eyes tightly shut.
Almost there.
"Fuck-" Hugh tugs Paul into a kiss, moaning into his mouth as warmth spills over his hand. Paul works him through it, slowing as his hips jerk, until Hugh shivers and he lets go. He trails his fingertips across over-sensitive skin, sliding his hand back out of Hugh's pants. Hugh likes to cuddle after orgasm, so there's no getting out of bed in search of a towel, even if Paul did want to move. Instead, he wipes his hand on his own shirt and wraps his arm around Hugh's waist.
A few minutes later, Hugh's eyes open again and he loosens his hold on Paul's hair. He gives Paul a sleepy smile, sated and relaxed.
"Want me to do you?"
Paul takes a moment to consider the offer, gauging his own level of arousal that had slipped to the back of his mind as he focused on pleasuring his partner.
"Nah," he shakes his head, "I'm okay."
"Mmmm. Sure?"
Hugh's eyes are slipping closed again, and Paul leans in for one more kiss.
"Yeah. Sleep, I'll clean us up."
He waits until Hugh's breathing evens out and his hand drops to the sheets before climbing out of bed and heading to the bathroom. His shirt goes into the laundry pile on the way, and he yawns, ready for sleep himself. It only takes a few swipes with a wet towel to clean Hugh up enough that he won't wake up sticking to anything, and he doesn't even stir when Paul works his pants down and off.
Returning to drop the towel in the sink, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, hair mussed and eyes filled with satisfaction.
Yes.
Paul orders the lights off and lays down, pulling the covers up over them both and fitting himself back against Hugh's side.
"Goodnight, dear doctor."
Notes:
...I realized when going to write this that we've reached chapter 69. Oops?
I wanted to write something sweet but also completely unrushed without it necessarily being an earth-shattering scene of lovemaking. Settled on Paul getting so lost in the quiet intimacy of being with Hugh that he spaces out, and just enjoys touching Hugh's body because it makes him happy.
Chapter 70: Strange
Summary:
Reno can’t figure out what Stamets is doing in Engineering when the love of his life is back among the living.
Notes:
Set vaguely just after If Memory Serves. Reno wasn’t in the mess hall, and so wouldn’t have witnessed Hugh’s altercation with Tyler. I’m compressing the timeline a bit.
Chapter Text
Jett Reno is halfway inside a malfunctioning console when she hears the doors to Engineering open and the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Rolling onto one elbow, she catches a glimpse of blond hair, and frowns.
”What the hell are you doing in here?”
Stamets starts so violently that she feels bad for yelling across the bay at him, but the fact that he’s here at all is just...strange.
”Last I checked, I still work here.”
Reno rolls her eyes and hauls herself the rest of the way out from the console.
”Clearly.”
He turns away from her, punching something into the spore console with more force than necessary.
”Seriously, what-“
”Not now, Reno. I’m busy.”
Crossing the floor, she slings her toolkit up onto the console beside him and leans on it, arms crossed.
“You’re off shift.”
”And...?”
He won’t meet her gaze, and from someone who she’s used to staring at her while they spar, that’s definitely not right.
Time for another tactic.
”Wasn’t expecting time see you in here at all, actually. Why aren’t you all cuddled up with your doc, doing whatever it is you two do?”
Stamets’ habitually tight lips press together even further. He shakes his head as if to clear it and continues punching commands on the screen. From what she can see, the code is riddled with glaring errors, not the sort of meticulous care he always has even when working under pressure.
”Mind your business.”
His cheeks are flushed bright pink and even though she doesn’t have past experience to go by, Reno doesn’t think a post-coital glow would leave him this uptight. In fact, his fussily styled hair is still immaculate, no evidence of love bites above his collar. (Tilly still owes her a drink to wash that mental image out of her head, because hearing that Stamets regularly looked like his neck had been bitten is a thought she’d rather not have.)
She’s never been one to back off, and especially not when something is this...odd. Despite their verbal sparring, she’s grown to like Stamets. There’s no reason for him to be here when the recently resurrected love of his life is back. Hell, if her wife-
Don’t go there, Jett.
“Thought you were making him dinner, doing the whole textbook romance thing.”
Stamets looks up at that, and just as quickly returns to staring at the screen.
”Who told you that.”
”Tilly.”
”Oh.”
The feeing of unease prickling between her shoulderblades turns into a full out sense of dread.
”Stamets, did something happen to-“
”He’s fine.”
That’s a relief. But what else could it be?
”Then what are you-“
“Would you just leave me alone?”
She actually takes a half-step back at the vehement tone, thrown off balance by the unexpected outburst.
He snaps his head around to glare at her, but the facade of anger is barely containing something else. Stamets’ eyes are red, lips bitten raw, and as she watches, the lower one starts to tremble before he clamps his teeth back down on it.
Reno blinks a few times, brain processing what she sees. Then she moves closer slowly, giving him plenty of time to back away. He doesn’t, and she gives his forearm a gentle squeeze.
”Paul.“
What she’s about to say is lost as the doors open again.
”Reno, I need your help, something happened with Commander Sta-“
Tilly comes down the stairs at speed, pulling up short and actually windmilling her arms for balance when she trips over a few scattered tools, clearly not expecting to see Stamets there.
”Oh. Ummm. Commander. I uhhh didn’t really think, I mean, you’re sort of the chief so it’s your section, but I ummm. Sorry.“
Stamets’ eyes close briefly, and the hands still resting on the console clench into fists.
”Sir, I just...”
”I’ll be in the cultivation bay,” he mumbles, turning on his heel and walking briskly away.
Once the doors close behind him, Reno glances back at Tilly.
”What the hell was that, kid?”
Chapter 71: So (Beautiful)
Chapter Text
So beautiful.
Paul isn’t sure if he’s managed to utter the words out loud, or if they’re lost somewhere in the fact that he hasn’t been able to form a coherent sentence in several minutes.
It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open when every movement sends hot sparks of want-need-yes up from his hips, but he has a much better reason not to close them.
Hugh is poised above him, bare skin streaked with sweat. This is one of his favorite positions, for more than the physical ecstasy. Paul’s intoxicated watching Hugh, the flex of his powerful thighs and stomach muscles as he bounces. His chest is heaving, panting for breath as he rides Paul, knees digging into the sheets and gripping his shoulders for balance.
One hand slips up to- well, caress isn't the right word, not when the air between them is so charged with sexual hunger. There’s nothing delicate about the touch, but it still communicates tenderness, palm pressed to Paul’s cheek and fingers squeezing his jaw.
Despite the raw passion, their bodies move together easily. Paul follows every bounce with a roll of his hips, rising up to meet Hugh’s ass coming down against his thighs. Hands slipping on sweaty skin, he tugs his lover forward just enough that the next thrust makes Hugh moan high in his throat, rhythm faltering while his body shakes with arousal.
This is the sight he loves most, Hugh lost in pleasure. He looks like an incubus, sex personified, all sculpted muscle and so hard that it’s all Paul can do not to roll them over and swallow him down. Instead, he turns his head to catch Hugh’s fingers with his teeth, drawing two into his mouth, feeling them drag over his lips as he lavishes them with his tongue.
He tries to follow when Hugh recovers enough thought to pull them free, until he realizes why. Hugh’s been steadily leaking all over him, every thrust rubbing the swollen head against Paul’s stomach. Now, he wraps his fingers around his straining erection, stroking with quick jerks of his wrist.
He’s close.
Hugh always holds off touching himself as long as possible when they’re like this, drawing out their mutual pleasure until he can’t wait any more. Paul reaches up to flick a nipple, pinching and rolling as Hugh’s focus turns to driving them both over the edge.
“Oh fuck...sweetheart, I- I’m-“
He pulls Hugh down to him for a messy kiss, open-mouthed and wet, the noises they’re both helpless to contain breathed over each other’s lips.
”Do it,” he rasps out, “let me see you...”
Hugh tenses, abandoning the kiss as he rears up, back arching. Paul snaps his hips harder, driving deep once, twice-
With a sharp cry, Hugh comes in hot pulses over his stomach, hand twisting. Seconds later, Paul plants his heels against the headboard and tumbles them over on the tangled sheets, chasing his own climax. His partner is still shivering beneath him with aftershocks when Paul moans and shakes through his own release.
There’s nothing but the sound of harsh breathing for a few minutes, accompanied by the occasional oversensitive whimper as they both come down. At last, Hugh stirs underneath Paul’s weight, legs fallen wide.
“Fuck...that was...”
”Yeah.”
If they fall asleep like this, they’ll regret it in the morning, but neither of them seems inclined to move to clean up. Hugh’s arms circle his waist as he snuggles closer.
”You’re not the only one, you know.”
Paul not sure if his orgasm-addled brain can figure that out when he can’t even muster the energy to lift his face away from the side of Hugh’s neck.
”Hmmm?”
He doesn’t have to look to hear the smile in Hugh’s voice.
“You’re beautiful too, sweetheart.”
Notes:
Ummm. Whew. Consider this another apology for writing angst.
Chapter 72: So (Beautiful), Part Two
Summary:
Hugh’s perspective from the previous chapter.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“So beautiful.”
His eyes snap open. It’s a struggle not to lose his rhythm when he hears those two words murmured quietly between increasingly louder moans. He’d thought Paul was long past the point of coherent speech, worked up to a state where he could only express himself in wordless cries of pleasure.
Hugh licks off the sweat beaded on his upper lip and looks down. Beneath him, Paul is watching him with eyes gone wide and dark with arousal, full of an intensity that never fails to awe him. Being the recipient of that look of love is both deeply erotic and right in a way that he can’t describe. No matter how much he resists, Hugh always eventually has to close his eyes when he’s riding Paul, because watching his reaction in this position is too much when they’re already connected in the most primal way possible.
Right now, Paul's frowning in concentration as he works his hips to find the perfect angle, face lighting up with a sort of wonder when one of his thrusts hits Hugh’s sweet spot and his body jerks. His fair skin is flushed down to his chest, damp with sweat from exertion, and his gaze is hotter than the hands on Hugh’s hips as it roams over his shoulders and chest before returning to his face.
Hugh ruts against his stomach, feeling the muscles beneath flexing. With his thighs spread wide, every bounce squeezes Paul’s waist between his knees. His partner is self-conscious about the thickness of his midsection, the way his stomach has grown softer with time. Hugh adores those signs of age, testimony to their years together, something solid to wrap his arms and legs around.
Anyone who says intimacy loses its excitement as time goes on is so very wrong. Tonight had gone from a few lingering kisses goodnight to playful wrestling, ending with their pajamas strewn across the sheets and floor, Paul’s head now at the foot of the bed and Hugh happily bouncing on his lap. They both have to be up in just a few hours, but that feels far less important than playing out their desire. He loves seeing this, his fussy and difficult-to-please partner reveling in the messiness of sex, feels the tension in Paul’s thighs and the restraint in not flipping them over to take control. Instead, he lets Hugh set the pace, seems far less worried about his own pleasure than Hugh's satisfaction.
Paul gets off hard on getting him off. And sometimes he thinks he could come from that look alone.
The heady rush of wanting to be worthy of that adoration heats his face. Words desert him, and he releases Paul's shoulder in favor of molding his hand to his cheek, needing to find some way to express the overwhelming feeling of fullness that goes so far beyond their bodies, how Paul makes him feel like something sacred. He's so beautiful like this, and he belongs to Hugh.
He thinks Paul understands when his hands tighten on his hips, breath catching. The moment stretches between them, snaps. Then he's capturing Hugh's fingers with his teeth, sucking them into the wet heat of his mouth, shoving his tongue between his fingers to lick at the sensitive skin above his knuckles. Paul's eyes slip half-closed as he moans around them, and Hugh can't help but think of that talented tongue repeating the motion somewhere else.
Fuck.
Hugh can't control himself any longer, can't ignore the insistent throbbing between his legs, isn't going to be able to make Paul come first tonight. He tugs his hand free, hears Paul whine in protest. Grips himself with spit-slick fingers, spreading the leaking wetness, feels the tension building at the base of his spine. He babbles something, maybe a warning, too lost to make it intelligible.
Paul gropes his chest, playing with his nipples, then yanks him down for a kiss. The change in angle makes him gasp and he grinds their bodies together, trying to get closer, Paul swallowing his breathless whimpers.
Heat is spiraling tighter and tighter in his groin when Paul tears their mouths apart, voice husky and ruined.
"...let me see you."
It's a plea masquerading as a command, and he couldn't resist even if he wanted to, wants to give him everything. He clamps his knees tight to Paul's sides, driving himself down to take him as deeply as possible, and lets go.
The rush of orgasm rolling through him leaves him dizzy- no, wait, that's Paul bearing him down onto the bed, sheets cool against the overheated skin of his back. He forces his eyes open, body pliant and welcoming as Paul thrusts hard a half dozen times before his teeth sink into his lower lip and completely fail to contain his cry.
Thank goodness for soundproofing.
Paul spills hot inside of him, tiny jerks of his hips that rub his belly against the very sensitive underside of Hugh's twitching (former) erection, spreading the sticky mess over their torsos before his arms give out. By that point, Hugh's regained enough of his senses to catch him as Paul collapses onto his chest, pinned between his body and the bed.
Safe.
Beloved.
It takes a few minutes for him to catch his breath, easing the sense of loss when Paul slips free by holding him even tighter, nuzzling into his damp hair.
There was something he was going to say...oh. That's right. Paul's gone monosyllabic, words mumbled against his throat, but Hugh knows he's listening.
"You're beautiful too, sweetheart."
Yes.
Notes:
This ended up a lot more introspective than I intended - hope it still reads well! I wanted to convey the simultaneous passion of sex accompanied by deep love, and how the two things really can't be separated.
Chapter 73: Solo
Notes:
I wrote this snippet back in February without intention for it...just had to get it out of my system.
Chapter Text
Paul knows he was only thinking of himself. Not in an actively selfish way...just overwhelmed with grief and suddenly being given the second chance that no one ever has. A chance to make up for all his shortcomings, to do away with regret. All he can think of is holding Hugh, kissing him and caressing his skin. Breathing in his scent and having him in his arms again, never to let him go.
It’s no one’s fault that he isn’t thinking of Hugh first, because it’s inconceivable that this should happen to begin with. So much grief given sudden remedy, the sleepless nights and inconsolable sobbing. The hole in his chest where his heart used to be. Left with only memories of snuggles under the covers and sleepy morning kisses and Hugh smiling at him in the bathroom mirror. Memories of drinking coffee barefoot on the couch, side by side in silence at work on their PADDs. Memories of holding hands on dates on a dozen worlds. Memories of passion, deeply satisfying sex and awkward moments and making love blur together into a yearning for touch.
Real touch. Not bumping shoulders with Tilly, or Reno smacking him on the arm when he lands a good insult. Not hugging his parents and sibling after the medal ceremony in Paris, or awkwardly accepting the handshakes and shoulder pats of condolence from their acquaintances.
He wants Hugh's doctor's hands rubbing his back after a difficult day, Hugh's cheek on his chest when he wakes up. Hugh frustrated because Paul cancelled yet another dinner or evening home, worried about him. Hugh's body curled next to his, breathing soft sighs that feel like an embrace. Hugh's dirty clothes on the floor, his wet towel hanging off the counter. Hugh kissing him and complaining about Paul snoring and how much he hates it when he wears socks to bed.
If he thought it was bad wanting those things after Hugh was gone...it's nothing on seeing him back, walking around the ship, smiling and laughing.
Touching people.
Everyone but Paul.
Chapter 74: Suffer, Part Two
Summary:
Tilly goes looking for Stamets.
Chapter Text
“Lieutenant Stam- oh.”
Tilly stumbles to a halt three steps into the medbay. The biobed he’d been inhabiting is empty, and there’s no one else in sight. It’s probably a good sign, she thinks, everyone has been discharged, which means they’re all better, right?
”Can I help you, Cadet?”
She manages not to jump, although she can’t quite stifle the tiny squeak when Doctor Pollard seems to materialize out of thin air. It’s a trick all of the medical personal are somehow able to pull, although none better than Doctor Culbe-
Don’t think about that, Sylvia.
“Hi! Umm, no, I mean, yes. I’m looking for Lieutenant Stamets?”
Doctor Pollard’s face undergoes a subtle transformation, brow furrowing and lips pressing together just a bit.
“He’s not supposed to be on duty, I have him on stand down for twenty four hours.”
”Oh! No, he’s not. I just...” Tilly feels her face heat, “...just wanted to. Check on him.”
The frown fades, replaced with a weary half-smile.
“You missed him by a few hours.”
”He was supposed to still be here? Not that I’m questioning you, Doctor.”
She shakes her head, setting down the PADD on a nearby table.
”He is. But you know him, he managed to sneak out. And honestly,” Doctor Pollard’s voice catches a little, “-making him stay here would have been cruel.”
”Why- oh.”
”I was going to check on him myself, but why don’t you go? He’s in his quarters. If he gives you any trouble, just tell him I sent you.”
Tilly blinks in surprise when Doctor Pollard hands her a hypospray.
”Ummm, what am I supposed to do with this?”
”Re-hydration and a mild analgesic. He’s going to need it.”
”...right.”
Clearly she didn’t make that sound less confused than she feels, because Doctor Pollard sighs.
“Tilly, he’s either locked down so completely that he’s pretending to be fine, or he’s going to be a wreck. And if that’s the case, he could use a friendly face that doesn’t-“ she closes her eyes for a moment, swallowing visibly, “doesn’t remind him of Hugh.”
They were friends, Tilly suddenly remembers, her and Doctor Culber.
Now she feels incredibly awkward, because of course Stamets is going to be grieving. And with everyone focused on his reaction-
“I’m sorry,” she blurts out, louder than intended, “for- for...”
Doctor Pollard saves her having to finish the sentence, gently squeezing her forearm. She’s shorter than Tilly, but her strength makes her seem much taller.
“Thank you. Now go on, you know where his quarters are?”
”Yeah. I mean, yes, Doctor.”
She waves Tilly out, and Tilly goes.
Surprisingly, her request for entry goes un-acknowledged, as do three attempts to comm Stamets. She’s left standing outside his door, chewing her lip and wondering if she ought to try a fourth time. After a minute of indecision, she flips open her communicator again.
”Pollard here.”
”Umm hi. It’s Tilly. Uhhh, he won’t let me in and isn’t answering his comm?”
There’s a sound that’s either static or a long sigh.
”He’s in there. Hang on, I’ll do a medical override for you.”
”Doctor...won’t he be, you know, mad you let me in?”
“Tilly, I mean it when I said to tell him I sent you.”
“Ummm. Okay?”
”Overriding now.”
There’s a beep from the door panel, and she sees the lock indicator go green.
”Comm me again if he won’t take the hypo. Pollard out.”
Tilly taps the control, and the doors swish open.
“...Lieutenant Stamets?”
The interior is dark, and her eyes need a few seconds to adjust from the corridor lighting. She takes a couple of steps in, far enough that the door mechanism can close, and scans the room.
Tilly’s never been inside his quarters, just at the door a few times to drop off a report. And she wasn’t really looking, especially not after the first time when Doctor Culber answered in just his underwear. She bites her lower lip, wondering now how she could have possibly missed the fact that he and Stamets were a couple before that.
The living area is empty, save for a couple of PADDs on the coffee table and a stack of data solids. She ventures a little further in, frowning at the silence. There’s a pile of laundry on the unmade bed, and the bathroom light is off, but-
Wait.
It’s not laundry. Stamets is curled into a ball in the middle of the bed, clutching and partially behind a tangle of what looks like sheets and standard ‘fleet pajamas. He seems to still be in full uniform, boots on and knees tucked up, face hidden.
“Sir?”
No response. He’s breathing, of that she’s certain, but he doesn’t stir as she creeps closer, stopping at the foot of the bed.
“Oh no.”
In the light filtering in the viewport, his face is flushed and swollen. Even in sleep he’s frowning, cheek pillowed on a pajama shirt and back bent at an angle that makes her own ache in sympathy. She’s never been aware of his physical size, not really, but he looks so small like this.
”Lieutenant?”
Still no reply. She sits on the edge of the mattress gingerly, wondering why only one of the pillowcases has been stripped, the other pillow with sleeping clothes neatly folded on top of it. The nightstand on that side is neatly laid out, chrono and PADDs at right angles to the edges, but the one closest to her is covered in an unruly scatter of objects. Two half-empty water glasses sit precariously on a haphazard pile of PADDs, in front of a framed holo. She leans closer, just making out Stamets and Culber with their arms around each other, laughing with their noses touching. Culber’s winking at whoever took the holo, but Stamets is only looking at him, wearing a smile she’s never seen. It’s open and adoring, and she takes in the way his body is angled in, hand tucked in Culber’s back pocket.
They look so happy.
Stamets shifts a little, tearing her attention away from the holo. The damp fabric smells strongly of something spicy, and she can’t quite place it. Unbidden, a memory surfaces, of Stamets sitting up in bed and calling for Doctor Culber to bring the report back to him. Tilly’s eyes burn with the sudden sting of tears.
This must have been his side.
He moans, fingers flexing around the sheets clenched between them. The frown is growing deeper, and he seems to be shaking his head in tiny jerks of motion.
Before she can think better of it, Tilly reaches out and rests her hand on his arm, frozen in surprise at her own boldness. But he quiets under her touch, and after a few seconds of wondering if he’s going to wake up and throw her off, she starts to move her hand in slow circles over the ball of his shoulder.
Her comm chirps, sounding impossibly loud in the stillness of the room.
”Tilly.”
”How is it, Cadet?”
“He- he’s sleeping, Doctor Pollard. Should I wake him up?”
The hypo in her pocket is digging into her leg, and she wonders if she ought to simply leave it on the nightstand and let him alone in his grief.
“No, but-“
He stirs again, eyelids fluttering.
”He’s waking up. Tilly out.”
She snaps the comm shut, and turns her full attention to the man on the bed.
“Sir? Are you...” she trails off, because ‘are you okay?’ is probably the most useless thing she could possibly say.
When he speaks, it’s mumbled into the fabric, voice raspy and hoarse as his eyes open slowly.
”Oh gods, Hugh, I-“
He blinks in surprise, completely bewildered when he manages to focus on her face.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs.
Surprise registers, and for a moment she can see so much agonizing despair in his reddened eyes that it makes her chest hurt. Then he closes them again, burying his face in the pajama shirt.
”Tilly.”
It’s not a question, almost as if he needs to identify her to himself.
”Go away.”
The command has nothing of the usual snap to it, more a plea than a demand.
”I ummm, I don’t think-“
”Please,” his voice breaks, “leave me alone.”
”Sir, Doctor Pollard sent me to- she wanted me to give you this,” she fumbles the hypo out of her pocket, then realizes he’s not looking. “For uhhh, dehydration.”
He doesn’t respond, but she can’t leave him like this. Tilly starts counting silently. She’s at three hundred and twenty eight when he finally speaks again.
”If I take it, will you go away?”
”If that’s what you want, sir,” she forces out past the lump in her own throat, unsure if it's asked in relief or fear.
The bitterness in his laugh is a punch to the stomach.
”What I want.”
”Sir?”
He fumbles a hand free, pulling open his jacket collar. Tilly’s hands are shaking, but she presses the hypospray against his neck. There’s a fading bruise marking the skin where neck meets shoulder, smaller ones scattered over his throat. She flushes hot, pulling his collar back into place, feeling like she’s somehow trespassed and seen something meant to be kept private.
“Sir, I...”
His sigh sounds pained.
”What?”
”I...I’ll go now.”
Very slowly, one eye opens.
”You don’t have to.”
”...okay.”
They don’t speak again after that, not when Tilly hesitantly starts rubbing his shoulder again, or when his body shakes with silent sobs.
She doesn’t move until it’s clear Stamets has fallen back into an uneasy sleep. The chrono says almost an hour has passed, and she should probably go before he wakes up again.
Tilly glances around the room, locating a throw on one of the chairs. He doesn’t stir when she stands up, stretching the cramp out of her side. She covers him carefully, debating with herself and finally deciding that it can’t hurt.
Very gently, she presses a kiss to his cheek, and creeps out as quietly as possible.
She goes straight back to her quarters, sits on the floor of the shower and cries, for Doctor Culber and all of the losses they’ve suffered and a little bit for herself, but mostly for Stamets. Michael finds her there an hour later, doesn’t ask any questions, just sits down next to her and pulls Tilly against her shoulder.
When she sees Stamets next, it’s a day and a half later in Engineering. There’s still a war going on, and the bay is busy even though everyone gives him a wide berth. He has his head down, punching in calculations with a concentrated stare, and Tilly pauses, wondering if she ought to just leave him alone.
She’s just about to turn away to go to her station when he looks up. His face is composed, hair styled perfectly, but his eyes are still haunted. Despite that, he conjures up the barest ghost of a smile. It lasts half a second, before he drops his eyes again, but she hopes that maybe a very tiny bit of the burden on him is a little lighter.
Notes:
I like to write Tilly at her filter-less, brilliant but over sharing best, but I think it would be a disservice to never touch on the flip side of that - her ability to empathize and care. This stuck with me, and when Paul tells her in the beginning of season two that she does everything out of love, I’m choosing to believe it’s because of this here.
Chapter 75: Serious
Summary:
What happens after the toothbrush scene?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Hugh?”
Paul’s bare feet are silent as he leaves the bathroom, stopping in front of Hugh where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I could have lost you today, Paul.”
He thought they’d finished this discussion, but clearly the thirty seconds he’d taken to join him had given his partner time to swing back to worried. Sighing, he sits on the mattress next to him. There’s no point in denying the possibility.
”...I know. But-“
Hugh shakes his head. He isn’t looking at Paul, staring instead at his own hands clasped between his knees.
”-I know why. But it doesn’t make it any less dangerous.”
”I’m sorry.”
”You’re not just saying that, are you?”
”Hugh...I’m right here,” he takes an unresisting hand between both of his, lacing their fingers together and pitching his voice in his most reassuring tone, “everything’s fine, I feel okay, and you’ll have all day tomorrow to make sure it stays that way.”
Hugh shakes his head again, loosing Paul’s hand to climb under the covers. A knot of trepidation ties itself in Paul’s stomach, as he’s left standing awkwardly before walking around to his side and ordering the lights off.
He counts to fifty, keenly aware of the inches of sheet and brittle silence between them as good as a light year of distance. Hugh’s as close as possible to the edge of the mattress while still being on the bed, on his back and staring up at the ceiling.
”Hugh...”
This isn’t going to bed with sullen silence after the occasional heated argument, backs turned to each other until one or the other cools down enough to be the first one to apologize. Or the even rarer occasion when neither is willing to do so, but they wake up entangled, bodies gravitating together in sleep and belying their owners’ pique. (They’d learned early on - just the once - that kicking someone out of bed to lie awake on the couch only resulted in neither of them sleeping at all.)
In the starlight filtering in the viewport, he sees Hugh’s jaw twitch, eyes squeezing shut.
”Can I hold you, or are you still mad at me?”
He reaches out tentatively, hand resting on top of the covers in invitation. Hugh doesn’t ignore it, but he makes no move to take it either, gaze locked determinedly anywhere but the man on the other side of the bed.
”Paul...”
That’s twice in five minutes, and he reacts before he can think better of it, throat closing.
”I hate it when you do that.”
Hugh does look up at how small his voice is, expression unreadable when rolls onto his side, facing Paul. His arms are still tucked protectively against his own torso, but the words come out tired rather than angry.
”...sweetheart, you really scared me. More than I’ve been scared by anything else this whole damn war. I think I deserve some time to process it.”
Paul regrets trying to dismiss his earlier concern as ‘doctoring’. This is Hugh his lover and partner and best friend, not Doctor Culber, speaking.
“I know. You do.”
The flat line of his mouth softens, but Hugh is still very much not reaching out. Their shipmates might assume otherwise, but their relationship has always been expressed in physical affection, as casual as breathing. Even though he knows Hugh would never deliberately punish him that way, having touch withheld hurts and he finds himself blinking back tears.
”I-“ he exhales hard, trying to wrestle his emotions under control, “I’m sorry for scaring you I didn’t think about that, and I should have.”
Arm’s length away, Hugh nods, eyes dropping to look at the hand now fisting the duvet between them.
“Please, Hugh.”
He knows his voice is wobbling, but keeps going.
”I deserve it for hurting you. Just...please. Please. Let me hold you.”
Paul closes his eyes, wondering if he’s finally fucked up badly enough that even his understanding and forgiving Hugh won’t accept the apology.
The sheets rustle, mattress dipping.
”Sweetheart, no.”
He stiffens, but then he’s being pulled against a broad chest, Hugh’s arms around him. His heart is pounding a staccato beat between them, and Paul can feel it in his own chest.
”I mean... no, you don’t deserve it. I know you weren't trying to do anything but not hurt that creature any more.”
Paul buries his face in Hugh’s neck, mumbles into the skin.
”M’still sorry.”
”I- it’s been a hell of a day. Sleep, maybe, and we’ll see how we both feel in the morning?”
He nods, knowing Hugh can feel it.
“Are we okay?”
Hugh’s arms tighten around him.
”We’re okay.”
Notes:
This started as a dialogue only flashback, but really deserved a chapter of its own.
To be clear, I can’t imagine Hugh ever being passive-aggressive and deliberately withholding touch. He’s struggling with his own reaction, and it takes him a bit to realize what Paul is reading into.
Continued in Chapter 78.
Chapter 76: Spoons
Summary:
Fluff.
Chapter Text
Hugh opens his eyes to darkness, disoriented. He was...dreaming? The details slip out of reach as he grasps for them, leaving a lingering sense of unease.
For a moment, he’s not sure where he is, heart pounding in his chest. He’s cold and alone, and-
“...’ugh?”
A sleep-clumsy hand makes contact with his back, gripping onto his shirt.
Paul.
He must have rolled away from his partner in his sleep, right at the edge of the mattress with the covers kicked off.
”What’re you doin’ over there?”
Paul sounds marginally more awake, and Hugh rolls over to face him, relief pulling the tension from his body all at once.
”Sorry love, didn’t mean to-“ he clears his throat, voice rough, “to wake you up.”
His eyes have adjusted to the dark, and he can just make out Paul’s form inches away.
”What’s wrong?”
“Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep.”
Hugh shivers involuntarily, and the next thing he feels is Paul’s sleep-warmed chest under his cheek. His arms circle Hugh’s shoulders, tugging the duvet back up over them both.
“Better?”
He squirms, and Paul loosens his grip enough that he can wiggle around. Paul follows a moment later, spooning up behind him and adjusting his arms until every limb is wrapped around him.
”Mmmhmmm.”
”Wanna talk about it?”
The offer is serious, even slow and slurred with drowsiness. Paul would make himself wake up enough if Hugh needed, but...
”Nah. I’m okay. Just- just missed you.”
Paul makes a quiet noise against the back of his neck, kissing behind Hugh’s ear.
”M’right here.”
“Love you, sweetheart.”
The silence that follows stretches out, and Hugh’s almost certain he’s not going to get a response. Then-
“...you too.”
Safe and loved, Hugh closes his eyes and lets the rhythm of Paul’s breathing lull him back to sleep.
Chapter 77: Signs
Summary:
Ever notice that long time couples with good communication habits seem to be almost telepathic?
Chapter Text
Paul Stamets is a man of routines, and contrary to how it might seem on the surface, Hugh loves that about him.
Routine isn’t the same as predictable; it’s more a matter of reading the signs and knowing the situation so that he can fit himself in instead of being a discordant note. It means he always knows where he stands with Paul, the bare honesty between them, rarely has to guess what’s going on. It doesn’t mean they never disagree or argue - far from it - but it also gives them a well-worn roadmap to avoid deliberately hurting each other.
He misses that now. Ever since the war started and they’d both been dragged into it, it’s been harder and harder to stay in sync. Before, it was only one of them stressed at a time, able to balance each other out. Now, they barely have any time together and Paul has been coiled tighter than a spring, and Hugh knows he himself is getting snappish.
Paul is actually home in time for bed tonight, but from the way he’s tapping his fingers on the table Hugh knows he’s not going to be in a snuggly mood.
Yet.
His lover works in stages, needs to process and turn things over in his mind before neatly shelving his thoughts and feelings into place. Paul won’t be ready to relax and might not even sleep at all though, if Hugh doesn’t get the next part right.
Instead of commenting on his distracted frown and distinct lack of affection outside of the brief peck on the lips when he walked in, Hugh bides his time. He has options.
He could leave Paul be, acknowledging the mood but not interfering, reminding him that his partner isn’t going to demand he snap out of it immediately. Sometimes that works, just letting him think through whatever it is without pushing.
He could invite Paul into the shower with him, try to rub some of the tension from his shoulders and maybe the relaxation would help speed up the process. It probably won’t do much tonight, which is unfortunate because Hugh enjoys taking care of him when he’s allowed.
He could ask what he’s mulling over, offer his intellect as an extended space and metaphorical processing power to help logic things out. Hugh’s not an astromycologist, but he has more than a passing knowledge of the sciences and he’s made sure to listen and learn over the years. That seems like a more likely path tonight, but he’s not completely sure yet.
He could also always attempt a seduction, offer his body as a means to channel the palpable frustration. No matter how out of sorts he’s feeling, Paul would never hurt him physically, even if he wants a rough fuck or to tie Hugh down to reassert some control in a safe setting. Or he might even ask Hugh to take charge, overwhelming whatever is on his mind with sensation. Either way or anything in between is always an actual pleasure, and Hugh knows the offer goes both directions even if he doesn’t require it often. Paul looks too keyed up to respond to that though, so he discards it with a hint of regret.
Hugh moves around their quarters getting ready for bed, taking a quick shower. He can hear Paul brushing his teeth while he’s washing his hair, which is a bit disappointing because it means he’s feeling too cagey to enjoy that part of their routine together.
Paul’s already in bed when he emerges, lying close to the middle but still on his side. His frown hasn’t diminished, and from the way he’s rubbing his thumb against forefinger, whatever it is is giving him more trouble than anticipated. Hugh doesn’t try to distract him, just leans over to collect a kiss goodnight and settles down close enough that Paul can feel his body heat but not crowding into his space.
He’s still awake when Paul picks up his PADD maybe half an hour later, thumbing the screen on in night mode to avoid disturbing him too much. Paul knows he’s awake, and Hugh knows that he knows Hugh knows that he knows it, but doesn’t say anything as he starts keying in calculations. Hugh watches him through half-closed eyes. He’s chewing his lower lip, which is a good sign that he might almost have whatever it is resolved.
At last, Paul heaves a sigh and sets the PADD back on the nightstand. He reaches out in the dark, finds Hugh’s hand already waiting for him on top of the covers and laces their fingers together.
Hugh slowly counts to twenty in his head, and right on schedule, Paul slumps into the sheets. He doesn’t have to say anything, just lets Hugh gather him up and rest their heads together on the pillow, making a small pleased hum as they exchange soft kisses. Paul slips his free hand underneath Hugh’s shirt, resting warm on his stomach, and Hugh finally closes his eyes.
Neither of them speak. They don’t have to.
Notes:
I’m projecting my own tendency to observe and catalog so I know how to react appropriately onto Hugh, and I’m not sorry about it.
The Hugh-knows-Paul-knows is a tongue in cheek reference to a scene from The Lion In Winter, and one of my favorite things to include in any piece of writing.
Chapter 78: Serious, Part Two
Summary:
Continuation from Chapter 75 - Hugh’s perspective the next morning.
Chapter Text
The morning after his partner (recklessly) injects himself with tardigrade DNA (altruistically), Hugh’s in the shower when he hears Paul at the bathroom sink.
That’s odd.
Rinsing soap off his back, he checks the chrono at the top of the control panel, but it is indeed still 0637 and Paul is never willingly up this early. He'd managed to extricate himself from Paul's grasp without waking him, or so he'd thought. Hugh had traded shifts with Tracy to be able to have today off, unwilling to leave Paul unattended when he's supposed to be taking an enforced 24 hours of rest, monitored for any signs of...abnormality.
Being awake and- is he humming? ...well, cheerful at this hour is definitely abnormal. Then again, his endorphins had still been high when he scanned Paul while brushing their teeth, levels only beginning to drop around 0200, and with them Hugh's eyelids.
Sleep hadn’t come easily. Hugh had lain awake long after turning off the lights, Paul snoring quietly against his neck and arm heavy over his waist. He’d even given up trying to move them closer to the center of the bed, Paul’s unconscious whimper of distress when he made an attempt to shift them more effective than any protesting noise. Paul had finally fallen asleep wrapped tightly around Hugh after multiple apologies and rounds of reassurance that no, Hugh isn’t planning to leave him over this. Hours later, Hugh was still staring into the darkness, the weight of Paul’s head on his shoulder reminding him that his partner was safe, but not able to shake the lingering sense of unease.
For all that he’s reserved and seemingly self-possessed around others, Paul has a deep-seated fear of losing him, even all these years later. He doesn't let people in easily, but Paul Stamets loves completely and gives those select few allowed past all of his defenses the power to cause irrevocable harm. It’s something that’s kept Hugh up before, wondering if that sort of attachment is healthy when the universe is full of so many unknowns. Hugh's going to spend the rest of his life with Paul, but there's no guarantee that things beyond their control will let them both do so easily.
The last time he'd checked the bedside chrono had been 0239, so at best Hugh's running on just under four hours of sleep. He's done more strenuous work on less - including, memorably, thirty hours on his feet when the medical facility in his charge on Starbase 12 was overrun with radiation-burned evacuees from a colony world under Klingon assault. At the end of that marathon, uniform covered in more blood and other things than he could ever remember, he'd still managed to stay awake after stumbling back to his quarters, comming Paul after seeing the backlog of increasingly frantic messages.
This morning though, the emotions from yesterday are muted, drained away. The horror on seeing the deep puncture wounds on his partner's torso and hearing the events leading up to it has settled into a shaky sort of acceptance. Part of him is still furious at Paul for endangering himself, but it's falling into the background of relief.
The cubicle door opens behind him, and he turns under the spray to find Paul looking at him with unbounded affection as he steps into the shower with Hugh. It's not the expression he expects to see on Paul's face, especially after last night, but there's no mistaking the way his mouth is curved in a happy smile and eyes full of adoration. Hugh's brain is still trying to process the unexpected situation when Paul grips the back of his head and pulls him into the most thorough kiss they've shared since reuniting on Discovery months ago.
There’s nothing aggressive in the slightest about it. The kiss starts nearly chaste, slowly building as the sound of their mouths meeting again and again is lost under the falling water. Paul traces Hugh's lips with the tip of his tongue, teasing and inviting him into his mouth. He can feel the rasp of stubble catching on his chin, can’t resist nibbling just a little, tugging gently on Paul’s lower lip with his teeth and swallowing the resulting moan.
Can never resist this man.
It should be sexual, but instead it’s somehow sweet. Paul’s soft where he’s pressed against Hugh’s thigh, seemingly lost in the sensuality as the kiss turns open-mouthed. Even then, with their tongues caressing each other and a hint of teeth, he never pushes beyond the same unhurried pace. He’s got Hugh backed against the wall, Hugh’s arms finding their way around Paul’s waist. With his eyes closed, he still knows every inch of his partner’s body, fingers mapping out the breadth of his shoulders and meandering down the valley of his spine.
Paul’s an unashamedly noisy lover, but there’s no hungry moans or breathless pleas this morning. The sounds breathed into Hugh’s skin are soft sighs as he breaks the kiss to work his way down the strong curve of Paul's jaw, quiet mewls of satisfaction. It feels like Paul’s smiling, and Hugh opens his eyes to find he’s still being watched. Paul’s eyes are heavy-lidded with contentment, the way they are in the afterglow of lovemaking, gazing at Hugh with adoration. Standing together without the echoes of orgasm fading from them, that same look is almost obscene in its vulnerability.
”Sweetheart...”
Slowly, deliberately, Paul slides his hand up from Hugh’s neck and uses his thumb to trace over his lips. Hugh can’t look away from the intent in his eyes that’s so much deeper than lust, doesn’t break eye contact even as he lets that thumb slip into his mouth and gently suckles it, flicking his tongue against and around the edges of the nail. Paul lets him, presses down on his tongue and slides a little deeper until Hugh can’t help the moan it evokes, hungry for more of Paul’s touch.
He pulls his thumb free with a pop, smiling at the involuntary whine of protest. Before Hugh can voice a complaint, Paul replaces his thumb with two fingers. Hugh’s well aware of his own oral fixation, lets Paul tease him about it endlessly (because at the end of the day, it means Hugh loves sucking him off). Seemingly satisfied that he’s keeping Hugh busy, Paul uses his nose to nudge Hugh’s chin up for better access.
Without any preamble, he starts licking his way over Hugh’s collarbone, moving up his throat and swirling his tongue over the pulse beating there. Maddeningly, Paul doesn’t seem to be in any more of a rush than he was with the kissing. Hugh moans around the fingers in his mouth, the hot sweep of Paul’s tongue igniting sparks of pleasure that settle low in his groin. He can feel himself getting hard, hands scrabbling over Paul’s skin to grope his ass and hold his hips in place.
Paul is still oddly unaroused - actually, wait, that’s not true. He might not have the beginnings of an erection, but the utter satisfaction in his eyes with every gasp and shudder he draws from Hugh makes him look intoxicated, pupils wide and cheeks flushed.
His free hand trails over Hugh’s chest, caressing the pectoral muscles and flirting with his nipples, all the while continuing the attention to his throat. Humming against the skin, he insinuates a knee between Hugh’s until he’s nearly straddling Paul’s thigh. The change in position gives him access to thrust into the cradle of Paul’s hip, slick and hot.
Desire clouds his mind, every point of contact with his lover a hotspot of sensation. Still...
Forcing his eyes open, he gently tugs on Paul’s hair until he looks up and regretfully releases Paul’s fingers from between his lips.
”Sweetheart, you-“
Paul’s already shaking his head, kisses him softly.
”This is for you, Hugh,” he whispers, lips brushing his ear and sending shivers down his body, “let me make you feel good. I want to.”
”Can I at least return the favor?”
”Shhhh,” Paul slips his fingers back into Hugh’s mouth, thrusting them in and out a few times, “we can talk later. Just let me.”
They both get a lot out of pleasuring the other, so that he definitely understands. Hugh nods and lets his head fall back against the wall, closing his eyes again. It’s a bit of a struggle to focus solely on his own reactions and not trying to give back as good as he’s getting, but coherent thought flees as Paul returns to pressing open-mouthed kisses to that spot behind his ear that makes his knees weak.
“Mine. My dear doctor,” he murmurs between licks, “so gorgeous and always taking care of me.”
Hugh rocks his hips harder, bobbing his head and sucking as if something else was between his lips. When Paul starts playing with his nipples again, it’s all he can do to keep himself upright.
He loses track of time, of anything but the pressure building, spiraling tighter with every flick of Paul’s fingers and tease of his tongue. All the while he keeps up a stream of soft-voiced comments in Hugh’s ear, gratitude and praise mingled with words of love.
Hugh comes with a garbled moan around Paul’s fingers, eyes open just enough to catch a glimpse of Paul pulling off his neck to watch. The adoration he sees written on his face almost feels like a second orgasm, Paul reaching down to stroke him through it until the last of the shivers settle.
“...wow.”
Paul doesn’t seem bothered by his lack of eloquence, just moves to steer Hugh back under the shower to wash off the mess. They’re holding hands, water running over their shoulders, and everything is perfect, at least for a little while.
He sighs when Paul kisses him sweetly, pulling back with a smile.
”Good morning, Hugh.”
Notes:
This idea grew out of a single thought - Paul licking Hugh’s neck. It expanded into needing a reason for him to do that, then it turned into Hugh in the shower thinking about the night before, and then I had to write the entirety of Chapter 75 as setup for this one. Originally, that was just a few lines of dialogue, but it morphed into something much more significant.
Chapter 79: Slice (of Life)
Summary:
Dialogue-only bit of domesticity.
Notes:
I honestly didn’t have a direction in mind when I started this, but badly needed a Culmets trip away from reality.
Chapter Text
“Babe?”
”...hmm?”
”Are you bus- oh. Never mind.”
”Ooookay.”
”Actually...”
”What?”
”You know how I said I was standing for ten hours today?”
”Mmmhmm. Oh, do you want to go to sleep? Computer, lights-“
”No. I mean, yes, I am tired, but I was hoping you might...”
”Wait, are you in the mood again? We just showered.”
“Mmm. That was a good shower.”
”You’re hotter than fuck, Hugh, but I don’t think I can get it up again yet. Want me to su-“
”Sweetheart, I’m not asking for sex.”
”Oh? Oh.”
”Quit pouting at me.”
”I’m not pouting, my lip is lonely.”
”...okay, that was awful even for you.”
”Hey!”
”Anyway, I was hoping you might be up for a foot massage?”
”Why didn’t you just say so?”
”I was trying to. You thought I was propositioning you.”
”Propos- Hugh, after this long, I’m pretty sure you’ve figured out I’m a sure thing.”
”If I kiss you, will you rub my feet?”
”You’re changing the subject.”
”No, my feet hurt. And as a doctor, I’m prescribing myself some...physical therapy from the most qualified person on the ship.”
“Did you bring a doctor’s note?”
“Oh would you- mmmmph.”
”Yeah, I’ll rub your feet. Bring ‘em up here.”
”...”
”Good?”
“...ohhhhhhhh. Oh my- love your hands, sweetheart. Fuck, that’s good. Right there.”
”Are you sure you’re not trying to get laid again?”
“Unnhhh. You’re projecting again. You keep...mmm, yes...bringing it up.”
”You’re naked with your feet in my lap and you keep moaning, what else am I supposed to be thinking?”
”That I’m an overworked medical officer whose partner is a genius with amazing hands.”
”Flattery gets you everywhere.”
“Mmmmmm.”
”...Hugh? Are you- oh.”
”...why’d you stop?”
”You were snoring.”
”Sorry. Told you, magic hands.”
”Nah. ‘M tired too. Sleep now and you can continue to praise my skills in the morning?”
“Mmmm.”
”Love you. Computer, lights.”
” ‘ve you too.”
Chapter 80: Scent
Summary:
Hugh’s viewpoint from that scene in Saints of Imperfection.
Can be read as a companion piece to Chapter 31 (“Shaking”) which contains Paul’s perspective.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
He’s still not fully convinced that Paul isn’t another hallucination, a cruel trick of his mind meant to further test his fragile grip on sanity.
It’s not the first time he’s seen him, or heard his voice, but this time it feels real and he’s even more terrified. What if he goes to touch and his hands find only empty air and more of the burning spores waiting to devour his flesh?
The Discovery hasn’t melted away beneath him like he expected it to once he found an access hatch and scoured his fractured psyche for nearly-forgotten command codes. Once inside, the hissing of the spores vanished, but he’d merely traded one sort of solitude for another. There’s no one else on the ship that he can find, running through what feels like endless miles of deck, always avoiding the shimmering, pulsing barrier cutting across the corridors.
He’s so tired, sliding down the bulkhead and wondering if he’s locked himself in the memory of his ship, caught in delusion. Hugh’s never made it this far in his fantasies, never been able to recreate the ship in such detail, but he doesn’t dare let himself believe.
In the past, Paul’s appeared to him alone, seemingly stepping out of thin air with his arms open and a smile just for Hugh. Or he chases him amongst the forest of mycelia, never able to catch more than a fleeting glimpse. He’s not even sure when that happens if it’s a physical manifestation of his partner, or just his lonely mind wrapping up his feeling of love into a specter just out of reach.
Past the glare of light, he sees Michael and Tilly and a woman he doesn’t recognize. They’re immediately dismissed as unimportant when Paul starts to move closer, the way he holds his hands tense around the grip of his phaser and the breadth of his shoulders so painfully familiar. Paul’s frowning, lips pressed together, and Hugh wants to throw himself into his arms, but he knows if he touches it will all disappear. He’s not sure he has the strength to survive the loss again. So he stays crouched on the floor, wondering how long he can keep the hallucination up for, how long he can pretend the love of his life is just a few feet away.
It’s too much, being offered this vision of salvation.
He’s sobbing his despair and exhaustion when the stranger starts screaming at Tilly.
”Kill it! KILL IT! You promised!“
This is it.
He wonders if this is the last gasp of consciousness, if the burning spores are actually eating him up and his brain is trying to let him know their intent. Does he let them? Is there anything worth fighting for, other than this bleak existence?
The woman is still screaming, and it fills his mind with fear. Paul turns away, and it’s like a knife through the heart. He can’t watch him melt away again.
Hugh flees, hears footsteps in pursuit but doesn’t dare turn to look, Orpheus without even the hope of Eurydice following. He’s clumsy, nothing like the sure-footed runner he used to be, banging into walls until he triggers a door sensor and tumbles through.
It looks like personal quarters, no one’s that he recognizes, and he sinks to the floor on his knees. Tries to catch his breath. He’s alone, has been alone, save for the creatures with their acid touch.
Silence.
Then the door opens, and Paul is silhouetted against the panels of the corridor, the bluish light catching his eyes and turning them a transparent grey.
He can’t.
Hugh scrambles behind a room divider, trapped with no way to escape.
”You’re not real.”
He hasn’t heard his own voice in...days? Weeks? Whatever passes for time here. It’s weak and pleading and he hates that he can hear just how close he is to breaking.
”I am.”
That’s Paul’s voice, thick with emotion.
No.
”When I was lost here, you found me. Remember?”
Hugh whimpers, pressing his cheek to the partition. He can’t ever forget. Their last kiss, and sending Paul out of the network. He’d thought that nothing else could hurt more, and he’d been so wrong.
“You found me in so many places.”
Yes, he had found Paul here so many times. And each time he vanished, he took another piece of Hugh’s sanity with him.
“You took me to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, when we were on leave. It was our...third date.”
He remembers.
They’d been talking for months, dates via comm link, but that was only the third time they were able to go somewhere together in person. This turn is even more cruel than any of his past hallucinations, pulling out one of his most cherished memories to torment him.
“You were walking so fast, because you were excited to show me the de Koonings. All of them, in one room.”
He remembers.
That day was one of the happiest in his life. That night, after feeding Paul asopao and cuddling on the couch, was the first time he whispered ‘I love you’ as Paul lay asleep with his head on Hugh’s shoulder.
”I had to run to keep up, and as you walked, you held out your hand behind you because you knew that I would grab it.”
He remembers.
”And I did. And I knew everything about you in that moment.”
Paul’s voice is breaking, and he can hear so much grief and hope and fear in it. Hugh’s resolve is weakening under the onslaught of emotion. He peeks around the partition, sees Paul leaning towards him.
It hurts so much, and he doesn’t know if it’s even worth fighting. Maybe letting go of the last shreds of sanity won’t be so bad, if he can pretend Paul is with him.
“And I’m here now. And here’s my hand.”
Paul’s hands, strong and sure but so gentle. Reaching for him, face open and pleading, shaking but brave. So brave.
Hugh can’t take it anymore.
He lunges for Paul, fingers meeting and squeezing and oh gods he’s so solid and warm and real.
Could it finally be...?
Hugh breathes in raggedly, and it hits him with the force of a phaser blast. The only smells in this hell are ozone and metal and his own blood and sweat, but now...his nose is filled with woodsmoke and citrus and hair gel and underneath it all, the scent imprinted on his soul, the one he could recognize anywhere.
Paul.
”I thought I was losing my mind,” he forces out, caught between laughter and tears.
Strong arms are around him, and he feels something he hasn’t felt in so long that it’s nearly foreign, a half-remembered dream.
Safe.
Safe and loved, and it’s Paul, his Paul holding him. After all this time, somehow, some way.
Hugh lets himself believe.
Notes:
So that happened. I debated whether to put it in as another dream in When Sorrow Turns To Joy, but I couldn’t wait.
Chapter 81: Synthesizer
Summary:
No one else thinks Paul Stamets is a romantic. Hugh knows better.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The first time it happens, Paul is on gamma shift maybe a month after Discovery's launch. Hugh gets back from his morning run (feeling less refreshed than usual, he hates sleeping without Paul in their bed) to find Paul in the shower and a cup of coffee waiting on his nightstand. At first, he thinks Paul must have set it down in passing, but it's an untouched café con leche and Paul prefers café au lait.
While he's considering the cup, the sonic shower stops and Paul pads out of the bathroom in just a towel.
"Hi honey," Hugh smiles and pulls him in for a kiss.
"Mmmm," Paul breaks the kiss to bury his face in the crook of Hugh's neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. "You smell so good. Wish you were coming to bed with me."
"Me too, and I love you babe, but I stink."
Paul wrinkles his nose, but lets the comment pass. It's a longstanding 'disagreement', and one they're both happy to leave be.
"Shower's all yours."
Nodding, Hugh starts stripping off his workout clothes.
"Thanks for the coffee," he calls out as Paul turns to head back into the bathroom.
He gets a distracted hum in response, drains the cup while Paul is brushing his teeth, and gets ready for the day.
********
The second time, Hugh is the one coming back home from a shift run over. Thankfully it’s not an emergency this time, just a recalibration of one of the microsurgical tools that needed to be completed in one go. He tries to be as quiet as possible, mindful of Paul asleep when he creeps in. After he's showered and brushed his teeth, he climbs into bed, sighing when Paul rolls over and spoons him.
When he wakes up, Paul has been gone for hours already. Hugh goes about his 'morning' routine even though it's 1300, wondering why he scheduled himself to be on again this afternoon. It's a rhetorical exercise; he's trying to re-adjust to be able to sync up with Paul's shifts, but today is going to be rough.
Stepping out of the bathroom, he hears a chime from the synthesizer. It's not a cause for concern, but he wanders over wondering if it's signaling a need for maintenance. Instead, at precisely 1315, it delivers a small mocha.
Hmmm.
Never one to turn down coffee, Hugh shrugs and picks up the cup. He smiles at his partner's thoughtfulness, goes on shift, and doesn't think about it again until they're in their pajamas snuggling for the night.
"Thank you."
"Hmmm?"
Paul sounds mostly asleep, face first in the pillow and one leg thrown over Hugh's thigh.
"For the coffee."
"Hmm hmmMhmm."
He takes that for a muffled 'you’re welcome' (or possibly 'I love you'), kisses the back of Paul's neck, and closes his eyes.
********
It's not every day at first, and Hugh enjoys being pleasantly surprised when it does happen. Eventually though, they get their schedules worked out and despite the stress they're under (Paul especially), are at least mostly getting to be home at the same times.
Hugh's settled into a routine of going running before 0700, returning to rouse Paul out of bed. His lover is most definitely not a morning person, but he's adorably ruffled with pillow hair and sleep-flushed cheeks. He leaves him to brush his teeth, taking a hot water shower to rinse the sweat off.
When he emerges, there's a steaming cup waiting on their dining table across from where Paul is downing his own coffee like his life depends on it.
It's nice to take a few minutes in the morning together before heading to the mess hall, and he savors the mocha before starting the day.
********
A couple of weeks later, Hugh trades with Tracy so she's off shift to be able to comm her parents on their 50th wedding anniversary. Paul's still in Engineering when he gets home, and he nearly drops his PADD in surprise when the synthesizer buzzes to life two minutes after he's done in the shower.
It's a hot chocolate, meaning he'll be able to get to sleep that night without extra caffeine. He checks the bedroom just in case Paul made it back and didn't tell him, but he's alone in their quarters.
Hmmm.
Sipping the hot, sweet liquid, he's on the couch in just his pajama pants when the doors swish open to admit Paul carrying an armful of PADDs. He comes over for a kiss, then dumps the stack on the dining table and heads in to shower. After, he drops onto the couch beside Hugh, propping his feet up with a sigh.
"Okay, I'll bite."
"Hmmm?"
Paul meets his eyes with confusion, no trace of mischief or evasion on his face.
"This," Hugh raises the cup between them before draining the last of it and setting it down.
Frowning, Paul picks up the cup and glances inside.
"Oh. Did it not give you hot cho-"
"Paul."
He says his name with affectionate exasperation, so Paul knows it's not a precursor for something bad.
"What?"
"It was hot chocolate, the way I like it, down to the peppermint sprinkles and whipped cream."
"Oh, okay."
Paul looks relieved, as if it was perfectly normal for the synthesizer to automatically provide his partner with his preferred beverage at all hours.
"So Tilly thinks-"
"Sweetheart, what are you up to?"
"Nothing? What do you mean?"
Propping his elbow on the back of the couch, Hugh tugs Paul's legs over his lap and shakes his head.
"So I love it when you make sure I have my coffee in the morning, and I'm not complaining at all, but sweetheart, you don't need to go through the trouble of programming it every time when you're not home when I get here."
The frown that was starting to form melts away.
"It's not- I don't have to do anything for it. I mean, at first it was pretty straightforward when we're on the same schedule, I just order it with mine. But then we got out of sync, and I didn't want you to not have coffee. So I programmed it to scan the duty roster and work that way."
"...but how does it know when I'm going to be late?"
"Oh. Right. I re-wired it to cross-talk with the door sensor."
"Doesn't that mean you'll set it off too?"
"No. So it starts with checking the duty roster. Then I had it check if anyone is in our quarters, and cross-references that with the roster. If neither of us is here, it defaults back to the door circuit, but only if it picks up your bio-readings and the shower isn't on. I set it so the type of drink goes with the time of day relative to your shifts and whenever you set the alarm, so it'll work even when you're not on alpha."
Hugh knows his mouth is hanging open, and he blinks slowly a few times, letting the information sink in.
"But if I didn't get it right, I can always-mmmmmphhh."
He takes his time with the kiss, thorough and deep, and only lets Paul up for air a couple of minutes later.
"Ummm. So I'm guessing it's okay?"
Hugh laughs, taking his hand and tugging him to his feet.
"Sweetheart, that's one of the most romantic things you've ever done."
Paul frowns again.
"I wasn't trying to be romantic. It was completely practical."
"Mmmhmmm. That's what I love about you."
He reels Paul back in, wrapping his arms around his waist and wiggling their hips together.
"Let me show you how much I appreciate it?"
"Okay."
Notes:
This was supposed to be a three-liner about Paul programming the synthesizer to make Hugh's morning coffee for him automatically. It took on a life of its own when I started thinking about schedule changes, and hopefully hasn't gone too overboard with details :)
Chapter 82: Six (Words)
Notes:
Re-watching the season 2 finale yet again, because reasons.
Chapter Text
It’s said between gritted teeth as Hugh uses his palm in the middle of Paul’s chest to push him back down onto the biobed with as much force as he dares, trying to assess the damage from the spore drive connectors.
It’s murmured in the shower as he holds them both up, Paul’s eyes screwed shut with pain from his migraine.
It’s whispered into Paul’s ear, lips barely brushing the skin as he moans and arches up beneath Hugh.
It’s almost a mantra, words as much a part of Hugh as his smile, simple but taking on a different meaning each time.
Paul thought he would never get to hear them again, never hear the familiar voice issuing them as a command, a plea, a promise.
He was wrong.
Hugh’s voice shakes with fear and determination, but his hands are steady as he runs the regenerator over the wound in Paul’s chest.
”Let me take care of you.”
Paul closes his eyes with a smile.
Chapter 83: Steadfast
Summary:
Tilly’s perspective in “Saints of Imperfection”.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s been one hell of a day - put mildly - for Ensign Sylvia Tilly, what with being...well, inhabited by a mycelial entity taking on the visage of a dead woman, transported between dimensions by said entity after her boss had to drill a hole in her skull to try to talk to the same being, and Discovery parking itself halfway in the network just so Stamets and Burnham could retrieve her.
So she’s understandably more keyed up than after a triple espresso. Rounding a corner to find that the expected monster is actually a murdered colleague while accompanying the grieving partner of that person, is almost the last straw. On top of it all, having May screaming at her and the apparently-real Culber fleeing their presence with Stamets on his heels makes her want to shove her fingers in her ears and pretend this all isn’t happening.
It’s a passing impulse, amplified by the eldritch-like, ethereal nature of the mycelial plane. She can’t imagine how Doctor Culber managed to survive months in here if just a few hours has her wanting to climb out of her skin.
Michael is talking over the communicator, but Tilly isn’t listening. Instead, she’s thinking about the look of pure torment on Doctor Culber’s face when Stamets spoke, the way he’d crouched against the wall, hunched in on himself as if expecting a blow.
When they track them down, she has barely a few seconds to react before the spores are suddenly attacking her throat, burning like a hundred angry bees. She tosses the phaser rifle to the side, hand flying up to cover the skin. May is a blur beside her-
Oh no.
No. No no NO.
Stamets is using his own body as a shield, and she doesn’t doubt for a moment that he would die to protect Culber.
Please, don’t let it come to that, she implores whatever higher power might exist.
May swings the rifle wildly, pointing it at the two men on the floor, then up at Tilly and Michael, approaching with their hands held out in the universal gesture of no harm. She can’t look away from May’s face, stricken with fear and panic, tries to make her see reason. Mycelial creature or not, Tilly knows the connection they somehow had is real, wills her to understand that killing isn’t the answer.
Once the phaser is safely in her hands and set back to stun, she turns her attention to the other occupants of the room.
Even if she knew nothing about them beforehand, the body language between Stamets and Culber would tell her everything about their relationship. Doctor Culber was a strongly built man, one impeccably groomed and who walked with the confidence of someone comfortable in his body. Now, what remains of his white uniform is filthy, exposing patches of abraded skin. He’s whimpering and clutching Stamets’ arm like a lifeline, seeming so small and vulnerable.
For his part, she can see where Stamets’ hands are shaking, even as he shelters Culber against his side. He relates the story of how he could have transferred Culber here, and she can’t imagine what it must have been like to find his partner’s lifeless body essentially at his feet. There’s so much tenderness in the way Stamets’ fingers curve around his jaw that Tilly has to swallow down a lump in her throat.
Then they’re running through the ship again, back to the spore cube as Discovery shudders around them. May looks just as terrified, and Tilly wonders if her people would understand the damage they’re causing.
Seeing the anguish on Stamets’ face, hearing Doctor Culber’s voice break when his hand dissolves into nothingness across the barrier between realities, those are things she’ll remember for the rest of her life. The impending destruction of the ship seems insignificant in comparison to the cruelest sort of hope turning to heartbreak. Stamets has been physically present ever since Culber died, but she doesn’t know if his heart can survive losing him again.
She can’t let this be the end of their story.
It’s a leap of faith in the end, her farewell to May and cramming themselves into the spore cube as Stamets jumps them back out.
The jump is rough, and it feels like all of the air has been sucked from her lungs before slamming back into her body at full force. They stumble out of the cube together, Michael catching her arm as she sways on her feet, turning to stare at the cocoon still pulsing on the deck.
Tilly wasn’t raised with a religion, but offers up her own sort of prayer - a fierce belief in the science of it all, along with a plea that something so broken be made whole.
They wait, Stamets shaking his head. Just when she’s about to break down herself, the cocoon shimmers before collapsing in on itself. It melts away, into the form of a very naked Hugh Culber curled on the deck.
For a moment, all they can do is stare. Then Culber’s ragged inhale cuts through the tense silence, and Stamets is rushing to his side with the sob of someone too close to the edge of breaking granted a miraculous reprieve. He pulls Culber into his arms, cradling his head and shoulders, and there’s such profound joy on his face that Tilly isn’t ashamed at her own tears. Michael is crying beside her, and they cling to each other while witnessing this impossible reunion.
Today, against all odds, love wins.
Notes:
I realized at the end that I hadn’t included any dialogue. It wasn’t a deliberate decision, more a sense that it isn’t needed to tell this part of the story.
The chapter title is meant as a description of Tilly herself.
Chapter 84: Secure
Notes:
Role reversal from Chapter 76 (“Spoons”).
Chapter Text
Paul gasps, heart pounding.
He thinks his eyes are open, but he can’t see anything beyond what’s playing in his head - a strangely lit alien forest filled with glowing trees covered in spreading darkness, a palace filled with malevolent orange light, a feeling of unimaginable grief.
Is it a dream, or are they memories?
He’s so alone.
Cold.
A single note cut off from his symphony.
Overwhelmed, a sob breaks free from his tightening chest. He curls in on himself, knees nearly touching his elbows, covering his face with his hands. Tears flow freely, something inside twisting in agony, and it’s too much-
“Sweetheart?”
A single word, rough with sleep but so full of concern and care that it feels like a tangible thing.
A gentle hand lands on his shoulder, rolls him onto his back. He doesn’t trust his voice, just reaches blindly forward until he encounters soft fabric over a warm body. Then he’s lunging forward, burying his face against Hugh’s chest and shaking uncontrollably.
Arms close around his shoulders as soon as Hugh catches his breath from the force of Paul’s impact.
”Sweetheart? Baby, what’s wrong?”
Familiar, beloved hands stroke down his back, cradle his head as his cries of anguish turn into tears of relief.
”Hey...” Hugh presses a kiss into his hair, “talk to me. What’s going on?”
Paul shakes his head, gasping breaths turning into hiccups.
A sigh, then the covers are being pulled up around his shoulders, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety.
“Did you have a nightmare? Is it- are you...the mission to the Glenn?”
He pulls back just far enough to be heard.
”No.”
”Love, you’re scaring me.”
”Please don’t leave me,” he balls his hands into fists around Hugh’s shirt, “please don’t ever leave me.”
”Shhhh. I’m not going anywhere, I promise. But what’s this all about?”
More kisses, to his temple and forehead as Hugh manages to haul him up until they’re both sitting amidst the bedding.
”I just...”
Paul trails off, not even sure he can explain.
”M’sorry.”
Hugh takes his face in both hands, guiding him to look up.
”Hey...sorry for what? A bad dream?”
”I do- don’t know. Just so alone...”
“I’m right here, sweetheart. See-“ he fumbles for Paul’s hand and presses it to his chest over his heart, “right here. Not alone. I’m never leaving you, I promise.”
He takes an uneven breath, grounding himself in Hugh’s presence, his steady heartbeat.
”Do you want to talk about it?”
”Can’t. Not...not right now.”
”Okay.”
Hugh kisses the tears off his cheeks, lips firm. The last kiss is on Paul’s mouth, lingering. Then he eases them back down to the sheets on their sides, tucking himself behind Paul and wrapping both arms around him.
”Think you can go back to sleep?”
A nod.
”I’ll be right here, sweetheart.”
Another soft kiss behind his ear, Hugh continuing to murmur reassurances and words of love. Held close and secure in his love’s arms, Paul closes his eyes again.
Just a dream.
Chapter 85: Sugar
Notes:
Something essentially plotless as an apology for the angst I keep writing. Sexy times below, very mature and probably bordering on explicit.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Hi love,” Hugh calls from the bed as the doors swish shut behind Paul.
“Mmmm.”
He kicks his boots off, unzipping his jacket and dumping his carryall on the way over to collect a quick kiss.
Hugh sets down his PADD, propping himself up on an elbow and watching Paul discard his uniform with a small smile.
”Shower?”
He shakes his head, still enjoying the view.
”Did already, sorry babe.”
Paul pouts a little at him, but it’s a form protest and not serious disappointment. He retrieves his bag, fishing out a handful of data solids that he leaves on the desk along with a small box.
”What’s that?”
”Hmmm? Oh, Tilly picked up bunch of things at the Vulcan outpost we stopped on last week. Said she and Michael couldn’t eat it all, and thought we might like it. Something starts with an R I think?”
Hugh’s smile turns indulgent and fond.
“She’s a keeper,” he murmurs, watching Paul not even attempt to deny the statement.
“Yeah. Sure you don’t wanna come in?”
”Go on,” Hugh makes a shooting motion, “faster you clean up, the faster you can come to bed.”
Paul can’t deny the logic, and pads into the bathroom. He skips a steam shower in favor of the sonics for efficiency, looking forward to some quiet cuddles with Hugh. It’s the best part of the day, even better than sex (although he doesn’t have any complaints at all), all of his worries and stress forced to wait outside the circle of Hugh’s arms. He’s halfway through brushing his teeth when he thinks he hears Hugh say something, but can’t quite make it out past the whirring.
“Wha-?” he pauses and calls out around the handle, expecting a request for a glass of water or something on his way back out.
Instead, he’s met with a low groan. Paul didn’t get a look at what was on Hugh’s PADD, but it doesn’t quite sound like his love is annoyed at something he's reading, and he can't think of what might be the cause.
“Hugh?”
No reply.
Then, another sound that is much closer to erotic than frustrated. It’s within the realm of possibility that Hugh is reading - or watching - something naughty. (“Come on Hugh, ‘naughty’ sounds like you’re six years old and stayed up all night playing holo-games.” “Mmm. Let me show you what I mean. You've been naughty, Lieutenant. Drop your pants and bend over.”) It’s not like either of them is bothered by knowing the other still likes to fly solo, particularly when they both enjoy watching, but usually a horny Hugh would have followed him into the shower and made his desires well known.
Intrigued, Paul quickly finishes brushing his teeth and washes his face. He pulls on his pajamas in case he’s wrong though, leaning over to rinse the last of the gel from his hair. The sonics never quite manage to remove all of the residue, and he knows how much Hugh loves seeing him without it. Drying his hair briskly, he grabs a clean towel on his way out of the bathroom. If the night is heading that direction, he might as well think ahead so they don’t have to get out of bed to clean up after.
“Are you starting something without me?”
Oh.
Oh my.
Hugh is under the covers, knees folded up and eyes closed. He has his middle and index fingers in his mouth, sucking them in a way that’s completely obscene, pulling them out to lick between them before doing the same with his thumb.
Paul’s frozen in place at the sight, feels something below the waist twitch with interest at the wet sounds Hugh’s lips and tongue are making.
Fuck, Hugh was made for seduction.
Hugh’s hand dips out of sight for a moment, and Paul’s mouth goes dry when it reappears and he returns to lapping at his own fingers.
“Hugh?”
Dark amber eyes open slowly, and Hugh turns his head to smile at Paul, licking his lips.
”Mmm. Want to have a taste?”
He doesn’t have to ask twice.
Paul strips off his shirt and nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to scramble across the mattress, pulling up short when his knee hits something hard amidst the sheets, and not the sort of hard something he expected to find.
“What the...?”
Sitting back on his heels, he tugs the duvet down to reveal a small cardboard box, the same one he’d left on the desk. The lid is off, and inside he can see what looks like several discs of chocolate. As his brain tries to process, Hugh plucks one out and pops it into his mouth, humming in clear sensual enjoyment.
Well.
Paul’s not sure if he’s more disappointed or curious that whatever this is apparently rates orgasmic moans.
”Ummm.”
His face is probably bright red.
“Babe? What’s wrong?”
”Uhhh. So, you’re not...?”
Hugh’s licking his fingers again, expression puzzled and innocent.
“Not what?”
”I thought you were, you know,” he makes a crude stroking gesture, “but umm. Never mind.”
The confusion clears away into a smile that’s both amused and indulgent.
”Awww. Sorry to disappoint. I just haven’t had these in forever, and the synthesizer never gets the texture right.”
Deflating a little, Paul tosses the towel he’s been gripping onto the nightstand and adjusts the front of his pants, dick still convinced that Hugh’s satisfied hum should be sexual. Hugh tracks the movement, and a moment later the playful expression on his partner’s face turns wicked. He searches through the box again and holds out a piece, wiggling it enticingly.
“Come have a taste.”
Paul leans forward, lets Hugh place it on his tongue. His hand lingers as Paul chews, thumb brushing over his lips.
”Good?”
He takes a few seconds before answering, considering. It’s a pleasant texture, and he has to admit that the combination of flavors is awfully good, even if it’s too sweet for his own tastes. It’s nice, but doesn’t seem to rate Hugh’s reaction.
”Sure.”
Hugh looks slightly disappointed at his less than enthusiastic response.(
“You know how much I like chocolate and peanut butter.”
“Yeah, but you haven’t sounded like you were going to come while we're eating dessert before.”
“Are you pouting?”
He’s definitely pouting.
“No!”
Hugh levels a look at him, and Paul relents.
”Yeah. A little. Can you blame me? Normally I’m the only one that makes you sound like that.”
“Sorry,” Hugh sounds anything but, “that’s the one thing I’ve ever eaten that’s almost as good as sex.”
"Should I be offended by that?"
Hugh moves the box to the nightstand, kicking back the covers and patting his thigh.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
He waits until Paul’s settled straddling his hips before pulling him down for a kiss. One kiss turns into two, into a dozen, giggling and squirming as Hugh nuzzles a sensitive spot just under his jaw.
"You ridiculous man."
"Your ridiculous man."
They rest their foreheads together, smiling. Then his breath catches as the playful warmth in Hugh's expression melts into something more intimate.
“Mmm, should we deal with this?” he murmurs, warm hand cupping the half-hard bulge in Paul’s pants, “feels like you might have a little bit of a problem.”
“It’s your fault,” Paul mutters, attempting to look put out and failing miserably, judging by Hugh’s grin, “and it’s not little.”
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous of my relationship with chocolate.”
He struggles to keep his voice level when the next squeeze is more purposeful, palm rubbing firmly.
“I don’t know about that. But you were definitely comparing it to sex.”
“I said ‘almost as good’.”
Paul lets his hands wander, roaming over Hugh’s covered torso, tracing pectoral muscles and stealing under the shirt hem to tease his stomach.
“I might need to disprove that.”
"Oh?”
Beneath him, Hugh has his best ‘prove it’ face on, but the affection in his eyes negates the intended defiant expression.
"Mmmmhmm.”
Hugh rocks his hips, and Paul can feel something starting to fill out nicely. Just above that, Hugh’s hand hasn’t moved, and now those skilled fingers are stroking him through the thin fabric. He drops down for more kisses, thrusting into the delicious grip and losing himself in the hot slide of lips and tongues.
By the time they separate again, Hugh's thumb is circling the growing damp spot on his pants and they're both fully erect. He sits back up, bouncing a couple of times and enjoying the firmness being pressed against very sensitive areas, before tugging at the hem of Hugh's shirt.
"Off."
Releasing him, Hugh complies, tossing the shirt onto the floor and settling his hands on Paul's hips.
"Better?"
"Mmmhmm."
Maintaining eye contact, Paul reaches out and retrieves another piece of chocolate from the box. He lets the confection melt a little against his skin before popping it into his mouth. Then he leans down to kiss Hugh again, open mouthed and filthy, sharing the treat on his tongue. Hugh moans hungrily, devouring his mouth with long sweeps of tongue and more than a hint of teeth. He can taste chocolate and peanut butter and the distinct flavor of Hugh, and objectively it ought to be a little off-putting, but he supposes it’s no different than kissing ice cream or cake frosting off each other’s lips.
Hugh’s mouth is smeared with sticky sweetness when they separate, and Paul licks it away.
"Fuck, sweetheart..."
He traces Hugh's swollen lips, lust breaking over him when he catches Paul's index finger between his teeth and suckles the tip suggestively.
Paul pulls his hand back and selects another piece, slowly feeding it to his love. Instead of giving Hugh his fingers to suck again though, he reaches down and very deliberately wipes his hand - and the melted chocolate - over his own chest.
”Oh, oops.”
”Look at that mess,” Hugh murmurs, playing along, “do you want me to help clean you up?”
He nods, biting his lip to try and contain his smile.
Under him, Hugh pushes up on his elbows, shifting them both and stuffing another pillow behind his back until he can sit up. He starts at Paul's collarbone, following the trail of chocolate with his tongue in a curving path that ends at his right nipple.
"Fuck."
Paul’s never been ashamed to admit that he loves having his nipples played with, particularly when Hugh is the one doing it. There's been occasions where Hugh spent the better part of an hour working his chest over, pinching and rubbing and plucking at the sensitive flesh until Paul can’t stand it any more and comes hard riding Hugh’s thigh.
Looking up from beneath his lashes, Hugh swirls his tongue around the nub, flicking rapidly, then teasing with a hint of teeth before suckling gently. Paul clutches at his shoulders, pushing his chest forward for more attention. Hugh switches sides, fingers busy with the damp skin he's just abandoned, moaning as if he were the one being pleasured. He grinds down harder onto Hugh’s lap, excited by his partner’s excitement.
There's nothing else in the universe like getting off on Hugh getting him off.
It takes all of his willpower not to just mindlessly rut together to orgasm. Instead, he works a hand between their sweaty torsos, fumbling for the drawstrings on Hugh's pants. Without pulling his mouth off, Hugh ignores Paul's whine for the few seconds it takes to effortlessly lift them both up enough to shove his pants down around his hips, fingers returning immediately to the abandoned nipple. Paul swiftly unbuttons the fly on his own pants, moaning as he slips free from the confining fabric and again when Hugh's unoccupied hand gropes his ass. They're both leaking profusely, gliding slickly when he gathers them together in his grip and begins to stroke.
He's probably scratching Hugh's shoulder too hard with the other hand, but neither of them seem to care as he picks up speed. In response, Hugh squeezes his ass again, fingers pressing into the cleft. Their moans and Paul's harsh panting fill the air, growing more frantic.
"...fuck me...so close-"
Hugh releases his ass and tangles his fingers in Paul's hair, tugging sharply.
That's it.
Paul holds Hugh's head to his chest, arching his back as he comes onto their stomachs. He whites out for a few seconds, caught in an endless feedback loop of ecstasy between his chest and groin, dimly aware of Hugh continuing to suckle and lick his nipple. As soon as he's done shaking through his orgasm, Hugh rolls them over and moves to straddle his torso. He pauses, eyes searching. Dazed, Paul answers the silent question by opening his mouth.
Still gripping a fistful of hair, Hugh rises up and thrusts into that welcoming heat, hot and thick and bitter with the evidence of Paul's pleasure. His thighs drag over Paul's now exquisitely sensitive nipples, and the resulting moans vibrating around him send Hugh over the edge. He's considerate enough not to push forward too far and choke his partner, but it's a near thing.
Spent, he pulls free and drops onto the sweaty sheets at Paul's side.
"...wow."
Paul swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Yeah."
They lay there, side by side and catching their breath. Eventually, Paul hauls himself to the edge of the bed and manages to retrieve the towel, cleaning off his stomach before passing it to Hugh to do the same. Both of them kick off their pants, and Paul orders the lights off.
Hugh settles next to him on the pillow, grimacing apologetically at Paul's wince when his hand lands on a nipple.
"Sorry, love. Too sensitive?"
"Yeah. Don't be sorry though. That was...fucking hot.”
"Want your shirt back?"
"Nah, that'll hurt more."
Hugh hums acknowledgement, arm moving to circle his waist instead.
"What...are those. Anyway?"
"Huh?"
Hugh's not at his most eloquent after orgasm and on the edge of sleep.
"Those chocolate things."
"Oh. Old Earth candy. Peanut butter cups."
"Fuck. Remind me to thank Tilly."
"Going to tell her why?"
"...no."
Notes:
Wilson has said on more than one occasion that any combination of chocolate and peanut butter is his weakness.
Chapter 86: Sorry, Part One-Thousand
Summary:
Tilly’s getting better at finding her boss and his partner being cozy, mostly because it just keeps happening.
Notes:
Title is a tongue in cheek reference to Chapter 14 (“Sorry!”), when Tilly accidentally interrupts a far more risqué activity.
Chapter Text
“Lieutenant? I finished purging the system, but I think I have an idea for a better way to do it faster and I was wondering if you could come che- oh. Ummm. Whoa. Sorry! I-“
Hugh raises his head up from where it’s pillowed on Paul’s chest, holding a finger to his lips to silence her apology before it starts. Paul’s frantic bursts of spore-infused energy leave Hugh exhausted just watching, but getting him to slow down and rest at anything resembling regular hours has been even more impossible. When his comms went unanswered, Hugh had gone down to the cultivation bay to find Paul slouched against a pile of soil, sound asleep. Gentle shaking hadn’t roused him, so Hugh decided to make himself comfortable and at least enjoy the sound of Paul’s heartbeat under his ear.
Of course, he’s forgotten that Tilly is the only other person on the ship who can enter the bay unannounced, and so he really shouldn’t be surprised that she’s found them this way. He must look a sight, lying on top of her sleeping boss without his jacket on and head tucked below Paul’s chin. There’s going to be dirt all over his white uniform, but it seems a small price to pay to steal some snuggles.
Paul shifts under him, frowning, and they both freeze until he settles again, arms moving off the ground to embrace Hugh’s shoulders.
Tilly’s eyes have gone wider than usual, and she’s blushing furiously. She seems less scandalized and more embarrassed at her own reaction than anything.
He holds out an open hand, gesturing for her to hand him the PADD she’s clutching, nodding his thanks and placing it down beside them.
“Sorry” she mouths at him, and he waves it off with a flick of his fingers before dropping his head back down.
Hugh thinks he sees a little bit of romantic dreaminess in her eyes and hides a smile; she’s a sweet young woman and he’s glad that Paul has her to keep him from becoming too withdrawn. She turns back around and creeps out with exaggerated care. The doors swish shut behind her, the bay once again empty save for the two of them and his love’s beloved mushrooms.
Paul is warm and he doesn’t stir when his jacket is slowly unzipped, scent filling Hugh’s lungs with every breath. Sighing in contentment, he sets an alarm on his comm and lets his eyes fall closed again.
It’s a tiny island of respite in the middle of a long and terrible war, but he’ll take it.
Chapter 87: Sorry, Part One-Thousand (and One)
Summary:
Paul wakes up. Continued directly from the previous chapter.
Chapter Text
Before he opens his eyes, Paul isn’t exactly sure where he is. He remembers fatigue setting in suddenly as he knelt scanning the root system in one corner of the bay, his tricorder gone heavy in his hands and vision blurring. There’s a vague recollection of moving to sit against one of the many small hillocks, intending to rest his eyes for a few minutes, and nothing beyond that.
He thinks he’s still in the bay, because he can smell the special nutrient-rich soil that Stella- likes to grow in, and the earthy dampness of the mushrooms themselves. The air is humid and warm, except that doesn’t explain the weight stretching from torso to shin over his left side. It’s not unpleasant in the slightest, but his sleepy brain doesn’t think the sensation belongs in this particular place.
Hmmm.
Whatever it is, it’s pulling him back towards slumber, an almost hardwired imperative to relax.
A few spores land on his face, tiny spots of zinging coolness that make him wrinkle his nose and roll his head to dislodge them. As he does, something tickles the underside of his jaw. Without thinking about why, he rubs his cheek against those soft bristles of close-cropped hair, hearing a quiet sigh that doesn’t seem to have come from him. The thought makes his arms tighten where they’re wrapped comfortably around the weight on his body, fingers flexing.
The pieces fall into place.
Hugh.
Paul frowns in momentary confusion even as he feels his lips stretching into a smile.
What’s he doing here?
His right hand is curved around the back of the man’s neck, cradling Hugh’s head against his chest. Hugh is laying halfway on top of him, one leg between his thighs and left hand snugged under Paul’s jacket, fingers tucked into his right armpit. Paul can feel his boots still on, which means they aren’t lying down in their quarters, but he never wakes up being cuddled like this anywhere else. It feels like there’s grit under his collar, so he forces his eyes open reluctantly and is met with the iridescent glitter of spores in the fungal forest.
Oh.
They’re most definitely on the ground in the cultivation bay, dirt below his head and still in full uniform save for an unzipped jacket, blanketed by Hugh’s body. Looking down, he can see smudges of that same dirt on the seat of Hugh’s white pants, arms bared by his undershirt. The lights have gone down to night cycle, and while he isn’t sure exactly what time he must have drifted off, it couldn’t have been any later than 1600. No wonder he feels so rested.
There’s a PADD on the ground near his right shoulder, and he carefully detaches a hand to pick it up. Thumbing it on, Tilly’s distinctive hand-scribbled notes annotate a schematic of the injection coupler, and he loses himself for a few minutes studying her proposed changes before realizing what its presence means.
It’s not his personal PADD, but one of those ubiquitous in the drive room. He doesn’t remember carrying it in with him, which means either Tilly gave it to Hugh and he brought it with him, or she came in and saw him sleeping. Possibly with a Hugh-shaped blanket. The time stamp is 1800, an hour after Hugh went off shift, so it’s possibly the former, but he has the sneaking suspicion that he’s going to have to contend with more starry-eyed looks the next time she joins him and Hugh for lunch. The thought doesn’t displease him.
His partner’s comm is blinking with an alarm that’s clearly gone ignored for quite a while. He resets the timer for another half hour before returning his arm to Hugh’s shoulders. Paul probably won’t fall asleep again, but he’d rather not have to walk out past the gamma shift crew who most certainly will gossip if the Chief Engineer and CMO emerge from the bay together disheveled after 2200.
Sighing, he adjusts his grip on the PADD until he can see the screen comfortably and loads up the daily reports. If he finishes them all now before Hugh wakes up, he can concentrate on snuggling when they finally make it back to their quarters and maybe Hugh won’t give him that understanding but slightly disappointed look when Paul brings his calculations to bed.
Yes, that’s an excellent plan.
He kisses Hugh’s forehead and sets to work.
Chapter 88: Slickly
Summary:
Sleepy, slightly silly and sweet, but mostly sensual lovemaking when Paul's too tired for more. Contains some delightfully dirty talk :)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Babe?”
Through the frosted glass door, Hugh can just make out a Paul-shaped figure at the bathroom counter. He checks the chrono on the shower control panel - 2318. Paul’s worked a double at the end of two weeks on straight, and Hugh honestly wasn’t sure whether his partner would even be home tonight at all. It’s just as likely he might have passed out over a console in the lab, or curled up in a corner of the cultivation bay.
"Yeah."
Paul sounds a bit tired, but otherwise no worse for the wear. Glancing down, he considers the activity his partner's arrival home interrupted. He debates between finishing up quickly or leaving it and seeing if Paul's interested in helping Hugh take care of things. It's not really a fair competition by any standards; even a lazy, sleepy handjob is a million times better than relieving tension alone. Rinsing the soap suds away, he shuts off the shower and retrieves a towel, wrapping it carefully around his waist. He brushes his teeth and shuts off the bathroom light, foregoing pajamas and just leaving the towel on. There's no disguising his interest, but it's not as though there's any modesty left between them (or subtlety - Paul responds best to a direct request for sex).
The bedside light is on, and Paul is sprawled over the sheets on Hugh's side, face buried in his pillow. All four limbs are spread in different directions, a Stamets-shaped starfish with bare feet and messy hair.
"Hi," Paul mumbles into the pillow, barely twitching when Hugh gives his backside an affectionate squeeze, "I missed you."
"Missed you too, sweetheart."
Paul doesn't look like he's interested in moving, so Hugh simply climbs on top, straddling his waist and scratching over his shoulders.
"Mmmm. You have all night to stop that."
"Yeah?"
"Mmmhmm."
Hugh inches up the shirt hem, digging his thumbs into Paul's lower back and rubbing slow circles.
"What do I get if I do?"
"My undying love and devotion?"
"Got that already," he scoots back until he's sitting on Paul's thighs and blithely starts kneading his ass.
"Ummm. Hi?"
Grinning, Hugh leans forward until the tented towel nudges against a firm cheek.
"Hello."
Beneath him, Paul pushes up on his elbows and rolls over, and Hugh drops a few playful kisses on the end of his nose and cheeks.
"Someone's in the mood."
"Someone," he moves his mouth to Paul's collarbone, "was in the middle of spending quality time with his hand when his ridiculously hot partner came home."
"You-" Paul breaks off, shivering when Hugh nips at his covered shoulder, "-should I be jealous of this ridiculously hot guy?"
Instead of answering out loud, Hugh captures his lips in a thorough kiss, smiling as Paul hums low in his throat. When they separate for air, Paul tilts his head to the side and runs an affectionate hand over his cheek.
"Sorry to interrupt."
He thrusts against Paul's stomach a few times, enjoying the give to his midsection.
"Oh, don't be. I know how you can make it up to me."
Whatever Paul is planning to say next is lost in a massive yawn.
"Babe..."
Paul starts tugging the loose towel free, eyelids heavy but expression determined.
"I think-" he fails to stifle another yawn, "all this is for me?"
Setting his arousal aside, Hugh really looks at him, taking in the dark circles under his love's eyes and the way he's struggling to stay focused. Ahhh. He lets himself feel disappointed for all of three seconds, then banishes the thought.
“Don’t worry about it love, I’ll just go-“
He’s shaking his head, expression adamant as he reaches down, stroking Hugh with none of his usual finesse.
”Nuh uhh. Missed you too. C’n have me.”
His fingers are clumsy and uncoordinated with fatigue, and Hugh gently stills them before extricating himself from their loose grip.
”Sweetheart, I’ll be fine."
"I could suck you."
"Babe, I love you, but falling asleep with my dick in your mouth is a bad idea. For both of us."
"You're horny, I'm here, and we haven't had sex in two weeks."
The look in Paul's eyes is both stubborn and sleepy, which touches a much softer part of his heart that has nothing to do with lust. Hugh rolls off of him, kicking the towel to the foot of the bed and running his fingers through Paul's hair.
"Leaving off how cute you are when you pout," he drops a kiss on Paul's protruding lower lip, "it has been a couple of weeks, which means a few more hours or another day won't hurt either of us."
"But I wanna make you feel good."
"I can wait till you're awake enough to enjoy it too.”
Paul traces a finger over the tip of his half-hard erection and Hugh can't help the moan his caress evokes.
"I'm getting you off, and then we can both go to sleep."
He climbs over Hugh's body (slowly) and digs in the drawer on his side, objects rattling. Hugh smiles up at the ceiling, shaking his head a little before giving in. A Paul on a mission isn't one to be argued with.
"Is that so, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, Doctor," his lover mutters into the drawer.
Hugh props himself up on an elbow, curious as to what he's looking for. Paul's half of the toy collection mostly consists of things for their more exciting times (quick release cord keyed to their voices, a blindfold, the deceptively small vibrator that makes him moan so prettily when Hugh uses it), so it's a toss up as to what he thinks he's awake enough to use. His free hand drifts south, giving himself a couple of strokes while he watches Paul's ass flex.
"Hmph."
"Babe?"
Paul climbs back over him, now digging in Hugh's drawer. He makes a triumphant noise, turning back and nearly fumbling the bottle of lube before it lands safely on the duvet.
“Help me?” he waves vaguely downwards, plucking at the drawstring on his pants.
Never one to object to his partner getting undressed, Hugh lets go of himself and seconds later has Paul naked from the waist down.
"Going to tell me what we're doing?"
"You'll see."
He frowns at the stuck lid on the bottle until Hugh uses brute force to uncap it and hands it back. Smirking, Paul lies flat and pours out a palmful, spreading it over his groin.
Oh. Oh yes, Hugh is very much on board with where this is going.
"Haven't done this in a while."
”Well-“
”That wasn’t a complaint, babe.”
Hugh retrieves his abandoned towel, helping Paul slide it underneath himself to protect the sheets and then leaning down for another kiss. Paul’s inner thighs glisten with slick and Hugh moves to straddle his legs, squirming until his erection slots into the slippery hotness. He waits for Paul to cross his ankles, then he's being tugged upwards a few inches, moaning when his first thrust ends with him pressed into the cleft of Paul's ass.
"Fuck, sweetheart...," he murmurs into Paul's mouth, hips rocking, "is it okay? Can I touch you?"
"Mmmhmm. Don't think I'm gonna get hard, but yeah- ohhhh. Yes."
He smiles into the kiss, fondling Paul's soft cock and balls and drinking in the soft sighs it produces. It satisfies his need to reciprocate, palm slippery with excess lube as it glides over silky skin, and he drops his head to rest on Paul's shoulder while he sets up a steady rhythm. It's a little odd for them (Paul especially) to be so quiet during sex, but when he steals a glance at his face he can see a tiny smile and the tiniest sliver of blue visible through his lashes as he watches Hugh rut between his thighs.
"Tomorrow, when we're both awake," Paul murmurs into his ear, "after breakfast. In the shower, I wanna suck you off."
Hugh fingers search across the sheets until he can hold Paul's hand, moaning as he somehow manages to squeeze his thighs even closer together.
"...oh god, that's- that'll feel so good. Missed your- mmm, missed your mouth."
Paul's free hand slides down from his waist to grope his ass.
"After I make you come, I'll take you back to bed, Hugh."
"...yeah?"
He's clenching his cheeks for Hugh, the tight heat and drag of friction pushing him closer to the edge.
"Mmmhmm. I'll wait till you're hard again. Open you up on my tongue."
"Fuck..."
“Lick you till you can’t stand it any more. Let you ride my fingers.”
The fingers pressed into the cleft of his ass delve deeper, teasing.
"Can I fuck you, dear doctor?" Paul's words tickle his ear, tongue flicking out to lick at the sensitive skin, “It'll be so good, I'll make you feel so good."
”Please...”
His breath hitches. Hugh gives up thinking and chases his climax.
"Mmmm. Gonna come in yo-"
Paul's erotic narration is drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. He thrusts wildly as he slicks Paul's inner thighs with his release, shirt collar caught between his teeth. Moaning, he rides it out, hips twitching until the aftershocks trail off.
Eventually, he drifts back towards awareness, feeling Paul's fingers squeezing his gently.
"Hugh?"
"...hmmm."
"Can't breathe."
His lover's voice is slurred with drowsiness, and it reminds him of their situation. He carefully extricates himself from between Paul's legs, grabbing a corner of the towel to clean them both up with and tossing it towards the bathroom once he's sure that the sheets are relatively dry. Paul's barely awake when he finishes, but the smile he offers is sweet and satisfied.
"Mmm. Better?"
"Better because you're here, but yeah, thank you sweetheart."
" 'lcome."
He kisses Paul's shoulder, breathing in clean sweat and laundry detergent from the pajama top he's still wearing.
"Love you."
Paul sighs, but doesn’t reply. He frowns, raising his head off the pillow.
"Babe?"
Silence.
"Babe...you're on my side."
A quiet snore is the only response.
Groaning, Hugh climbs off the bed, leaning on it as he slowly moves around. Paul's out for the night it looks like, confirmed when he doesn't even stir as Hugh rolls him over until he's more or less in the middle of the mattress and Hugh has two-thirds of his pillow back. He orders the lights off, snuggling close and tugging the covers up around them.
Tomorrow’s going to be so much fun.
Notes:
Yes, this is me procrastinating while working on the next chapter of When Sorrow Turns To Joy. I have sooooo much of the later stuff written, but keep getting stuck on the gap-fillers because I want them to feel right. Argh!
Chapter 89: Self
Notes:
Excerpt from an upcoming chapter of When Sorrow Turns To Joy.
Chapter Text
“Do you...not-“ Paul looks away, blinking rapidly, eyes shining with tears, “do you not love me any more?”
His voice trails off, question barely audible, but Hugh hears it more loudly than anything else could sound.
Paul’s broken, and it’s his fault, and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it right now without hurting him further.
Chapter 90: Sapient
Chapter Text
When Christopher Pike first sets foot on Discovery, he's had about three hours to prepare. Theoretically. Making sure that his ship and her crew are in mostly one piece takes up two and a half of those hours, so he actually has just under thirty minutes to read through the briefing materials and make a few notes, including the time it takes to walk from the Bridge to the transporter room (Una snatches the PADD from him on his way down and magically appears there ahead of him with a data solid).
It would be a lot to take in about any ship in ordinary circumstances, and this is neither by a wide margin. So while he scans through a condensed version of the classified report on Discovery's Displacement Activated Spore Hub Drive (condensed by Una, because Chief Louvier was literally up to his elbows in Enterprise's mechanical guts), service records for the bridge crew and senior staff, and Command's dossier on Captain Gabriel Lorca, he's painfully aware of the fact that he's walking into one of the most challenging situations of his life. This crew has been through hell quite literally, not just the war but their own part in seeing it to its end and the trauma suffered along the way. He can't imagine finding out that an officer on the ship was a Klingon sleeper agent, and that said agent also murdered the well-liked Chief Medical Officer whose partner just happened to be the Chief Engineer operating the DASH drive. Add to that jumping to a parallel universe (the report doesn't explicitly state that, but he's adept enough to read between the lines), and he's honestly amazed that Discovery is still a place where anyone would want to be afterwards.
He carefully rehearses a few different opening lines, then scraps them without a second thought in the turbolift. Nhan is busy ignoring Connolly, which is a shame because he likes to present a united front, but he also can't blame her. Chris would much rather have Spock for a multitude of reasons, and he's hoping that this mission will expose Connolly to a situation complex enough to make a point. Connolly is unfortunately sufficiently intelligent and capable that he thinks he's infallible without understanding the limits of his interpersonal style, which is probably going to earn him a chewing out by Nhan or Una at some point if he doesn't learn. Chris wonders if he should sell tickets.
Foregoing a speech, he sticks to the first thing that comes to mind upon materializing in Discovery's transporter room. Commander Saru seems rightfully baffled at his explanation, but there's no outright hostility. He's even more pleased to learn that the commander accompanying them is none other than Spock's sister; she's just as cool and collected as he might have expected, and clearly brilliant in her own right.
Chris is probably disproportionately amused at Connolly being sneezed on by the Saurian crew member sharing the lift with them.
********
Meeting Lieutenant Commander Stamets at his first senior staff meeting after being temporarily assigned as Discovery's captain is both informative and puzzling. He's probably verging on genius level, which together with his innovative and intuitive perspective on science as a whole would give him justifiable arrogance. Instead, he seems much more contained and subdued. Given that his personnel file includes comments from Academy instructors and superior officers alike regarding his confidence, Chris suspects that last is due to an unfinished grieving process coupled with extreme introversion. It tells him so much more about Paul Stamets the man, to have been in what by all accounts was a stable and loving relationship with so gentle and compassionate a person (Doctor Pollard's words, and she's not one whose opinion is to be taken lightly). Stamets' tight nod and near-imperceptible flinch when Chris very quietly offers his condolences during a shared turbolift ride supports that conclusion, and he wonders if anyone else has noticed.
Actually, that's a disservice to Discovery; he's positive they've noticed, but he doesn't know if anyone has managed to successfully broach the topic of counseling.
********
His first meeting with Doctor Culber is, put mildly, unexpected in the extreme. He's still wrapping his brain around the dynamics of the mycelial plane when he enters the spore drive bay at a fast walk, brought up short at the sight of Burnham and Tilly clinging to each other and sobbing in what can only be celebration. They look up at his arrival, and he barely manages to keep the surprise off his face when he takes in the whole scene. Beyond them, Stamets is laughing in a way that's completely at odds with the emotionally distant person Chris has known for the past few weeks. The man curled naked on the deck seems to be in shock, and it takes a moment to mentally superimpose his face on the smiling photo of Hugh Culber in his personnel file.
They still aren't any closer to figuring out what the red signals mean, yet for all that Starfleet is about exploration and knowledge, it's the connections between people that matter most. There's a lot that he needs to deal with in ensuring that the ship is operational after their adventure, but he takes this moment to be Chris and not just Captain Pike. When he sees the way Stamets looks at Culber, he understands the depth of feeling that must have existed between them, and has to swallow back a few tears of his own at the sight of such unbounded happiness.
Sometimes, he thinks, sometimes the universe makes right the wrongs.
Chapter 91: Say (His Name) / Suffer, Part Three
Notes:
Can be read as a followup to Chapters 24 and 74 ("Suffer").
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tilly isn’t sure what to make of Stamets after... everything. His mind had still been trapped in the network when Doctor Culber died, but she had had two and a half days to try to come to terms with it before he regained awareness.
Of course most of that time had been spent furiously trying to devise a way back to their universe, trying to wake Stamets up to jump them home. Part of her - the part that curled under the covers, staring at the empty bed across the room and sobbing into her pillow - wondered if it might be kinder to simply let him go, to hope they might somehow be reunited in whatever lay beyond mortal life. She hadn’t known the doctor well, but she’d witnessed them together enough to understand that it was more than love alone that kept them together.
Respect, Sylvia.
Mutual respect, and letting the other be different without any sense of insecurity. She noticed how they complemented the other so well, even the friction she occasionally sensed either a well-rehearsed routine or more a matter of the war it seemed than any regular behavior. The multitude of tiny touches and body language, once she knew what to look for, were easy to spot.
...the doctor’s hand resting on the small of Stamets’ back, glimpsed just as the turbolift doors slid shut.
...so comfortable in their shared space, moving easily around the “traffic” in the crowded corridors between shifts.
...Stamets resting his cheek briefly on a white-clad shoulder, tucked away in his private lab.
They were so professional while on duty, barring brief exchanges of words that sounded like annoyance and petty bickering to the unobservant. Half of the engineering team hadn't even figured out why the CMO was constantly bothering him until that kiss Stamets planted on his partner before stepping into the spore chamber. Michael had confessed her own mistaken initial impression as well, assuming some sort of personal dislike that couldn’t have been farther from the truth,
Given their preference to protect their privacy when in view of others, she felt a bit voyeuristic when she did see things that spoke of the personal aspects of their relationship. Things like the day Stamets was limping around Engineering with a bruised tailbone from a supposed slip in the shower, or the spectacular love bites that covered his throat - on one particular occasion, also both wrists halfway up his forearms - on a frequent basis, visible when he unbuttoned his collar. Or how they kept making eye contact and quickly glancing away when Airiam was discussing the best way for the augmented ports to “allow the rods to achieve complete penetration of the Lieutenant’s body”. She’s pretty sure Doctor Culber’s sudden fit of coughing had something to do with distracting everyone from Stamets’ giggles, and she hadn’t been aware that he even could giggle before that.
Tilly felt an odd sort of privilege when they seemed to relax their restraint around her, signaled by nonchalantly holding hands at their shared breakfast table one morning, the same day Doctor Culber recruited her to help make sure Stamets consumed a bare minimum of calories on long days. That was followed by not saying a word out of the ordinary when she went to deliver a report and found them eating lunch in Stamets’ lab, sharing the same desk chair. Even more, she thinks about accidentally walking in on them in the cultivation bay. Although she’d been flustered at the time, seeing them making out behind the humidifying unit didn’t feel nearly as intrusive as stumbling across Stamets passed out in the far corner of the bay, the doctor snuggled up to him and both sound asleep.
If they hadn’t urgently needed Stamets, she wonders if it would be cruel to wake him up to a reality where he’d found his partner’s dead body only minutes after he was killed.
He was murdered, Sylvia, and the murderer is technically dead too.
Tilly wasn’t supposed to know that, but she’d overheard Doctor Pollard talking to Saru and needed to take a break early to sit in the bathroom and cry her eyes out again. She thinks about finding him alone in their quarters when Doctor Pollard sent her to check on him, curled into a ball of anguished misery on the bed and looking so small and broken. How he let her stay and rub his shoulder as he sobbed into his partner's pillow, looking around the room and seeing so many things that suggested years upon years of memories built together.
How could you ever recover from losing someone you loved that much?
Stamets refused to talk about it at all once he was back in engineering, and nothing in the days leading up to the end of the war or their time on Earth for the armistice and medal ceremony. Tongue-tied wasn't usually a term anyone would use to describe her, but it’s how she felt until he told her his intention to leave. Seeing the pent-up emotion in his eyes when he spoke about the ship feeling haunted told her that he was suffering even more than she could have imagined.
After, once Pike assumes temporary command, she tries to breach the subject with subtlety. Stamets doesn’t seem to notice her sudden shift, not consciously, but he does start mentioning Doctor Culber’s name occasionally. There’s the day his eyes go distant over lunch when she asks what his favorite coffee drink is, telling her the story of how they first met in a cafe and he’d so thoroughly insulted the doctor’s taste in music that he’d left his comm frequency scrawled on a napkin tucked in Stamets’ briefcase. A week later, there's a late night waiting on the drive to finish another set of efficiency screens when one of the nurses stops by to check on Nilsson's sprained ankle, and Stamets goes so pale that she thinks he might faint when the white uniform passes the console they're working under. She has to pry his fingers off the spanner, letting him grip her hand instead even though it feels like her bones are being crushed. He releases her hand eventually, carrying on with the testing like nothing happened. It's not until she hands him another scanner that he quietly says how much he hated Doctor Culber leaving his boots lying around their quarters for him to trip over.
Mostly, there's the afternoon one of the technicians is playing music at his station and it shuffles through Kasseelian opera. Stamets is coming out of the cultivation bay as the aria starts up, and drops his kit before turning and walking quickly back inside. The hapless technician is confused until she and Nilsson explain, then he's properly mortified but can't apologize because Stamets has locked everyone out of the bay. Everyone except Tilly, apparently, who finds that her override works just fine. He's hiding behind a pile of specimen canisters, sitting completely motionless on the deck with his knees tucked up to his chest. There's a PADD balanced on his knees, and as she approaches she can hear Doctor Culber's voice in what has to be an old audio message.
"...okay, sweetheart. I have to get back on shift, but I miss you so much, and I can't wait till Discovery is finished. I'm going to hold you so close, love, wrap my arms around you and we can spend all day in bed together. I want you so bad right now, want to kiss you and smell and taste you. Can't wait to wake up with you every day, I - okay, I need to stop, but you get the picture. Two weeks, sweetheart, fourteen days...we can do this. Take care of yourself for me please? I love you, and I'll talk to you later."
He doesn't seem surprised when she carefully sits down a polite distance away, just sighs and thumbs his PADD off.
"Sir-"
"Did you know, Hugh loved to sing in the shower? He couldn't hum and keep a tune, but somehow...his voice. It was so beautiful."
"Commander," she starts again, chewing her lip, "are you-"
"We spent so much time making sure no one here could ever accuse us of being unprofessional. So much time we could have just enjoyed together. He didn't care if anyone knew, but I- I couldn't. He did it for me. And now he's gone and I wasted so much time..."
She shifts uncomfortably on the dirt, unsure what she could possibly say that would be sufficient.
"So much time apart. Always another posting, something to take him away. But it's different now, when I try to pretend that he's just on another assignment. Our first real home together, and I left him to sleep alone and I let him miss me because of that asshole Lorca and his fucking war, and because, because...I was so selfish, and he let me. Always let me, always understood. What am I supposed to do now, Tilly?" Stamets meets her eyes for the first time, "I didn't even kiss him goodbye that morning. We overslept and didn't, and now I won't ever be able to again."
“I ummm, I didn’t know that you and Doctor Cu-“
”Hugh.”
”Sir?”
”I...his name is Hugh.”
Tilly isn't sure what he's getting at. Surely he knows that she knew his first name, after all the times he told her to call him that off-duty. It never seemed right though, not when he had a title like Doctor.
”...yes? But it wouldn’t be appropriate for me-“
”Please, Tilly."
He swallows convulsively, a full-body shiver and she can almost see him forcing the emotions back down. She stares at him for a few seconds, mind whirring.
The Command Training Program guide doesn't have anything in it about consoling grieving survivors, much less one's own supervisor after a senseless death. Michael's advice in all matters emotional is at best well-meaning but awkward, and she doesn't know Doctor Pollard well enough to ask what to do. TIlly's painfully aware of her talent in putting her foot in her mouth up to the knee, but if Stamets needs someone to talk to and - judging by her ability to enter when he locked everyone else out - trusts her, she can only repay the honor by being worthy of it.
Focus, Sylvia. You can do this.
"Okay. Tell me about Do- tell me about Hugh."
Notes:
I wrote this partially to figure out why Tilly refers to Paul as “Commander Stamets” but uses Hugh’s first name in talking to May at the end of “Saints of Imperfection”. It's so clear that Paul never gets proper grief management, but if there was anyone he might talk to onboard, I think it would be her, particularly when Anthony Rapp mentioned in an interview that Tilly's become his safe space.
Chapter 92: Sleeve
Notes:
Snippet expanded from these two sentences in the previous chapter: "Or how they kept making eye contact and quickly glancing away when Airiam was discussing the best way for the augmented ports to 'allow the rods to achieve complete penetration of the Lieutenant’s body'. She’s pretty sure Doctor Culber’s sudden fit of coughing had something to do with distracting everyone from Stamets’ giggles, and she hadn’t been aware that he even could giggle before that."
Chapter Text
"-so it would make a better connection that way. What do you think, Doctor?"
Doctor Culber frowns at the schematic Airiam has up on the screen, zooming in on a portion and tapping a few commands into his own PADD.
"Good idea. It looks like what you're proposing would cut down on any potential latency issues and possible reduce the small amount of neural shock with every connection."
Across the console from them, Tilly is chewing the side of her fingernail and listening intently. While the augmentations Doctor Culber designed for Stamets' arms definitely reduced the trauma of using the spore drive (she doesn't ever want to see him bleeding like that on the floor of the cube ever again), with every jump there are always more refinements to be made.
"Lieutenant, if I could see your arm?"
Sighing, Stamets unzips and tugs his sleeve out of the way, holding out his arm which Doctor Culber grasps firmly just above the augment.
"How long is this going to take?"
Off to the side, Tilly spots Doctor Culber roll his eyes, but is distracted by a purplish smear in the crease of Stamets' elbow. Frowning, she leans a little closer, wondering if it's just shadows or a trick of the light. It's an odd place to get a bruise, and she turns to the doctor to say something because she can't believe he would miss seeing it. Before she can open her mouth, he catches her eye and smiles cheerfully.
What?
Airiam and Stamets are busy discussing something about thermal regulation and not paying attention at all. Puzzled, she takes another look and realization sets in, right as Doctor Culber very deliberately winks at her.
Well then.
The elbow is definitely a new one, and she briefly wonders what they were doing to get it at that angle.
Nope, stop, do not pass go Sylvia.
"Are you all right, Tilly?" Airiam's mechanized voice still manages to convey gentle concern.
"What? Oh, fine, it's just a little warm."
The doctor casually shifts his hold to hide the love bite, but she also sees the subtle caress he gives with his thumb underneath the bunched up sleeve.
"Right," Stamets is looking at her a little strangely, "let's get it over with."
"It's not going to hurt, Lieutenant."
Tilly wonders if Doctor Culber ever refers to Stamets by just his rank when they're not on duty.
Focus, Sylvia.
The scanner whirs above the doctor's hands as he adjusts something inside the augment, Airiam humming thoughtfully when the device beeps.
"It looks like that's enough, Doctor."
Doctor Culber releases Stamets' arm, but keeps his hand out.
"Other one."
"Your bedside manner is terrible. Anyone ever tell you that?"
Airiam probably thinks he sounds bored, and possibly quite rude to the CMO. One of the other cadets is passing by and stops to do a double take at the unveiled criticism and the way Doctor Culber pushes Stamets' shoulder to get him to turn, not waiting for him to offer the other arm. Neither he nor Airiam notice that Stamets' laser glare has no actual heat behind it, and Tilly smiles to herself as the doctor repeats the adjustments.
"Okay, should be done."
"We should do a dry run," Airiam suggests as Stamets is zipping his sleeves closed again, "to test the connections."
"How's your migraine, Lieutenant?"
"Fine, thank you Doctor. Airiam, do we need to do a full sequence, or just the interface points?"
"Well," Airiam's voice takes on a note of indecision, "it would probably best to make sure the system isn't going to cause a problem with the new adjustments."
Sighing, Stamets rolls his sleeves up again before stepping into the cube, Tilly and the doctor on his heels. Airiam steps behind the spore console and waits for him to settle into place, arms turned outwards and ready. He closes his eyes briefly as the ports on the augments open, shivering a bit when the connectors slot into place.
"Is everything okay, sir?"
Stamets squirms a little.
"Yeah, just...itchy? Something's a little different."
"That's just your nervous system picking up on it, it should settle down. But if it doesn't," Doctor Culber rummages in his medkit and pulls out a hypospray, "I can probably fix it."
"Is it going to be like this every time now?"
"Well, let's see if it goes-
"Oh!"
All three of them turn to look at Airiam, who returns to the cube excitedly.
"Whatever you did, Doctor, it looks like you've managed to adjust it properly to allow the rods to achieve complete penetration of the Lieutenant’s body."
There's a pause as Stamets and Culber glance towards each other, eyes darting away almost immediately.
"Err, right," Tilly tries to cover the awkward moment, "ummm, great job guys!".
There's an inappropriate joke she would love to make if it was just her and Airiam, but that can't possibly be what-
On her left, Stamets makes a strangled noise that's somewhere between a suppressed sneeze and a squeak. Airiam's enhanced hearing must pick it up as well, because she tilts her head to the side in her version of a frown.
"Are you all right?"
"...fine."
"Are you sure? Doctor, does it look like he can maintain full depth like this, and how long will he be able to last?"
Doctor Culber, who had previously been studying his scanner results very closely, looks back up. As Tilly watches, he makes eye contact with Stamets whose lips twitch as if he's trying very hard not to laugh.
"Perhaps we should pull out and try a new entry?” Airiam hasn't noticed, but Stamets' face is turning an alarming shade of pink. “Or if there's too much friction, we could add some lubrication?"
"Well," the doctor manages, voice higher in pitch than normal, "he might be a little tight, but I think he's got plenty of stamina."
Three things happen simultaneously - Tilly slaps a hand over her own mouth, Stamets lets out a high pitched noise that sounds an awful lot like a giggle, and Doctor Culber is suddenly overtaken by a dramatic coughing fit.
"Oh! Doctor, are you-"
From Airiam's perspective, it must look quite serious, but Tilly can see the doctor's face reflected in the cube wall and she's pretty sure he's laughing so hard it hurts. Stamets is giggling helplessly, head turned away from the three of them. Belatedly, she realizes that the connector arms are holding him essentially immobile and quickly taps a command into the controls. They withdraw with a hiss, and he stumbles forward, resting his forehead on the glass.
The coughing is trailing off when their eyes meet in the reflective wall and Stamets snorts, which sets the doctor off again. Airiam crouches down where he's bent over, watching his shoulders shake with alarm.
"Doctor Culber, do you need me to comm the medbay?"
"No...I- hehh...I'm f-fine..."
She doesn't look convinced, so Tilly does the only thing she can think of: she tugs Airiam to her feet and pulls her out of the spore cube to leave them to laugh off the unintentional innuendo alone.
"Tilly?"
"I'll explain later."
Chapter 93: Sweetness, Part Two
Summary:
A quiet, serious moment early on in their relationship.
Chapter Text
"Mmmm, just relax, I'm going to make you feel so good..."
Hugh busies himself kissing and nipping his way down Paul's body, delighting in exploring the spots that make him shiver and moan. His skin is just as lovely and pale under his clothes as he's imagined, and it's too easy to lose himself tracing the spaces between ribs and nuzzling at the trail of hair leading downwards from his chest. They're sprawled over Paul's bed, clothing scattered across the floor in their haste to undress each other, and Hugh's mouth waters as he imagines what the bulge currently pressed up under his chin will look like once he peels off the last barrier between them.
He glances up from beneath his lashes, taking in the way Paul is already sweating, fingers fisting the sheets to either side of them as Hugh gently guides his hips off the bed long enough to remove his briefs.
"Oh sweetheart..."
There's a strangled gasp as he licks the tip, smearing sticky wetness over his lips.
"You taste so good, babe."
Hugh carefully pins his wiggling bed partner down with a forearm across the hips and proceeds to map every straining inch with his tongue, grinning at the sound of bitten-off curses. He hums in satisfaction when Paul's fingers try to grip his short hair, but pauses when the breathless moans abruptly cut off and the hand falls away.
"Sorry."
"...for?"
"Ummm. Grabbing you."
Paul is even more attractive when he blushes, especially now that he can see the way it spreads from his throat down over his exposed chest.
Oh.
He smiles, touched by Paul's consideration, but it's not necessary.
"Don't apologize. It's fine, I like it."
Hugh picks Paul's hand up off the sheets, directing it back to his head.
"Go ahead, just don't pull my hair out."
"Are you sure?"
Instead of responding with words, he relaxes his throat and goes all the way down.
"FUCK!"
"Mmmmhmmm."
While he's by no means an expert, Hugh's had enough partners to be comfortable in his technique and puts his best skills to work with the goal of driving Paul out of his mind. He's been by turns shy and exceedingly vocal in his appreciation, and Hugh can't wait to find out what he sounds like when all of his inhibitions are gone.
A couple of minutes later, Paul goes rigid beneath him. It's a bit faster than he'd been going for, but he suspects they'll both be ready to go more than once tonight. He moans in satisfaction and braces himself for what he hopes is going to be a spectacular climax, waiting to find out what Paul tastes like when he comes.
And waits. Paul's silent and still, and it doesn't seem to be in a good way.
"Ummm."
He lets Paul slide out of his mouth with an unintentionally obscene slurp.
"What is it sweetheart? Did I do something you didn't like?"
"No! I mean, no, I liked that."
"But?"
Paul's avoiding his eyes.
"You know you ummm, don't have to. You know."
He pushes himself up on an elbow, frowning in confusion.
"Don't have to what?"
"Don't have to pretend you like it. Sucking me off."
What?
This is totally not what Hugh was expecting. He drops a kiss on the tip before wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and scooting back up the bed until he and Paul are face to face.
"Okay, you lost me. What gave you the idea I don't like it?"
The blush, previously so appealing, is starting to be worrisome.
"I mean, not- not you. But. Yeah. Just...uhhh, nevermind. I'm sorry."
Reaching down, he catches Paul's hand in his own, lacing their fingers together.
"There's nothing to be sorry for. I want to make you feel good."
Paul hides his face in the pillow and mumbles something that Hugh can't make out.
"Hey," he smooths his free hand over Paul's hair, "talk to me. What's wrong?"
"...like me."
He coaxes the pillow away from Paul's grasp, tipping his chin up with a gentle hand.
"Say that again?"
"I...you're...how are you even real? I- you, how could you possibly want someone like me?"
Oh sweetheart.
Hugh has two thoughts simultaneously: one, he wants to kiss Paul until he understands just how sweet and desirable he is, and two, if he ever finds out who did such a number on Paul's self-esteem, he's going to very cheerfully rip them a new one.
"Okay. First," he tugs their joined hands down to his crotch, pressing Paul's fingers against the damp spot on his own briefs, "I want you this badly. Second, I love giving head. When it's someone I really really like - that's you, in case you weren't clear - I get off so hard on giving pleasure that way. So there's nothing to be sorry for, except thinking that you're not exactly who and what I want."
"You really mean that?"
Paul looks like he's afraid to believe it, and that just won't do. Leaning forward the two inches between their faces, Hugh captures his mouth in a slow, sensual kiss.
"...yes. Yes, I do."
"I uhhh. Wow. Okay. Umm."
Another thought occurs to him, and he doesn't like it either.
"Is that why you keep trying to be quiet?"
"Well. Not really? Sort of? It's just...I know I'm loud."
"Mmmhmm. So?"
"I- this is going to sound dumb."
"I'm almost positive it isn't dumb if it's bothering you."
"I was with...someone," Paul addresses his collarbone, and Hugh mentally adds a world of hurt onto the nameless individual or individuals that are responsible, "and he said it sounded like I was faking it and it was a turn off. I liked it, but he uhhh, he...yeah."
Hugh isn't quite sure what to say to that, but he knows he needs to get the next part right.
"Hugh? Look, I shouldn't have- fuck, I'm making a mess of this, aren't I?"
"You aren't. And I'm glad you told me."
"...you are?"
Sighing, he gathers Paul closer until their noses are touching, waits until he makes eye contact again.
"How about this? I promise that I'll always be honest with you. You can tell me anything, especially if you don't like something or want me to stop, and I will. But I don't want you to feel like you can't just enjoy yourself, because I want you in every way possible, just as you are."
"I don't deserve you."
"I like to think we deserve each other."
The kiss starts slow, but they're both breathless by the time they're done.
"Now," he murmurs, nuzzling at Paul's cheek, "do you want to keep going? Or we don't have to do anything, that's fine too."
"But you're-" Paul gestures down at where Hugh's nudging against his thigh.
"I have two perfectly good hands, and I'm also not so obsessed with my dick that I don't care about what you want."
He must have gotten the right mix of sarcasm and sincerity, because Paul ducks his head and smiles.
"Please. Can we- would you-"
"Anything you want, sweetheart."
"Let's try that again?"
"It would be my pleasure."
Notes:
Hugh is definitely the kind of person that gets off on getting someone else off. In my headcanon, Paul is a bit shy when it comes to sex because he's had a difficult time finding guys who appreciate him and all of his quirks, and he's super self-conscious around Hugh at first. Let's just say I don't think Hugh let him feel that way for long.
Chapter 94: Subjective
Summary:
Fluffiest of sweet, loving fluff.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“You,” Hugh announces from the bathroom doorway, “are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
Bemused, Paul looks up from his PADD. Hugh doesn’t seem to have any reason in particular for the declaration, nor does he appear to be expecting a response. Instead, he lounges against the doorframe, eyes soft and full of affection. It’s the same look that Paul sometimes wakes up to on their days off when neither of them sets an alarm, when he opens his eyes to find Hugh sharing the pillow and watching him with a gentle smile.
He’s only wearing a towel wrapped around his waist, water still glistening on his chest and shoulders, and Paul lets his eyes work their way down his body and back up again.
”Did I miss something? I know it’s not our anniversary-” a quick glance down at the stardate on his PADD confirms he still has three months to come up with something, “so...”
Hugh’s smile deepens and he pushes off the wall, crossing to the bed. Paul’s lying on his stomach on top of the covers, propped up with his elbows, and he’s about to roll over when a hand comes to rest between his shoulder blades.
Stay, the gesture says in the secret language that only they speak.
He waits in silence as Hugh throws a knee over his legs, straddling his thighs. A moment later, he’s treated to the heat of Hugh’s torso against his back, fitting himself perfectly into the contours of Paul’s body. The arms circling his chest tighten, and he hums in contentment as a kiss is pressed behind his ear.
“Do I need a reason to tell you how horribly attractive you are, and how horribly in love with you I am?”
Hugh’s voice is playful, but there’s a quietness underlying his words.
“I love you too, dear doctor,” he tugs the hand resting over his heart up enough to kiss the palm, “so no, but I’m just wondering what brought that on.”
Hugh pauses the trail of kisses he’s leaving from one shoulder to the other.
”Just seeing you here reading, all barefoot in your pajamas.”
”Nothing special,” Paul mumbles, “have you looked in a mirror lately?”
He can feel Hugh’s huff of laughter tickling the hairs on the back of his neck.
”Love, I have to work on this body.”
”Probably not as much as you think you do.”
“This is deliberate. You though,” Hugh drops his chin to rest on Paul’s shoulder, “you don’t try to make yourself anything else than who you are.”
Odd as it sounds, he knows Hugh struggled with years of not liking the way he looked, knows the hours spent in the gym to create a body he likes inhabiting aren’t easy. Still...
”Approaching middle age, losing my hair, and looking nowhere near as good in my uniform as you do?”
Hugh nips the side of his neck in gentle reproach.
”You’re barely older than I am, I like your hair no matter how much of it you have, and there’s days I still have to hold a PADD in my lap during briefings because watching you unzip your collar and explain your science makes me want to rub myself all over you.”
Paul wiggles his hips in response to the last comment, stilling when Hugh doesn’t follow up on the invitation.
”Sometimes,” Hugh murmurs, “I still can’t believe it, how lucky I am that I get to wake up next to you. That you’re mine.”
He recognizes that sense of wonder, because he feels the same way in the quiet moments together, still can’t quite believe it either. Deflecting with humor is abandoned by the wayside, and he answers just as softly.
“Me too.”
They lapse back into silence, and Paul lets his body relax completely under Hugh’s weight. If they drift off like this, he trusts Hugh to move if he needs to breathe. His damp skin must be cooling, but he doesn’t move to get under the covers or pull on his own pajamas. Instead, he shifts from where his knees are bracketing Paul’s hips, tangles their legs together.
Hugh is almost always in the mood to snuggle, but this feels different. Not in a bad way at all, just nudging at the tender hiding places in Paul’s heart where he keeps his love for this kind, compassionate, intelligent man who has stayed by his side for all of these years.
His eyes fall closed, focusing on the way Hugh’s lips are caressing his neck. It’s a rare occurrence, but his mind goes perfectly blank, not worrying or thinking about anything except being wrapped in Hugh’s love.
“Sweetheart?”
”...hmmm?”
“Are you falling asleep on me?”
”Prob’ly.”
”Okay. Just checking.”
”I c’n wake up.”
”Shhh,” he silences Paul’s protest as he rolls them onto their sides, kicking his towel off and nudging the PADD off the bed onto the nightstand.
“Hugh?”
“Go to sleep, love, I’ll be right here.”
“M’kay.”
”Computer, lights.”
He tugs the duvet up with his foot, pulling it over them both without breaking their embrace.
“Love you.”
”I love you too. Goodnight, sweetheart.”
Paul gives in to the pull of sleep, safe and warm and loved.
Notes:
When Sorrow Turns to Joy is taking a lot out of me, and I needed to write something purely about love.
Chapter 95: Synergy
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
People who don’t know better see opposites, two people so unlike each other that the thought of a relationship between them seems laughable.
Hugh Culber runs warm in body, mannerism, and voice. He’s confident and comfortable in his skin, quietly competent and calm. His smile is bright, and he does so easily and often, the center of a conversation.
Paul Stamets is perpetually cold until he has a problem to solve, literally and figuratively rolling his sleeves up to tackle challenges. He’s ill at ease with strangers and strange situations, outspoken and direct. His defense is sarcasm, retreating behind cold criticism to hide his awkward tendencies, silent when he doesn’t have to speak.
Others don’t see the way they fit together. They don’t see how the self-assured and cheerful Hugh finds comfort in Paul’s quiet strength, seeking his embrace to feel safe and grounded. They don’t know that Paul is generous with his affection, smiles often and speaks gently when they’re alone.
They’re not the flip sides of a coin, just two pieces who could only fit together, not perfectly but with edges well-worn and smooth.
Notes:
The warm/cold dynamic came from seeing behind the scenes photos of the cast during filming of the finale - Anthony is in a heavy coat or sweater, even worn over Paul’s uniform between takes. I realize that it’s probably kept as cold as possible because of the heat of that many bodies and equipment, but that image really stuck with me.
Chapter 96: Seduction (Attempted)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Swish.
Hugh sags against the bulkhead, grateful to be home at last, before staggering over to a chair. Groaning, he bends to unzip his boots, tugging them off and kicking them under the table. Paul will complain in the morning, but he’s too tired to put them away.
Speaking of...
“Babe?”
The light is on by the bed, but there’s no response. It takes a moment to refocus his tired eyes that direction, and when he does he frowns. Paul’s side is empty, the covers disturbed but otherwise no sign of his partner. Hugh pauses with his jacket halfway unzipped, trying to remember if Paul said he was going to be working late.
No, it was supposed to be an early night for both of us.
It would have been, except for a malfunctioning antigrav lift in the shuttlebay after he’d already worked a double shift that left Hugh and Tracy scrambling to call the rest of the medical staff back from dinner to treat the injured. The deck plates had taken most of the impact from the falling craft, but it had taken hours of surgery to repair a nasty shattered pelvis for one of the cadets who hadn’t gotten out of the way in time, and several others with less critical broken bones and concussions. He hadn’t thought to comm Paul in the middle of the chaos, too focused on triage and (sadly) too used to Paul being in the lab past 2300.
Hugh tosses his jacket and undershirt at the laundry pile, making his way slowly over to the bed, and wonders if his partner gave up waiting and went back to work. He hadn’t had any response to the quick message he’d sent on the way out, and he really hopes Paul isn’t too annoyed.
Oh.
What he’d first taken for the usual tangled pile of covers he left on his side resolves into a Paul-shaped bundle of duvet. Hugh stops at the sight of him, fatigue pushed back by affection at seeing how tightly he’s wrapped around Hugh’s pillow, face buried in his discarded pajama top. The frown lines and clenched jaw he’s become all too familiar with seeing are relaxed in sleep, thick blond eyelashes casting the tiniest of shadows on his cheeks.
Secure in the knowledge that Paul isn’t hiding in his lab in a fit of disappointment, Hugh shuffles into the bathroom and forces himself to brush his teeth properly despite how heavy his arms feel. He finishes undressing, takes the very briefest of showers (thirty seconds of sonic, because steam is going to put him to sleep), and pads back out intent on coaxing his pajamas out of Paul’s unconscious grip.
The smell of balsam catches his attention as he reaches for the garment, and he looks down at the bottle of massage oil and towel folded on the nightstand. Biting his lip, he peeks under the covers to confirm that yes, Paul is indeed fully naked and not just shirtless. Offering Hugh a relaxing massage wouldn’t require nudity, and it’s a clear sign that he was intending on turning the evening into sensual playtime.
Damn, he thinks with a growing sense of guilt, of all the nights for him to plan a seduction.
Hugh’s usually the one laying out wine and, frankly, himself to entice Paul home. This should have been a very welcome surprise, particularly when he was just complaining a few days ago that they hadn’t had time for a proper session between the sheets, hadn’t spent an hour taking each other apart in the most delicious ways in what felt like forever.
In the midst of his self-annoyance (although really, it’s not like the antigrav failure was anyone’s fault), Paul stirs, blinking slowly.
”Hugh?”
He sits down on the side of the bed, hand rubbing Paul’s bare shoulder.
”Hi sweetheart.”
”What time is it?”
”Past 0100. I’m so sorry love, I should have commed earlier-“
Paul cuts him off with a sleepy head shake.
”It’s-“ he’s interrupted by a yawn, “it’s okay.”
”I’m sorry I ruined your plans,” Hugh murmurs, inclining his head towards the nightstand.
”Well, if you want, give me a minute and-“
”As much as I want to, there’s no way I’d stay awake sweetheart.”
His rueful smile makes Paul sigh, and he bends to steal a kiss before continuing.
”Would have been quite something to come home to. I’m sorry.”
Paul’s looking up at him without any trace of disappointment. He pushes up on an elbow, scooting back over to his side and tugging Hugh’s wrist.
”Quit apologizing and get in here.”
His pajamas get dumped unceremoniously on the floor, and he climbs under the covers, settling into the sheets already warm from Paul’s body. A moment later, he has an armful of sleepy scientist, snuggled up to his side and making quiet noises of contentment.
“Sleep,” the order comes from somewhere around his collarbone, “you can make it up to me in the morning.”
Hugh shifts a little, tugging Paul’s knee up over his thigh and rubbing their feet together.
”Oh?”
“Yeah. Bring me coffee in bed and a blowjob for breakfast.”
The request startles a laugh out of him, and he kisses Paul’s forehead.
”I think I can manage that.”
Notes:
Thought I’d reverse roles, since it’s canon that Hugh has tried to entice Paul home more than once.
Chapter 97: Scene (or Seen)
Notes:
References Chapters 27-29 (“Shirtless” parts one and two, and “Scarlet”).
Chapter Text
Chirp.
Tilly stares at the door panel, leg jiggling as she debates whether or not to try again or just leave it until the morning.
On one hand, she thinks Stamets would like to know immediately that there was some sort of odd accelerated growth in the Prototaxites stellaviatori in one specific three square meter patch. He’s also working beta this week, so he should still be awake.
On the other hand, she remembers all too well what happened the last time she came to drop off a report after midnight. Thinking about Doctor Culber answering the door in just his underwear (they’re called briefs for a reason, Sylvia) makes her cheeks heat, and she shakes her head to clear it of the image.
Swish.
“Cadet! What brings you here-“ Doctor Culber’s gaze flicks over to the chrono on the door controls, “at 0200?”
“Ummm.”
He’s thankfully dressed this time, although seeing him without the uniform jacket and in a very rumpled and untucked sleeveless undershirt isn’t doing much to keep her from staring. His biceps look like they’re nearly the size of her head, flexing a little as he crosses his arms over his chest. The movement snaps her back to reality and the sight of the doctor leaning against the doorframe with an indulgent expression.
”Tilly?”
”...hmmm? Oh! Sorry, umm, sir. Doctor.”
”Hugh.”
”What?”
Doctor Culber’s smile grows.
”We’re off duty. You can use my first name, if you want.”
Tilly shifts her weight from one foot to the other, doing her best not to look past him into their quarters. The last thing she needs to see is Stamets without his shirt on again. Once was more than awkward enough.
”Ummm. Sure? I mean, okay?”
He does smell nice.
“Tilly.”
She’s really not sure why he sounds so amused.
”Yeah. Yes. Uhh, is Lieutenant Stamets here? I know it’s his quarters too, but maybe he’s not home or something, and I really should have commed first, but...” she pauses to suck in a lungful of air before continuing, “-the uhhh stella- err, there’s something weird and I wanted to tell him, but I was afraid of waking him up so I thought I’d come check.”
Doctor Culber glances over his shoulder.
”Babe? Your mushroom-minder is here.”
She blinks in surprise at the endearment. Stamets is a lot of things, but she can’t imagine how anyone would ever get away with calling him ‘babe’. Then again, the doctor does seem to break every pattern of interpersonal behavior that Stamets displays.
An indistinct set of syllables drifts their direction from the open bathroom door.
”He’ll be out in a minute. Do you want to come in?”
Tilly already feels like she’s intruding enough by interrupting them at home, and shakes her head. She’d like nothing more than to be in and out and done in the shortest amount of time possible, not least because she’s still a bit intimidated by Stamets’ grouchy mood.
Doctor Culber looks like he’s suppressing another grin, but she still has no idea why.
”Hugh? You know I can’t hear you when I’m brush- oh. Tilly?”
Stamets appears at the doctor’s shoulder, hair wet but fully dressed in ‘fleet issue pajamas. She’s struck by the sight of his bare feet and exposed throat, incongruous with the way she normally sees him on a daily basis. It makes her feel even more intrusive, even though nothing about his demeanor suggested annoyance.
At least there’s no visible bite marks.
”Lieutenant, sir...there’s in the- I mean, in the cultivation bay. I didn’t want to bother you, but there’s some stella- that look bigger than the others. Lots bigger,” she rushes to explain, “like, fifty-three percent more than the ones around it.”
His gaze sharpens.
”Where in the bay?”
”Lateral grid seventy-delta. I checked and there’s nothing different about the lights in that section, and all the irrigation logs are normal.”
Stamets sighs, turning his head to look at Doctor Culber. He opens his mouth to say something, but the doctor beats him to it.
”You need to go check on your kids.”
”Sorry,” Stamets mutters, and Tilly doesn’t think she’s ever heard that tone of voice before.
”Well, I know you’re not going to bed if you think there’s something the matter with them.”
He nods, glancing back at Tilly.
”Let me get dressed and I’ll come down. Give me a minute.”
Neither of them seem like they’re about to kick her out, even as Stamets heads over to the closet.
“I’ll just, ummmm...wait out here?”
She jerks a thumb back over her shoulder, stepping out of range of the door sensor. Doctor Culber looks like he’s going to say something, but the swish of the closing door cuts him off.
Tilly retreats to the opposite wall, leaning on the bulkhead and trying to look like she’s not standing outside the quarters of her superior officer waiting for him to change out of his pajamas. No one comes down the corridor, unsurprising for the time of night, but she still practices her best neutral expression. (‘CTP protocol tip: A captain or chief must always be able to control their emotions and expression such that they do not unduly alarm, excite, or otherwise affect the performance of their crew, no matter the circumstances.’)
It doesn’t take long for the doors to open again. Stamets is in his uniform pants and blue undershirt, hand on the bulkhead as he foregoes his boots and steps into a pair of athletic shoes.
”I’ll be back in twenty,” she hears him tell Doctor Culber, “promise.”
His back is turned, and so he doesn’t see the way Tilly stares when he leans forward to kiss the doctor. It’s a brief peck, something that only the strictest protocol officer could really object to, but knowing they’re in a relationship and seeing evidence of it are very different things. It’s just so...domestic a scene that is very much not in keeping with what anyone else in Engineering seems to think of him.
”Let’s go.”
She nods mutely, lets him take the lead as she frowns the whole way to the turbolift.
“Something wrong?”
“What? Oh, no, nothing. Just thinking.”
”Oookay. Engineering,” he instructs the lift, still looking at her a bit oddly.
”Lateral seventy-delta, right?”
”Yes. To the left of the secondary irrigation table.”
”Hmmm. Could be a nutrient imbalance, but...”
He mutters to himself the rest of the way to Engineering, considering and discarding hypotheses without seeming to expect her to respond. It’s probably for the best, considering how much she’s trying to keep from blurting out something inappropriate that will end up embarrassing them both.
After all, Tilly’s pretty sure she saw Doctor Culber swat Stamets on the ass on his way out.
Chapter 98: Suite
Summary:
Paul’s accompanying Hugh and Tracy to a medical conference. What starts off as Tracy teasing Hugh during dinner turns into a much more serious conversation.
Chapter Text
“Is he as fussy about sex as he seems?” Tracy asks, amused, watching as Paul frowns and adjusts his menu until the bottom is parallel with the table’s edge. “I can’t imagine him as anything but lights off. Does he have a protocol for you to follow?”
“Oh Trace, he’s wild in bed. We-“
Tracy pinches his arm, groaning in mock disgust. Paul doesn’t notice the quiet conversation, too busy explaining to the server the exact characteristics for the wine they need to match their meal.
“I’m sorry I asked. Wait-” her eyes narrow as Hugh’s smile widens, “was that you two last night?”
They’re in an adjoining suite at the hotel hosting a conference on emergency medicine, and Tracy had spent half of breakfast that morning complaining about her neighbors having obnoxiously loud sex until 0200.
”Probably?”
He doesn’t even bother trying to sound contrite.
”No...” she eyes Paul again, now tasting whatever wine the server offered and peering at the bottle’s label, “no way. You can’t be serious.”
”Why not?”
”Hugh, he’s got to be the most fastidious guy you’ve ever dated. I mean, he didn’t even want to go swimming with us because he didn’t want to get his hair wet.”
”Ummm. About that...”
”What?”
”He’s pretty particular about his hair, but uhh, that’s not why.”
Paul’s tasting a second vintage, tongue darting out to lick a stray drop of wine off his lower lip. He leans forward to accept the bottle, his unbuttoned jacket slipping down to reveal the vivid scarlet love bites painting his throat just below the edge of his collar. Hugh shifts a little in his seat, trying to surreptitiously spread his legs to make room in his previously comfortable uniform pants. Of course Tracy notices, and she rolls her eyes good-naturedly.
”Aren’t you two a little old for that?”
”Are you looking at him? He’s...” Hugh pauses, taking in Tracy’s indulgent amusement, “the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.”
”Oh my god, you’ve got it bad for him, don’t you? You look like one of those twenty first century heart-eyes emojis.”
They’re interrupted by Paul excusing himself to the restroom, Hugh watching his retreating form with interest.
”Trace,” he sighs, “I think he’s it.”
”He’s what?”
Her smile loses its teasing edge at Hugh’s serious expression.
“I think he’s the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
“Yeah?”
”You can’t tell him I said that.”
”What? Hugh, when have you ever not told someone how you feel?”
Hugh plays with a loose thread on the napkin in his lap.
”Because he’s...different. Than anyone else ever was. He’s- I need to do this right.”
“Huh. Well then...I think I better make sure he knows what’ll happen if he hurts you.”
”Please don’t scare him, Trace.”
”Why would I do that? I’m just going to remind him that I know exactly how to surgically remove his balls one at a time without anesthesia.”
He chews his lip, looking down, and Tracy drops the half-serious attempt at levity.
”Okay. I won’t. But Hugh...just be careful, okay?”
Anyone else he would have laughed the concern off, but Tracy was around to help him pick up the pieces of his last relationship and knows exactly what it could do to him.
”I promise. But I don’t think you have to worry. He’s...like I said. He’s different. This is different.”
Tracy opens her mouth to say something in response, but Paul picks that moment to return to the table and she switches to commentary about tomorrow’s conference sessions. He sits back down, hand coming to rest over Hugh’s on his own knee. Hugh immediately turns his palm up, lacing their fingers together
He doesn’t miss Tracy’s glance downwards at their hands, or the way she seems to be studying Paul over dinner with a quiet sort of purpose. Dinner is good, dessert is excellent, and they bid each other goodnight at the door to their suite.
The next morning, Paul watches perplexed as Tracy punches Hugh in the arm when he gives her a set of earplugs along with her cup of coffee.
Notes:
My headcanon is that Hugh would have realized how deep his feelings for Paul ran very early on, but might have been hesitant to address them for fear of scaring a skittish Paul off. Tracy knows him too well to let him wiggle out of it.
...I also imagine them gossiping about their relationships over the years, and having candid discussions about all aspects, including sex.
I really do want to write a collection of stories from Hugh and Tracy’s days at Starfleet Medical, but I also really shouldn’t start yet another multi-chapter fic. Argh!
Chapter 99: Suite, Part Two
Summary:
Continued from the previous chapter. Paul and Hugh are...enjoying themselves when they’re interrupted.
Chapter Text
“Oh fuck...”
Paul’s breathless gasp makes Hugh hum smugly against the sensitive skin under his lips. The resulting moan trails off into a series of whimpers when he uses the tip of his tongue to trace slow circles and long licks. It’s difficult to see Paul’s face - and that’s really the only drawback to performing this particular act in this particular position - but Hugh is well versed in reading his lover’s reactions in the pitch of his noises of pleasure. He glances up the length of Paul’s trembling thigh to where he’s clutching the back of his knee, fingers slipping on sweaty skin, and decides he’s probably teased enough.
Hugh wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, dropping a kiss to his inner thigh and briefly sucking the tip of the straining erection on his way past it. Paul’s hips jerk in reaction, his noise of protest turning into a sharp cry when Hugh detours to suckle each nipple, flicking them with his tongue. Smiling, he settles between Paul’s widespread knees, tugging the corner of the pillow he was using to rather unsuccessfully stifle his moans out from between his teeth.
He looks like every wet dream Hugh’s ever had, a vision of erotic delight with his flushed skin, cheeks pink with arousal and eyes glassy, hair in complete disarray from where Hugh had clutched it during the makeout session that started everything tonight. Seeing him like this and knowing that Hugh himself is responsible for giving him this level of pleasure...it’s a struggle to separate the possessive lust from the deep and profoundly tender awe at the vulnerability on display.
“Still with me, sweetheart?”
He waits as Paul struggles to focus, blown pupils nearly eclipsing the clear blue around them.
“...fuck me.”
”Oh we’re getting there, don’t worry, love.”
Paul groans and rolls his eyes, but it’s all for show and barely distracts from the way his bitten lips curve into an anticipatory smile.
”Your mouth should be considered an illegal substance.”
Hugh plants his elbows on either side of Paul’s head, lowering himself until they’re nose to nose.
”Why’s that?”
”So no one else will ever get to find out how fucking amazing it is. My ass refuses to share.”
Arousal steals some of Paul’s eloquence, but Hugh definitely accepts the compliment.
“What can I say, you make me so damn hungry, sweetheart,” he punctuates the sentence with a kiss, neither concerned with where his mouth has just been, “could just eat you up.”
Paul lets go of his knees, reaching down to squeeze Hugh’s ass, grinding their hips together.
”Mmmm. You’re so good at that. So good to me.”
“I-“ kiss “love-“ kiss “making you feel good.”
Paul tugs his bottom lip with his teeth, and Hugh feels himself starting to leak. He’d come once already, down Paul’s throat as they shared the oversized soaking tub in their suite, and going down to lick him open had been as much for Paul’s pleasure as it was to give Hugh a chance to recover.
“I love you.”
He stills beneath Hugh, looking up at him with an expression that makes his chest grow tight.
”I love you too. I’m so glad you’re here.”
They’ve made the most of the week-long conference so far, Paul working in the mornings and afternoons while the sessions are happening, then meeting up with Hugh and Tracy for dinner. He’s supposed to be on leave, but Hugh knows that’s really an impossible ask for someone obsessed with their research and is beyond grateful for the opportunity to spend this much time together. It’s usually past 2100 by the time they finish dessert (Tracy and Paul bonded over their love of sweets), so Hugh is getting by on about five hours of sleep a night to be able to stay awake with Paul as long as possible. They’re having plenty of extremely satisfying sex - there isn’t a flat surface they haven’t managed to use - but it’s the quiet cuddles and meandering conversations that he wouldn’t trade for anything. Hugh’s been in love before, but those memories are nothing in comparison to this.
The moment stretches between them, fading comfortably and switching back to lust between one blink and the next as Paul captures his mouth again. He’s squirming and running his toes up the backs of Hugh’s legs, clearly more than ready to proceed with the rest of their night.
“Impatient.”
Paul tugs on Hugh’s lower lip with his teeth again, using a bit more force this time and humming in agreement.
“We have four months to make up for. I’ve been Hugh-deprived, dear doctor, and I think it’s adversely affecting my health.”
“Oh? Do you need me to prescribe something for that?”
He slips a hand between their bodies, caressing Paul’s chest before going lower.
”Mmmm... no, I think you need to- oh, yes- perform a thorough exam. Hands- fuck... hands on.”
Paul doesn’t have a serious medical kink - Hugh dated someone years ago who did and it was actually disturbing beyond belief - but the easy innuendos are too good to pass up.
”Hmmm...” the bedside table yields a bottle of lube (their second in three days), and he slicks up his fingers quickly, “that does seem like a good idea. Where does it hurt?”
”Oh, it’s really more of an ache. I’ve been feeling pretty...empty today. Like something’s missing.”
”Sounds serious,” Hugh licks his lips slowly, “care to show me what you’re talking about?”
Paul flashes him a wicked smile, pushing up on his chest until Hugh rolls off to the side. He guides his hand downwards, hooking his ankle over Hugh’s shin and spreading his legs wide.
“Right about here.”
********
Three fingers and a very generous amount of lube later, Paul is gripping the headboard and rolling his hips back to meet Hugh’s thrusts with increasing desperation.
”Fuck, sweetheart...” he pants, dropping his head to rest between Paul’s sweaty shoulder blades, “so good.”
”I- oh fuck! Right there, yes... you’re so good, more, please, Hugh, give me-“
Chirp.
The comm alert barely registers, as he’s too busy focusing on not coming with every clench and moan. He buries his fingers in Paul’s hair, tugging his head to the side for better access to his neck, kissing and sucking at the skin. There’s already an impressive number of love bites scattered over both of their bodies, but the contrast against Paul’s pale skin is beautiful.
Chirp. Chirp.
The rhythm of Paul’s moans makes a wonderful counterpoint to the sound of the mattress groaning beneath them. Hugh shifts his hips just so, and the next thrust must be on target to that sweet spot because the resulting cry is even louder.
“Gonna- fuck, getting close sweetheart-“
BUZZ-SCREECH.
He’s too well trained as a physician to ignore the priority alert tone. Swearing, he pushes a himself upright and leans over to retrieve his comm from the nightstand. Paul’s less than pleased with the interruption, grinding back against him in a way that’s making actually reading the message nearly impossible. When he does manage to make sense of the words on the screen, he groans and taps out a short response before snapping the device shut and tossing it off the bed onto the floor.
“Hugh?”
“Sorry love. Fucking...Tracy.”
Paul stills, letting go of the headboard with one hand and turning to look back over his shoulder up at Hugh.
”Ummm. Wha- why is- huh?”
“So you know how I gave her earplugs this morning?”
The apparent non sequitur is apparent in Paul’s frown, eyes still slightly vacant.
”Yeah? I thought it was some inside joke you guys have.”
Hugh’s torn between self-conscious laughter and chagrin.
”So. We uhh, we’re keeping her awake.”
”...what? There’s noise-dampening in hotels this nice,” Paul lets go with his other hand, collapsing onto the pile of pillows beneath his chest, “I checked.”
”There is. But-“ Hugh sighs, “it’s an adjoining suite. And we forgot to close the door on our side.”
Paul groans.
”Fuck.”
”Uhh huh.”
”Tell her sorry?”
”Did.”
He nods, then shoves the pillows out of the way and rolls over. They both sigh as Hugh slips free, but then Paul’s pulling him in with his ankles locked behind Hugh’s back.
“I should probably go close- ohhhhhh.”
Paul reaches down and guides him back in.
”Nope.”
”Uhh, don’t get me wrong I definitely want to finish. But Tracy’s going to kill us both if I don’t.”
Hugh lets Paul pull him down for a kiss, resting their foreheads together.
”Just let me up for a sec, babe.”
”Don’t need to.”
Paul grabs Hugh’s hand off the sheet, using it to cover his own mouth. Hugh swallows hard at the sight, something primal inside reacting to it. He can feel Paul licking his palm, which isn’t helping, but he does have a point and it will probably work enough that Tracy won’t put salt in his coffee in the morning.
”Ready?”
A nod.
Hugh grins and gets back to work.
Notes:
Zomg 99 chapters! Let me know if you have any requests for #100. I have a few in drafts that need to be finished off :)
Chapter 100: Suite, Part Three
Summary:
Tracy's point of view.
Notes:
Overuse of love bites. Because...actually, I don't have a good reason other than they're playful and possessive and it just seems to fit.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh's never had a physical type, at least not as long as Tracy's known him. Tall, short, human, non-human, athletic...she's seen the range of the men he's dated, none of that seems to be consistent. Back in med school, he hadn't had time for a long-term steady relationship, although he'd certainly tried. They'd commiserated over their terrible luck, sharing a bottle of wine after Tracy finally kicked Joshua Ellis out for the last time.
********
"I really thought he was going to be decent," Tracy groans, shoving a pile of left-behind clothes into the synthesizer and punching RECYCLE with more force than strictly necessary.
Hugh snorts, nudging the stack of PADDS closer to the middle of the table so he can rest his bare feet on it.
"No one who calls you 'cutesy' is decent, Trace."
She slumps down on the couch next to him, reclaiming the bottle of wine and topping off her glass.
"Yeah, well, I figured Command track would make him at least intelligent?"
"That's debatable," he rolls his eyes, "plenty of officers out there with no idea which end of a hypospray to hold."
"Ugh."
"Guys are awful, I keep telling you that. Self-centered and arrogant."
"...you're a guy too."
Tracy's attempt at pointing a finger is slightly askew, but she follows it up with an ineffective glare.
"I also date them."
"Huh. Good point."
********
The thing is, Tracy knows that he's a creature of monogamy, despite the thrill and apparent physical satisfaction with once-off lovers.
********
"Well?"
"Well what?"
The view on the screen shifts wildly, settling on Hugh sprawled over the couch.
"Did you have fun?"
"Sure."
"So why are you so making that face? Was he awful?"
"...hmmm?" Hugh's eyes are far away for a moment, "Oh. No, not at all. Twice last night and once again this morning."
It's not a ringing endorsement when Hugh can't seem to keep a smile on his face.
"Going to see him again this weekend?"
"Nah. Not interesting enough. He told me I was prettier if I kept my mouth shut, or stuffed full of his dick."
Her grimace is enough of a response, and Hugh sighs.
"Exactly."
********
Hugh gives everything where matters of the heart are concerned. The trouble is, Tracy hasn't yet seen someone who deserves that endless well of patience, affection, and generosity.
********
"What's wrong?"
Tracy sets down her PADD and looks up as Hugh drops into the chair on the other side of the table. They're at a conference on Alpha Centauri, but the bustle of the cafe recedes into the background as she takes in Hugh's slumped shoulders.
"Noth-"
"Don't tell me nothing."
"M'tired, Trace."
"I thought you went to bed early?"
They're sharing a suite, and she's pretty sure he turned in before 2100 last night.
Hugh summons up a smile for the server, ordering a café con leche. He waits until they leave before answering.
"I did. I just- I dunno. I was thinking."
"Sounds dangerous."
He kicks her under the table, more out of form than any actual annoyance.
"Just...yeah."
"I thought you were enjoying things?"
It's clearly not the conference, but Tracy is still feeling her way around the edges of whatever is weighing Hugh down and doesn't want to assume.
"What? Oh, no, the sessions have been great. I love what I do, you know."
"Pot, kettle."
"But," he continues, ignoring her interjection, "I dunno. It's...some days, it doesn't feel like enough?"
"Enough for what?"
"I love medicine because I can help people, take care of them. Just-" he heaves a sigh, "I want to take care of someone who wants to take care of me too."
Ahh. That's exactly what she would have assumed.
"Quit being so hard on yourself," she squeezes his wrist, "for all you know, the love of your life is sitting in this cafe right now, just waiting for you and your asopao."
********
She won't realize until quite a while later just how prophetic her statement had been.
Hugh's had his heart trampled on more times than she'd care to remember, excitedly telling her about this cadet or that engineer he's headed out to a museum or concert with, only to shake his head and tell her it didn't work out a couple of months later.
So the next time he falls in love, Tracy's protective instincts come out full force.
********
Tracy whistles when Hugh appears on screen. She’s clearly interrupted him in the middle of finishing getting ready to go out: he’s gripping an uncapped liner pencil and his shirt is unbuttoned - it looks like the expensive Tholian silk blend they spent fifteen minutes bargaining for when they were at that Andorian outpost for medical relief.
"Nice."
"Thanks," his response is distracted, "hoping he thinks so too."
"Who- oh, that's right, the mushroom guy."
Hugh levels a look at her from several light-years away.
"His name is Paul."
"Sure. Want to give me his last name and comm frequency so I can arrange for a delivery of Martian stink-flowers when he ends up being an asshole?"
"Stamets. And he's different."
"Uh huh. You said that the last time."
"Really, Trace. He's nothing like him."
She's happy to see that Hugh's lost the bruised look in his eyes when talking about his ex.
“If you say so. Don’t let me stop you,” she gestures at the pencil, "looks like you're almost done."
Hugh turns back to the mirror, drawing neat lines before artfully smudging them.
“Have I mentioned how much I hate your eyelashes?”
"All the time."
”Must be special if you’re going to all this trouble.”
"I want this date to be good."
"How's he in bed?"
"We uhhh, we haven't. Had sex yet."
"What? Why?"
"I mean, he's stationed on Alpha Centauri and-"
"Haven't you seen him a few times in person though?"
"Yeah."
"But you're waiting because?"
"Trace, he's so fucking hot. But he's really sweet and said he wanted to take it slow, so...yeah."
"Hot, ehh?"
Hugh grins, ducking his head.
"Most beautiful man I've ever met."
"...that's sooo descriptive, Hugh. I can picture him already."
Her sarcasm rolls off his good mood and lands on the floor in a spectacular fail.
"Blond, about my height. Beautiful blue eyes, and smart. He's brilliant, Trace."
"Told me that part. Ad nauseum. Tell me about him. The parts that matter. Not," she hastens to add at the wicked gleam that appears in his eyes, "those parts. Although it sounds like you haven't seen those yet either."
"He's...he's shy. Like, to the point of people thinking he's an ass. Okay, sometimes he is, but he's not- not that way. But he's so honest, all the time. He's super interested in learning anything, he even listened to me going off about acute neuritis for half an hour last week. He has two PhDs but he wanted me to tell him all about it. Didn't complain, just asked questions, and actually read up on it so we could talk about it the next day. He folded my laundry when I had to take a comm in the middle of watching a holonovel. And you should have seen the look on his face when I sent him that rare spore specimen for his birthday. I just...yeah."
Maybe this one won't be so bad after all.
"Sounds like your type. He going to hit the gym with you too?"
"Nah. He doesn't like that."
"Okay."
"Why?"
"Because I want to know in case I have to set up an accident with the free weights."
"Trace..."
An alert chirps, interrupting their conversation.
"I'll comm you in the morning to make sure Mr. Too Good To Be True doesn't turn out to be an Orion spy."
"Very funny."
********
When she finally lays eyes on him - Hugh's stubbornly refused to send a photo, although he knew Tracy had already looked up his Starfleet file - Paul Stamets is nothing like she could have imagined.
********
She’s just finishing breakfast when the alert goes off on her comm, reminding her to check in with Hugh. Setting down her fork, she picks up the PADD and considers sending a text instead, but her fingers have already hit the auto-connect.
There's a sound like sheets rustling, a quiet curse, and then the video connects.
"Trace? Oh damn, I should have let you know..."
Hugh is...glowing. He hasn’t bothered to put on a shirt, hair messy with what’s probably yesterday’s gel, eyeliner almost completely smudged off, and there’s a series of obnoxiously large love bites marching down the side of his neck.
”And good morning to you.”
Tracy fights down the urge to shake her head and laugh, because Hugh is so obviously post-coital.
”I take it you had a good night?”
"Yes."
Hugh glances down, affection and something deeper in his eyes. T here's a sleepy murmur somewhere off to his right, and Tracy realizes that he's not alone in bed when Hugh shifts and tousled blond hair comes into frame. The owner of said hair pushes himself up on an elbow, mumbling something too low for the feed to pick up.
"Paul...this is Tracy."
********
Dinner turns out to be more pleasant than she anticipated, but it's obvious that they're looking forward to being alone. Tracy bids them goodnight before closing the adjoining door firmly, relieved that at least tonight is going to be quiet. She can just see them out on their balcony, silhouetted against the purple sky and smiles, shaking her head as she gets ready for bed.
There's an indistinct murmur of voices when she turns out the lights, but it's probably just people passing in the hall. She sets her alarm, then spends a few minutes reading messages and checking tomorrow's agenda.
Squeak
Her eyes immediately dart over to the common wall, barely visible by the glow of her PADD.
Thud
Tracy rolls her eyes, wondering which piece of furniture they tipped over. The sound dampening between their rooms ought to be fine tonight, now that they both have the doors closed. There's nothing else for several minutes, seemingly confirming her hope, and she turns off the PADD before settling back on the pillows.
The conference itself has been interesting, but getting to know Paul has much more of her attention. "I think he's the one I want to spend the rest of my life with," Hugh had said, "I need to do this right". With that in mind, Tracy busied herself unobtrusively studying Paul over dinner, looking at him with a new eye and comparing it against the picture Hugh's painted.
He's intelligent, brilliant even - she doesn't have to understand more than the basics of astromycology to realize that. He comes off confident to the point of arrogance, which would have rubbed her the wrong way at first if Hugh hadn't told her, recognizing it now as a fragile sort of brusque front to hide his sense of awkwardness with people he isn't familiar with. When engaged on his field, his gestures grew larger, moving cups and utensils on the table to demonstrate mycelial connections. The obvious passion for his research is on one hand a little worrisome (will he have enough attention for Hugh?) but mostly quietly checks off the mental list she has of Characteristics of Hugh Culber's Ideal Partner.
Eventually, Paul had seemed to relax, especially as they discussed which dessert to order and ended up with an entire tray. Whenever he laughed at one of their stories from med school, it was open and honest, eyes crinkling at the corners and slightly crooked teeth showing. His gaze at Hugh was laced with more than a little lust (Tracy had hidden her smile behind the menu when Paul realized that his entire neck was showing), but he doesn't seem to be only interested in Hugh's well-maintained body. Building a relationship long-distance had its drawbacks, but it's clear that what are probably daily conversations have made them get to know each other in a way that they might not have in person.
The way Hugh looks at him with softness in his eyes, tells her more than any explanation he could give. They were constantly gravitating towards each other throughout the meal, staying in contact with shoulders brushing or holding hands. Some of it could be attributed to a reunion after a long separation, but this feels like more.
Well-
A very distinct moan interrupts her musings.
Oh hell. Not again.
Tracy's accidentally walked in on Hugh before when they were roommates their final year at Medical, so she (unfortunately) knows what he sounds like in bed, and that isn't it. Paul's got a fairly deep voice though, so maybe it wasn't him and her other neighbors are going at it?
Just my luck. I'm leaving a review about how terrible the advertised sound dampening in this hotel turned out to be.
And- nope, that's definitely Hugh. She pulls the pillow over her head, groaning, unsure if she should laugh or cry. While she thankfully can't make out individual words, the tone can't be mistaken for anything but sex.
I guess Hugh wasn't lying about him being a screamer.
The duvet tents over her makeshift pillow barricade, dulling some of the assorted moaning. It doesn't, however, hide the sound of furniture repeatedly hitting the common wall.
You can ignore them. Just pretend you're back in the dorm.
Tracy starts mentally reviewing protocols in the 'fleet Medical emergency medicine guide. She's in the middle of listing off the contents of the Vulcan-specific medical kits, yawning, when the volume picks up again.
They must not have closed the door on their side.
Sighing, she snakes a hand out of her blanket bunker and retrieves her PADD. She's beginning to regret recycling the ear plugs Hugh gave her. While she could go sneak over and close the door, from what she's gathered about Paul he would be completely mortified if she caught them in the middle of something. Tracy's annoyed, but not to that point. Yet.
Forty-five minutes and they're still at it?
She gives in to temptation and sends a quick message to Hugh's comm.
[Pollard-Tracy-LTJG/MED] Should I be worried about hangover effects from refractory inhibitors?
She counts to fifty, long enough that Hugh could have at least glanced at his comm even if the "read and acknowledged" message doesn't show up on her end. Nothing.
[Pollard-Tracy-LTJG/MED] I didn't need to know what Paul sounds like when you...wait, is he this noisy no matter what you guys are doing?
No response.
Tracy makes it through all the field surgery procedures and is in danger of suffocating under the covers when her need for sleep overrides how happy she is that Hugh seems to have found someone compatible in every way. Kicking down the duvet, she types a short message and selects the medical priority alert.
[Pollard-Tracy-LTJG/MED] I love you like a brother, but I swear I'm going to kill you both slowly if you don't either close the damn door or at least have sex below 70 decibels. Very slowly. They'll never find the bodies. Or could you at least give me twenty minutes to fall asleep before you start screwing each other senseless again?
Silence.
>>Message acknowledged
That's enough for her. Tracy doesn't bother checking to see if Hugh replies, just sets the PADD down and closes her eyes. She's so going to give him hell for this in the morning.
********
At 0700, Tracy opens the old-fashioned communicating door on her side of the suite only as far as necessary, mindful of the fact that the other side is probably still ajar.
"Are you two decent?" she calls around the door.
Nothing.
Tracy frowns. She peeks around the door, unsure of what she might find. She'd have expected to either have a response from one of them or the sound of covers being hastily tossed back and the rustle of clothes being pulled on. Instead, there's only the quiet hiss of the hotel's air circulators. She's been up for an hour already, and surely she would have heard them leaving for breakfast without her?
"I'm coming in."
Counting to twenty, she slowly edges into the other room.
Oh Hugh.
They're indecent, but not in the way she expected. Shaking her head, she smiles even though neither of them will see it, head tilted to the side and considering the scene in front of her.
They're both still sound asleep, probably wore each other out the night before by the looks (and sound) of things. The duvet and top sheet are crumpled on the floor at the foot of the bed, clothes strewn across the carpet in a path from the couch, and the remaining bottom sheet shows every sign of having been pulled off the mattress at the sides, lacking the crisp folds and neatly tucked in edges. Its two occupants are lying across the width of the bed, sharing a single pillow that seemed to have survived whatever activity knocked the others onto the floor. Paul is on his back, blond hair in complete disarray, visible love bites on his stomach and thighs. Snuggled against his side and partly on top of him, Hugh's head is pillowed on Paul's shoulder, arm thrown across his waist above where their legs are tangled. His forehead is resting against Paul's cheek, and neither of them have a stitch of clothing on.
As she watches, Paul stirs. Instead of moving further away or being disturbed by the substantial weight on his chest, his arm curls tighter around Hugh's shoulders in a way that suggests protectiveness. The motion rouses Hugh enough to raise his hand until it's resting below Paul’s collarbone, fingers splayed open. He sighs, burying his face in Paul's shoulder before they both fall still again.
Tracy feels like she's intruding, even though she knows Hugh won't be bothered. Their nudity seems vulnerable, Hugh's broad shoulders curved inwards towards Paul as if sheltering and his back fully exposed. The intimacy of the body language, all sexual connotations aside, is nearly obscene in its honesty.
So much for breakfast.
The environmental controls are set at a comfortable temperature, but it's probably cold without the covers. Tracy carefully spreads the duvet back over them, trying not to disturb the pair. She'll just leave a message for Hugh and maybe send a tray up for them...
The fabric must tickle, because Hugh frowns and slowly opens his eyes, nuzzling at Paul’s neck. Before he’s aware that she’s there, the expression on his face when he looks at Paul conveys contentment and wonder, and what can only be described as love. She's just about to back away slowly when he stiffens, head turning towards her. He relaxes again almost immediately, although she doesn't miss the way his eyes dart over as if to check that Paul's still asleep. Tracy shakes her head in fond indulgence, jerking a thumb back towards the door behind her. The smile he gives is partly apologetic, but mostly happiness, and his eyes slowly fall shut again.
Well damn, Tracy muses, I don't think Hugh has to worry about doing things right.
Notes:
OMG, Chapter 100! I wanted to do this right, and hope it's successful.
I've been super stressed lately, and it's making it more difficult to concentrate on writing regularly, so thank you to everyone for staying with me along the way :) Many more Culmets stories to come.
Re: Hugh and eyeliner - Wilson posted a photo with Sonequa Martin-Green where they're both wearing a smoky eye, and it's *gorgeous* on them.
Chapter 101: Suite, Part Four
Summary:
A tongue-in-cheek peek at Tracy's list of characteristics for Hugh's ideal partner, as referenced in the last chapter.
Notes:
Initials are the exes Tracy's adding up :P
Chapter Text
>> Access files
>> Authorization required
Pollard-eight-five-delta-four-one-one
>> Access granted
>> Open file: Characteristics of Hugh Culber's Ideal Partner
- Male (or analogous in other species?)
- Body type
Athletic- Big hands
-
Tallshorter than himheight unimportant
- Hair color:
dark blonddarknoneblue- unimportant
Past dates
- (Kasseelian) opera --> mostly platonic friends
- 20th century Earth abstract impressionism --> museums okay, must remind Hugh about the Metropolitan Museum exhibits
- Running / working out--> also platonic activity
- Hiking
- Dancing / dance lessons
Ideal partner would be:
- Competent
-
Intelligentcommon sense - Kind, compassionate
-
Quirkynon-conforming to expectations -
Scientistinterested in listening to Hugh talk about medicine - Well-traveled
- Generous
- Romantic
- Speaks Spanish?
- Likes sex a lot
Common traits of his exes to watch for
- Too charming and smooth (V.B., N.S., T-R.L.)
- Shallow / physical only (T-R.L.)
- Overconfidence (V.B., N.S., E.R., F.A.)
-
Engineers - Pilots (T-R.L, F.A.)
- Command track (V.B., N.S.)
- Only talk, don't listen (E.R., F.A.)
- Need fixing (V.B., N.S., E.R., T-R.L., F.A.)
>> Update file?
Close and archive
>> File archived
Chapter 102: Spies
Summary:
What other people see.
Notes:
In Chapter 31 of When Sorrow Turns To Joy, Rhys references conversations with Detmer and Owo about Paul and Hugh. This is one of them.
Tilly’s story is from Chapter 29 of this story (“Scarlet”).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Detmer and Owo have their heads together, laughing about something when Rhys finally makes it into Lounge H. Game Night was technically cancelled - Tilly had been ordered to bed by both Doctor Culber and Doctor Pollard, Bryce is comming his parents, and Michael and Airiam are working gamma. (More specifically, Doctor Culber had sent Tilly to her quarters to rest when Burnham dragged her in with a fever that morning, and Doctor Pollard had been waiting by her biobed this afternoon when she woke up in the medbay after fainting at her station.)
They look up as the doors swish close, and Detmer immediately beckons him over
”Gen! You won’t believe what Tilly told me!”
“Was this before or after she face planted on Stamets?”
He accepts the chair Owo nudges towards him with her foot, dropping into it with a sigh and unzipping his uniform jacket.
”Oh, this was yester- no, the day before that.”
”Oh really?” Rhys snags the bowl of pretzels off Detmer’s lap, “is this about Cadet Needs To Have His Face Smashed In?”
”No, although I heard he told Nilsson she was too pretty to be an engineer.”
Owo’s grinning, so it can’t have been too bad. He really wants to know what the two of them found so amusing, but Rhys lets himself get sidetracked. The cadet in question deserved to be sent out in EV in his underwear anyway, some Council member’s spoiled son who barely passed his courses but ended up on Discovery anyway.
Rhys has a few theories about that.
”And he survived?”
”I’m sure he wishes he hadn’t,” Detmer steals the pretzels back, commencing a brief tug of war that showers their legs in crumbs and loose salt, “but Nilsson didn’t have to do anything.”
”That’s not completely true.”
”Close enough, Jo.”
”Anyway,” Owo continues, “Commander Landry was in the lab, when he kept bothering Nilsson after she told him to leave.”
Rhys whistles in interest. The security chief is by all accounts a career soldier, tough but fair, and with a reputation for no patience with unprofessional behavior.
”Oh man, what did she do to him?”
”Gave him a dressing down that should have blistered. Reminded him that the Academy oath covers respect and unassailable character, and if he didn’t have either, he ought to go back home.”
”Hah!”
”Exactly.”
Detmer holds up her glass, clinking it with Owo’s, and rolling her eyes when Rhys uses the pretzel bowl.
“So what were you two talking about when I got here?”
Owo and Detmer share a look, snickering helplessly.
”Really?”
”Oh, really.”
”You want to tell him Jo, or should I?”
”Go ahead.”
Rhys waits while the laughter dies down, going to the synthesizer for tea in the meantime. When he gets back, Detmer seems ready to explain.
”So a couple days ago, one of the relays blew in Engineering. Blew up in Stamets’ face apparently, I mean not close enough to hurt him really, but Tilly freaked out.”
”I would have too,” Owo interjects, “remember that lecture we had on plasma burns?”
”Stamets is fine, but he fell over and Tilly went to check on him. I guess he got a few sparks, but nothing bad. He opens his collar to check his neck, and...” she snorts, flapping her hand at Owo, who picks up the thread of the story.
”Stamets’ neck is covered in-“
Rhys blinks in suspense when Owo makes eye contact with Detmer and they dissolve into giggles.
”In what?”
”-in...heh heh...hi- he’s got a giant hickey with-“ Detmer wipes at her eyes, “with teeth marks!”
The punchline seems a bit anticlimactic.
”Oh.”
”Oh? Come on Gen, can you imagine? Stamets!”
”So?”
”So, it means Doctor C was biting his neck. Tilly about died when she told me, she sounded like when you catch your parents going at it.”
”Ewww, gross. Thanks for the visual.”
”Sorry Jo.”
Rhys is honestly a little disappointed.
“So...Stamets has a hickey? That’s all?”
“He’s sooo uptight though! Like who gives hickeys anymore anyway? That’s total Academy dorm stuff.”
He’s going to have to burst their bubble. It’s not technically private information after all, and he’s pretty sure he won’t get hell for saying it.
”Uhhh, I spar with Hugh.”
“And?”
”Well we’re not doing it in uniform.”
Owo and Detmer give him identical blank looks.
“So?”
“What’s that got to do with...?”
”Stamets bites too, apparently.”
There’s a moment of silence as they process what he just said. Then-
“Oh. My. God. Are you serious?”
“Yeah?”
”Haven’t they been together like, forever?”
“Keyla thinks married people stop having sex.”
”I do not! Just...”
”They’re not married,” he feels impelled to point out, “but I’m pretty sure Stamets actually gets laid more than we do.”
”Okay, that’s sort of depressing.”
He shrugs, because she’s not wrong.
”I think it’s sweet,” Owo smiles, picking up her glass again, “that they still like each other that much.”
”You mean love?”
”No, like. My Aunt Ekemma told me it’s easy to love someone, your parents or your friends or your partner. But to like them, that takes work, because it means you really know each other and still choose them.”
Detmer’s confused expression fades at Owo’s explanation.
”Huh. That’s...I hadn’t thought about it that way.”
”Stamets isn’t always an ass either,” Rhys adds, “at least not when he’s off duty with Hugh.”
“Tilly said she found them asleep in the cultivation bay a couple weeks ago.”
”Asleep?”
”Clothes on,” Detmer sounds a little disappointed that it’s not scandalous. “She said they were cuddling. I thought she was exaggerating.”
”Probably not.”
”Huh.”
Silence falls again, Detmer frowning a little. He tends to forget that neither of them really know Hugh outside his role as CMO, and by extension that means he doesn’t think Stamets is quite as tight laced as most everyone else on the ship probably does.
Rhys gets refills on everyone’s drinks and a plate of cookies that they share without comment. He’s starting to slouch a little in his chair and is thinking about calling it a night when Owo speaks.
”You know what I want?”
She’s gone more serious and thoughtful still, and Rhys has no idea what she’s about to say.
“What?”
“I want someone to look at me, the way Stamets and Doctor Culber look at each other.”
Detmer’s lost the frown, smiling wistfully.
“Me too.”
It’s Keyla and Joann, so there’s no point in not being honest.
”Me three.”
Notes:
I never expected to be writing from Rhys’ perspective - it’s a bit of a challenge to narrate differently than I would as Paul or Hugh or Tracy, but I’m enjoying it.
Chapter 103: Seduction (Successful)
Chapter Text
Paul is halfway through drafting a paragraph arguing that entropy is suspended where the laws of physics aren't a universal constant (like the mycelial network) when his PADD is abruptly plucked from his hands.
"Wha-"
The empty space in front of him is replaced with a lapful of Hugh instead.
"Hi."
Blinking to refocus, he opens his mouth to start an indignant protest, but Hugh beats him to it.
"You've been squinting at that for two hours, you're going to give yourself eye strain."
Hugh knows the effect Doctor Culber's reasonable voice has on Paul, and is clearly using that fact to his advantage as he gives him an expectant stare until Paul deflates.
"Fine," he grumbles, "but I was in the middle of-"
"It can wait."
Hugh unzips his jacket the rest of the way, waiting for Paul to shrug it off. Then Hugh's hands land on his shoulders, fingers digging into the tense muscles through the thin fabric of his undershirt. He shakes his head a little when Paul sighs and relaxes into his grip.
"You're working yourself into knots, babe."
"Lucky I have you to make them go away?"
Paul tries deploying a pout for sympathy, but Hugh is immune.
"Yes."
He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the cushions, rolling the strain from his neck as his partner continues to work his magic. Hugh's weight on his lap is comfortable, grounding him in the moment, in this reality, and not letting his mind drift back towards the siren call of the network. When he opens his eyes again, he's struck with something he should have noticed before.
"Where's your shirt?"
"Where you usually put it on the bed."
"Oh."
He keeps up the massage, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Hugh Culber is the one person in the universe with the ability to (inadvertently) make Paul feel like he's five steps behind, and he has no idea what he's missing that has him amused.
"What?"
"Hmm?"
"You're smirking."
"Am I?"
His tone is infuriatingly calm. Paul narrows his eyes, trying to think past the urge to simply melt into Hugh's touch. It's a difficult battle.
"Yes."
Paul raises his hands off the cushions automatically to steady him as Hugh shifts his weight over his thighs. His fingers land on warm skin at Hugh's hips, and Hugh's smile widens at the look of confusion.
"Where-"
Oh.
Well.
"You're wearing...that underwear."
"Yes."
His body is a sculpted work of art that Paul appreciates on a regular basis, but there's a difference between nudity in the shower and the invitation to play now literally sitting on his lap. The black silk briefs lovingly cling to every detail, hugging the skin below his V-line. Hugh's clearly gotten a head start without him, judging by the already damp fabric straining to contain a prominent indication of interest.
"Wow."
"Mmhmm."
The muscles under his hands tighten as Hugh flexes unashamedly, tongue darting out to wet his lips. They don't have sex every day, but it suddenly feels like it's been weeks.
"Are you-" he stops to swallow, voice catching in a throat gone dry, "are you feeling neglected?"
Hugh's hands loosen on his shoulders, slipping down to rest on Paul's chest.
"A little."
A thumb starts to rub circles, closer and closer to where Paul can feel his nipples already drawn up hard, intensely aware of the slide of his shirt over them with every breath. He can't look away from the hypnotic dark amber of Hugh's eyes, the affection and desire in them holding him captive even as he uses the side of his nail to gently tease over the sensitive nub, flicking it back and forth.
"Can I- oh fuck..."
Hugh leans forward the rest of the way for an open-mouthed kiss, and proceeds to make every higher thought flee as he pairs it with a sharp pinch.
”Yes, you can,” he murmurs into Paul’s mouth when they break for air.
”...you...you don’t eve- fuck. Don’t even know what I was going to say.”
He’s left cold as Hugh slides off his lap, making sure to grind his ass down in the process. Before he can protest, he's being pulled to his feet.
“Why don’t you come show me?”
Hugh turns and proceeds to walk towards the bed. Slowly. The view from the back is almost as delicious as the front, and has the added bonus of giving Paul the ten seconds he needs to strip off the rest of his clothes before he follows.
”Coming?”
”Oh, yes.”
Chapter 104: Sweater
Chapter Text
Shore leave together is...perfect.
Sure, it’s only four days, but it’s four days spent tucked together in a cozy cabin up in the mountains. The resort has a rustic, old-fashioned theme, walls covered with rough hewn wood paneling and a fireplace in the living room. They’d arrived yesterday evening after dark and hadn’t much appreciated the view, but now Hugh sees the evergreen trees surrounding them, everything quiet under a thick blanket of snow that they might make it outside to walk in tomorrow.
So far, they’ve spent most of their first full day in bed together. Hugh had woken first, content to simply watch his lover sleep. Paul was in the middle of the mattress, crowding Hugh in against the wall, but he didn’t really mind. Between the fluffy duvet and Paul’s arms, he’d opened his eyes to warmth and an overwhelming sense of peace. Of course Paul had taken that moment to start snoring in his ear, and Hugh had laughed softly before gently rolling him onto his back to stop the noise.
The innate need for activity finally forced him from the bed around 0800, and he’d taken the time to go downstairs and make breakfast. Technically, he’d had the synthesizer pre-scramble the eggs while he brewed drip coffee and made french toast, but he’d known Paul wouldn’t mind. He’d just finished preparing a tray when the creak of wood reached his ears, looked up to find Paul slowly climbing down from the loft, still yawning and adorably rumpled.
Instead of breakfast in bed, they’d eaten together on the worn leather couch in front of the fireplace, comfortable silence between them. Paul had insisted on giving Hugh a thorough thank you kiss, which devolved into licking the remains of the syrup from his lips, and ended up sucking Hugh off right there. Despite their months-long separation, it hadn’t been rushed as Paul slowly worked Hugh up until he spilled into his mouth with a quiet groan. The flames in the fireplace had painted his hair in shades of sunset gold and rust as he knelt between his legs, lips reddened and eyes a brilliant blue. Once the shivers subsided, Hugh had borne him down onto the thick carpet and proceeded to return the favor with the same leisurely enjoyment.
After, wiping sweat and Paul off his lips, they’d finally done the dishes and dressed to go out. Planned to go out, because they hadn’t quite made it to the door, the lingering flush on Paul’s cheeks too much of a temptation to resist.
It took far less time to undress than putting their clothes on to begin with, his partner in a rare assertive mood that only made things that much more exciting. Once round two had concluded with Paul sprawled sweaty across Hugh’s back, bent over the arm of the couch, going outside had seemed unappealing in comparison to sharing the oversized soaking tub in the bathroom. They’d retreated to the bed once the water cooled, snuggling and exchanging the kind of soft kisses that Hugh loved even more than the hungry, open-mouthed ones at the height of passion.
Eventually, their stomachs demanded lunch, and Paul had carried it upstairs to eat in bed. Hugh knows they fell asleep again at some point, the exertion of the morning and good food too much to ignore. It’s dark outside now, probably near 1800 based on his internal chronometer, and he’s a little disappointed to wake up alone.
”Babe?”
”Down here,” Paul’s voice drifts up from below, carrying over the loft railing.
The environmental controls have been set to a level that’s a little chilly, despite the fact that the modern construction means none of the cold and wind from outside technically makes it in (“What’s the point of a fireplace if we’re not cold?” Hugh had pointed out). He pulls on a pair of thick flannel pajama pants, but his favorite sweater is nowhere to be found. Hugh knows he packed it, but it’s not at the bottom of his suitcase with his other shirts. Frowning, he chooses a long sleeved thermal undershirt instead, satisfying his need for more cuddling taking priority over anything else.
Whatever he’s about to say dies on his lips when he makes it to the bottom of the stairs. Paul is curled up in a corner of the couch reading. It can’t be work, because Hugh had confiscated his Starfleet-issue PADD on arrival, but that’s not what stops him in his tracks.
Paul’s legs are bare, skin pinkened with chill under the dusting of near-invisible hair. It looks like he’s wearing underwear, although it’s difficult to tell with his legs folded up like that. More to the point-
“...is that my sweater?”
It’s a rhetorical question. They do share clothes (being the same height is a distinct advantage as far as he’s concerned) often when together, but there’s something primal about seeing Paul like this, something deeply possessive and wanting at the sight of him with his glasses perched on the end of his nose and a PADD in his hands.
That possessiveness settles into a warm knot inside when Paul looks up and smiles.
“Yes, it is,” he shrugs a little self-consciously, “I...it smells like you.”
”It looks good on you, sweetheart,” Hugh murmurs, waiting for Paul to set the PADD aside with his glasses folded on top (Hugh keeps pestering him to just get a surgical correction).
“Yeah?”
“Mmhmm. Let me see?”
Paul stands, and the banked heat flares back to life in his groin. The deep maroon fabric hangs loose at the neckline and tighter around the midsection, the garment made for Hugh’s bulkier shoulders and trim waist. He stops in front of Hugh, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and stealing a kiss that Hugh is only too happy to return.
”I love you.”
”I love you too, sweetheart.”
His hands roam Paul’s torso, tracing the hint of freckles visible under the collar and caressing his chest. He’s gorgeous, standing there in his briefs and Hugh’s sweater. The heat sharpens into need.
And he’s mine.
“What’s that look?”
Paul’s playful smile means he already knows the answer, Hugh’s desire reflected back on his face as he slips a knee between Hugh’s thighs and presses their hips together.
”That’s the ‘I haven’t fucked my partner in three and a half months, and I’m going to tear my clothes off him and do it’ look.”
Despite the crude words, his voice is soft, and Paul’s laugh makes his body sing.
”Is it now?”
Instead of answering out loud, Hugh takes his hand and pulls Paul back up the stairs to the bed. He peels the sweater off as promised, lavishing kisses everywhere and rubbing his face against the softness of Paul’s stomach until he hauls Hugh back up to finish shedding his own clothes.
They make love amidst the tangled sheets, moving together slowly, every touch made more intimate by shared history. There’s no need to hurry in this place, sheltered from the universe outside. It’s just the two of them as Hugh works him open with fingers and tongue, Paul’s heels drumming on his shoulders as he licks and sucks.
He rests their foreheads together when he finally pushes inside, hitches the legs wrapped around his waist a little higher, waits for Paul to catch his breath and open his eyes again. It’s the sweetest torment, and he suffers gladly.
“Please...I need.”
It’s breathed out into the charged air between them, and that just won’t do. Paul shouldn’t have to beg, shouldn’t ever be denied anything that’s in Hugh’s power to give.
He starts to move.
The first thrust leaves them both gasping at the sensation, Hugh unable to look away even as he buries himself in that slick heat over and over again. He cradles Paul’s head in his hands, elbows braced on the sheets as his lover writhes and pushes their bodies closer, chasing him every time he pulls away and using his crossed ankles on Hugh’s back to urge him forward again.
Paul’s never quiet in bed, but today his moans are muffled against Hugh’s lips, whimpers soothed with kisses. His hands slide in the sweat covering Hugh’s skin, anchoring themselves over his shoulders when the fingers buried in his hair tighten. Their rocking stays slow and steady, every motion rubbing Hugh’s stomach over Paul’s aching erection.
It can’t last forever.
”...m’close,” Hugh admits, sinking his teeth into his lower lip as he struggles against the overwhelming need, “don’t- oh sweetheart...don’t think...can last much longer.”
Nodding, Paul detaches a hand, slips it between their bodies and brings himself closer to the edge.
”Go ahead. Give- fuck...give it to me, I want it...please.”
It’s the ‘please’ that does it. Hugh’s eyes, heavy-lidded with arousal, fly wide open and unfocused. They’ve already had two orgasms each today, so instead of a sharp release it’s a wave that breaks over his body, rolling and pulsing with every jerk of his hips. Beneath him, Paul’s watching him with desire and love written on his face, moving and grinding together to keep the pleasure aloft as long as possible even as his own strokes grow faster.
The feeling of Paul coming around him, head thrown back and back bowing up off the sheets, is almost too intense. He clenches his jaw, riding out Paul’s climax, his breathless moans the sweetest sound.
Eventually, they’re both too sensitive and he has to pull out, his sigh echoed by Paul as he slips free. Hugh rolls heavily onto his back at Paul’s side. They should grab a towel so they don’t make a mess of the bed, but neither are in a hurry to move again.
”Mmmm.”
”Hmmm?”
Paul’s drawing patterns with his thumb over the underside of Hugh’s wrist, inquisitive noise laced with languid contentment.
”This...is perfect.”
”Me dripping cum onto the sheets?”
Hugh swats his shoulder, following it up with a kiss.
”I’m being serious.”
”...I know. It really is, isn’t it?”
”Yeah.”
Outside, a flurry of snow sweeps past the window.
”Happy anniversary, dear doctor.”
“Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”
Notes:
Umm. So my short and sweet snapshot of Paul wearing Hugh’s shirt turned into...this. The magic of the story pulled me in and I had to write lovemaking instead of sex. I’m not sorry about it.
Chapter 105: Savor
Summary:
Quietly watching the love of his life sleep.
Notes:
This ones been sitting unfinished for two months - yikes!
And yes, I do write a lot of bed / snuggle fics, because to me the intimacy between two people is never more clear than in that setting.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He blinks to awareness slowly, drowsy and warm. The arms around him shift a little, but their owner doesn't wake, continuing to snore quietly into the pillow.
It’s still night on Deneva, long before the alarm will go off, but he doesn’t feel quite ready to drift off again. Instead, he pushes up on an elbow and rolls over to face the man behind him, careful not to jostle the mattress too much. His bedmate stirs as he wriggles around, making a displeased noise until he settles down on the pillow again. Their faces are inches apart, and he smiles at the sight before him.
He's beautiful all of the time, but in sleep even more so. There’s a fragile vulnerability that is seldom evident in their waking hours in the company of others, laughter and frown lines relaxed. He runs his fingertips over the arch of an eyebrow, traces across a high cheekbone and down to the strong line of his jaw. The stubble under his touch sends a shiver of delight up his spine, and he repeats the action even more slowly, relishing the frisson of pleasure.
He lets his eyes wander as his hand moves again, following the prominent collarbone to the point of his shoulder. The contrast in their skin tones is even more evident in the muted glow of the moon past the partially drawn curtains.
Catching his lower lip between his teeth, his eyes narrow in concentration as his hand continues its journey over a firm bicep and down towards his forearm. He can’t quite reach any further than a couple of inches below the elbow in this position, but it’s not a setback. His fingers reverse course, watching the hairs rise in their wake, until they’re splayed over a strongly beating heart.
Some days he still can't believe this gorgeous, gentle, loving man is his, has been his for years. Can’t believe that he loves him back, and can’t imagine his life without him. It’s a comfortable feeling, one he knows down to his core.
The thumb strokes over his chest must tickle, because there’s a languid hum and the arms around him briefly tighten as their owner comes awake. His love's eyes have opened, and he fixes him with a sleepy smile.
"Hi."
"Whatr' you doin'?"
"Just looking."
A bemused look.
”At wha-ahhh-“ a yawn interrupts him, ”at what?”
”You.”
”Hmmm. Why would you,” he pauses, fighting down a yawn, “do something like that?”
”Because you’re beautiful.”
His love must be half-asleep still, because he accepts the compliment with a shy smile and no protestations otherwise.
” ‘Mkay.”
”I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
”S’fine.”
The hand attached to the arm draped over his waist starts rubbing slow, idle circles on his ribs.
”Mmm.”
”Hmmm?”
”Feels good.”
Not long later, the movements slow, followed by another yawn.
”Sorry. D’you...need me awake?”
The earnestness with which the question is asked settles in his stomach, spreading prickles of affection.
”Shhh. Go back to sleep.”
”Mmmmm.”
He waits for his love’s breathing to even out, feels when his arm grows heavy. Casting one last glance upwards, he smiles and snuggles his face into the warm crook of neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply.
I love you so much.
They sleep.
Notes:
Whose perspective do you think this chapter is told from? I honestly can’t decide.
Chapter 106: Seconds
Chapter Text
“Mmmphhh.”
Paul groans softly as Hugh’s weight pitches forward, collapsing onto his chest.
”...sorry.”
The apology comes from somewhere against his shoulder and possibly spoken into the pillow. He breathes out a quiet chuckle, still a bit breathless himself.
”For what?”
Hugh squirms, knees briefly tightening to either side of Paul’s hips, and he’s grateful they had the presence of mind to put down a towel first this time so they can enjoy the afterglow instead of hunting for something to contain the mess. His fingers trace aimless patterns over Hugh’s sweaty back, following the lines of muscle while he waits for an answer.
Eventually, Hugh gets an elbow braced on the sheets by Paul’s shoulder, and pushes himself just far enough up that he can look Paul in the eye.
”For not...mmm...lasting longer.”
That evokes an affectionate, indulgent smile, lazy with sated enjoyment.
”Hugh, that’s our second time today, I don’t think either of us is young enough for that.”
”Are you calling me old?”
Hugh gives him an attempt at an affronted look, but it’s ruined by the amusement in his eyes.
”Nope. Never.”
”Oh good. For a moment there I was afraid I’d have to keep this-“ he succeeds in making Paul gasp as he wiggles his hips and reminds him that he’s still holding a (currently) small part of his anatomy captive, “until you apologized.”
”You’re seriously threatening to hold my dick hostage?”
”Yes.”
He punctuates his response with another roll of his hips.
”Okay. Just checking.”
Hugh drops his head back onto Paul’s shoulder, sighing. The soft wave of pleasure from the kisses he’s pressing along the underside of Paul’s jaw reminds him that, regardless of what he just said, they’re both too old to go again tonight. He tightens his hold, enjoying the pleased hum against his throat that the action earns him.
”You,” Hugh mutters between kisses, “are insatiable today.”
”Mmm. That’s your fault.”
”My fault? Weren’t you the one eye-fucking me while we were having dinner? In the mess hall? With Tilly?”
Paul pinches his side.
”Can you not bring Tilly up while we’re post-coital, please?”
It’s not a serious complaint, but Hugh nods anyway.
”You still haven’t explained how this is my fault.”
Hugh shifts again, and this time they’re both aware of the sweat and other fluids now starting to dry into sticky dampness between them.
“Ugh.”
Paul waits until Hugh climbs off him before sitting up and using a corner of the towel to swipe the worst of the mess off his stomach while Hugh does a necessarily more through job cleaning his stomach and inner thighs. Once he’s done - and the towel tossed in the direction of the bathroom - he settles on his side and looks at Paul expectantly.
”Well?”
”Well what?”
He knows what Hugh’s asking, but it’s worth playing oblivious just for the bite to his shoulder he gets in response.
”How, exactly, is you jumping me as soon as we got back here, my fault?”
Paul rolls onto his side as well, searching for the right words to explain. Post-coital or not, Hugh picks up on the shift in response to his teasing inquiry, playful expression melting away.
”Sweetheart?”
”You. It’s- you make me feel wanted, Hugh. You...want me. And that still blows my mind.”
Hugh’s lips curve into a small smile, and he leans forward to kiss Paul.
”That goes both ways, love.”
Chapter 107: Shovel Talk
Summary:
What happens the first time Hugh brings Paul home for Christmas?
Notes:
This references a meeting between Paul and Hugh’s grandmother mentioned in Chapter 29 of When Sorrow Turns to Joy and Chapter 12 of Toothbrush Conversations.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Paul.”
“Professor Echevarría.”
Paul is proud of his voice remaining steady, glad that the fading light of dusk hides the flush of embarrassment as he startles.
”Too much for you inside?”
Her voice is calm, no judgment implied, but he’s careful to respond in a way that can’t be misconstrued as a criticism.
”I was in the kitchen, and it got a bit warm.”
Hugh’s grandmother nods and sits down beside him on the swing, hands clasped in her lap and seemingly content to stare out at the mountains. Behind them, snippets of laughter and loud conversation from the Culber family amidst the Christmas celebrations fade out beneath the sound of waves on the shore. After a few minutes, she turns back to him, expression unreadable.
”Hugh loves you very much.”
Heat blooms across his cheeks again, accompanied by a shy smile.
”I- he’s...amazing.”
“He is. My grandson has room in his heart for so many people, it’s why he’s a good doctor.”
Paul nods.
”He cares so much.”
”He always has, ever since he was a boy.”
Despite his nerves, he smiles at the tidbit of information. It doesn’t surprise him in the least.
”I could see that.”
She stares at him, and he can see where Hugh inherited the steel in his spine.
”Tell me, Paul Stamets, do you love him as much as he loves you? Because if you don’t,” Aida sits up straight, tone hardening, “I would ask you to stop now before you break his heart.”
It takes a couple of tries before the words will leave his suddenly dry throat. There’s something about her that compels complete honesty, not that he would ever dissemble in regards to his feelings for Hugh.
”I love him. More than-“ he can’t look away, pinned by her gaze, “more than I have ever loved anyone else. He’s...I couldn’t be happy without him in my life.”
Aida’s expression doesn’t change for long enough that Paul can feel his palms start to sweat. Then-
“He wants to spend the rest of his life with you.”
Hugh’s been very clear about that, but hearing someone else say it is completely different. He blinks back an unexpected wave of emotion as she takes his hand.
”Take good care of him, Paul. Hugh will give you everything if you ask.”
”I- yes. I will.”
She seems to be waiting for something else.
”I promise.”
At last, her face softens.
”And if you’ll accept some relationship advice from a very nosy grandmother?”
”Of course.”
”Don’t go to sleep angry with each other. Even if you have to go to bed arguing, make sure you’ve resolved it before you turn off the lights. Talk to each other. And,” her eyes turn mischievous, “have a lot of sex.”
Paul wonders if it’s possible to give oneself a heart attack by blushing this much, and he looks away over the railing at the coast, trying to control his self-conscious reaction.
”I- uhh...”
“Forgive the presumption, but I am assuming you two are enjoying yourselves?“
They are, in fact, very much so. Hugh’s as amazing in bed as he is out of it, not just his skill but his ability to make Paul feel comfortable and uninhibited. That’s not precisely something he’s shared with anyone but his closest friends, and certainly isn’t planning on saying so to Hugh’s grandmother.
She laughs, not unkindly at all, and gently grips his chin, turning his head back towards her. He can see that she’s inviting him to share the tease rather than being embarrassed.
”That’s probably enough about your relationship for tonight.”
”Umm. Thank you? I mean, thank you, Professor.”
Her smile is brilliant white, just like Hugh’s.
”You know,” she tilts her head to the side in a familiar mannerism (and he wonders if his partner had learned it from her), “you can call me Aida, if you’d like.”
”Thank you, Aida.”
She pats his knee.
”At least until you feel comfortable enough calling me Abuela.”
He’s aware of his jaw hanging open, and she waits patiently for him to wrap his mind around the magnitude of what that means.
”You-“
”Abuelita!” Hugh’s voice comes from the direction of the kitchen door behind them, “Stop scaring him.”
Footsteps, and then Hugh is sitting down on his other side, arm wrapped around his waist. He leans into it, and the kiss Hugh presses to his cheek.
”I was doing nothing of the sort,” Aida protests.
”Oh? Why do I not believe you?”
Hugh’s challenge is affectionate, and Paul finds himself smiling as well.
”Not at all.”
”Was she trying to scare you off, sweetheart?”
The tone is light, but he can hear the undercurrent of uncertainty buried deep under the surface.
”No. Ai- Abuela was just giving me relationship advice.”
He’s very careful to pronounce it correctly, and Aida gives him an approving look.
”Oh my go- please tell me she didn’t give you the ‘have a ton of sex’ speech?”
Hugh sounds genuinely scandalized, but Paul doesn’t miss the way his eyes light up at how he referred to her.
“It’s good advice. I told the same thing to your cousins, and my own chil-“
Hugh actually takes his hand off Paul to shove his fingers in his ears.
”You’re a doctor,” she comments mildly once he settles again, “don’t pretend you’re embarrassed by it.”
”I’m not embarrassed by it, I just don’t want to think about...yeah.”
”All right. I’ll try not to embarrass you and your novio any further.”
”Thank you.”
”Did your mother send you out to rescue him from me, or...”
Hugh’s hand returns, resting on his thigh, and he closes his eyes briefly, just savoring the moment and content to let them speak. The teasing interplay between Hugh and his grandmother fits another piece into his heart that Paul didn’t know was missing.
********
”Really, sweetheart, did my grandmother give you the shovel talk?”
They’re tucked under the covers in Hugh’s old room, echoes of voices from downstairs barely audible. It was well past 0200 by the time Paul had begged off yawning, despite the rest of the family showing no signs of calling it a night. Hugh had excused them both until morning, picking up their bags from the entryway and leading him up the darkened staircase.
The bed barely qualifies as a double, which means two average sized grown men (well above average, counting Hugh’s delightful musculature) would have to be very close indeed to avoid falling off the edge. It’s not really a problem for them, although Paul hopes he’s not squishing Hugh’s arm too badly.
”A shovel what?”
”Shovel talk. You know, back in the twentieth century when people threatened to hit someone over the head with a shovel if they weren’t well-behaved.”
”Oh. No? Sort of? Not really.”
”Okay. Just making sure. Abuela can be...overprotective.”
Given what he’s pieced together about Hugh’s past relationships, Paul honestly thinks it’s not completely unjustified.
”Not as bad as Tracy did.”
Hugh groans.
”What did she tell you?”
”That she’d paralyze me and remove my balls one at a time using a dull laser scalpel if I ever hurt you on purpose.”
“Oh no.”
”It’s fine, she only did that once, and I don’t think she’s actively planning my demise.”
Hugh’s hand wiggles free to cup Paul’s groin.
“I rather like your balls where they are, if you don’t mind.”
”So do I. Actually,” Paul clears his throat, “I’d probably do it myself if I ever did. Hurt you.”
”Speaking of...” Hugh’s tone suggests he’s steering them away from the too-serious direction of the conversation, “maybe I should check on them now?”
The playful touch heads towards fondling. Paul hums in pleasure, until-
“Hugh! We can’t do that here.”
His partner’s hand pauses halfway under the waistband of his pajama pants at his hissed protest.
”Why not?”
”Hugh, your whole family is downstairs.”
”So? I locked the door.”
”I mean,” Paul sputters, trying to put words to it, “you slept here. Growing up. So...”
”And I spent most of my teenage years jerking off in this bed. It’s seen plenty of action.”
He’s not sure if he should be scandalized or titillated by that piece of information.
”Wait...”
Hugh sighs dramatically, but doesn’t move any further to undo the drawstrings.
”For?”
”Did you...umm. You know. With uhh, anyone...?”
There’s a beat of silence as Hugh does the magical thing where he pieces together what Paul’s saying even when it doesn’t make sense.
”Oh. Oh...no, I haven’t had sex with anyone else in this bed.”
”I think I’m strangely disappointed?”
A laugh, then Hugh’s breath is hot in Paul’s ear, hand slipping lower against bare skin.
”Do you want me to tell you about it? About me lying here, thinking about the kind of guy I wanted, touching myself?”
He punctuates the question with a squeeze.
”Mmmmm...yes? Yes.”
”I was all skinny then,” Hugh chuckles, “all arms and legs and wondering if I’d be stuck like that forever.”
His other hand, previously sandwiched between Paul’s arm and the bed, relocates to tease the nearest covered nipple, pinching and plucking at it.
”You- ohhhh...you’re ridiculously ahh- attractive no matter. What.”
Hugh’s hand is working him so perfectly that it takes Paul a dozen strokes before he’s able to slip his own hand behind his back and try to return the favor. It’s an awkward angle, so Hugh solves the problem by bodily shifting Paul and pulling him to lie between his spread legs. The casual display of strength is always a turn-on, and it’s a struggle to focus when Hugh is smiling at him like that, eyes full of promised pleasure.
“That works too.”
Hugh’s smile turns wicked, and he lifts them up again to shove their pants down around their hips, giving them both better access.
Despite the growing heat, their strokes are unhurried, the kisses slow and thorough. They’re both still fully dressed otherwise, rubbing together and creating delicious friction amidst the crackles of static from the tangled sheets. Paul’s feeling a little floaty from the after-dinner drinks, and his reservations have all but vanished.
Hugh’s fingers are just teasing their way down from his lower back when there’s footsteps and a loud thump just outside in the hall. They both freeze, Paul stiffening as the door rattles.
”Owwww!”
”-shhhhh!”
He recognizes the muffled voices as two of Hugh’s cousins.
”Hugh’s asleep anyway-“
”Trying to be asleep!” Hugh yells in the direction of the door, “Mina, I swear, if you sprained your wrist again, I’m not fixing it this year!”
“That wasn’t my fault!”
More footsteps and another voice. This time it sounds like Hugh’s mother shooing his cousins to bed. Paul doesn’t relax until the noises have faded, dropping his head onto the pillow in relief.
”Sorry,” Hugh’s genuinely apologetic, “I told you my family couldn’t be quiet if our lives depended on it.”
”It’s fine.”
A gentle squeeze and wry chuckle remind him of what they were doing before the interruption.
”To be continued tomorrow?”
He can feel himself rapidly softening, although Hugh doesn’t seem to have been bothered by the interruption.
“Yeah. Unless- do you want me to...“ he pushes himself up a little and glances downward, “I can suc-“
“I’ll be fine, sweetheart.”
Hugh’s smile and kiss lets him know he’s not feeling deprived. They work their pants back up and straighten the covers, this time with Paul on his back and Hugh curled around his side.
”Have I scared you off ever coming home with me for Christmas again?”
”What? Oh no, this has been...really great. I like your family, they’re just very...”
”Loud?”
”I was going to say honest.”
Hugh nods, and he can see a hint of unfamiliar insecurity pass over his face.
”Is that...okay?”
”It’s fine. No, I mean it. I’m just not used to it, but it’s...good.”
”Really?”
”Yes,” he kisses Hugh again, on the cheek and on the tiny frown creasing his forehead, “I’m sure.”
They snuggle closer, the sounds in the house fading even further.
“I think your grandmother’s decided I’m worthy of you?”
”Abuela adores you, Paul.”
”Are you sure?”
”Paul, you’ve just met her and she’s letting you use her first name.”
“She umm, she told me it was okay to use her name, if I wasn’t comfortable calling her Abuela? Your mom looked surprised, I hope I’m not being disrespectful?”
Hugh uses the hand resting on Paul’s chest to lever himself up until he can look him in the eyes.
”Paul...every guy since my first boyfriend when I was fifteen, has had to address her as Professor Echevarría. Maybe one or two ever got to use her first name? But she’s never told anyone else to call her that.”
“...oh.”
”Yeah.”
”Wow.”
He blinks up at the ceiling as Hugh settles down again, nuzzling into his neck and yawning.
”You’re family now,” he murmurs, “they’re going to love you almost as much as I do from now on.”
“I...”
”Shhh. Sleep, love, Mama is going to wake us all up early for Christmas breakfast.”
”Seriously?”
”Yeah,” Hugh yawns again, “don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
”Okay.”
He pulls the covers up further around them both, smiling at Hugh’s drowsy hum.
”Goodnight, sweetheart. Love you.”
”I love you too.”
Notes:
Hugh’s grandmother’s last name borrowed from Wilson’s mother.
Chapter 108: Supply (Closet)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“...mmmm....”
”Like-“ kiss “that?”
”You know I do.”
”I’m fishing for compliments, humor me.”
“Why’d you stop?”
”I’m waiting.”
”You, my dear doctor, are possessed of the most talented mouth in the universe. Not only can you talk your partner into an erection, but your kisses are ranked off the scale after numerous samples, and your tongue is particularly talented when you’re licking my- OH!”
”I take that back, you sound like you’re narrating a terrible documentary.”
Kiss
Kiss kiss kiss
”Fuck, be careful, I have to go on duty after.”
”There’s a regen in my pocket.”
”And here I thought you were just happy to see me.”
“Well, I-“
Swish
“...for the love of- seriously?”
”...uhhh hi Trace. What are you, umm doing here?”
“Seeing as we’re in ‘fleet Medical and this is a supply closet, it just so happens I was coming to find the portable display your partner’s ass is parked on.”
”Errr. Hi Tracy. Sorry.”
Clank
Thump
“You’re back on in ten.”
”I know. Ummm, could you...?”
”Don’t worry, I’m leaving. Have a safe flight, Stamets.”
”Thanks.”
”And next time, Hugh? Lock the door.”
Notes:
Envisioning Hugh and Tracy in San Francisco sometime pre-Discovery, and Paul is on layover :)
Chapter 109: Sweat
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“...almost got it...”
Tilly’s voice is strained. Her head, arms, and upper torso are hidden inside the conduit, but the sound of tools and her own muttered commentary drift back out.
”Remind me,” Paul grunts as Tilly shifts her weight on his shoulders, “why I’m the one holding her up?”
It’s a clearly rhetorical and toothless complaint, but Hugh rolls his eyes in response anyway. His broken ankle is propped up on a crate, and he can see Paul eyeing it while pretending to scratch his nose.
“Sorry sirs! It’s- tricky...oww!” they both grimace at the sound of what’s probably Tilly’s elbow colliding with something in the tight space, “I’ll try to go faster.”
”You’re fine, Cadet,” Hugh calls across from his position on the floor, “the Lieutenant is just complaining because he doesn’t like to be on the bottom.”
The look Paul shoots at him is a mix of over exaggerated wince at the truly terrible double entendre and incredulous outrage.
”What?”
He mouths the word, adjusting his stance yet again as Tilly leans forward.
”Hugh...” the syllable comes out as a hiss, quiet enough that Tilly won’t be able to hear.
Hugh blows him a kiss. It’s a calculated risk - poking at Paul is definitely keeping his partner’s mind off the physical strain, but he’s running out of good material and despite his calm expression, is rapidly losing the ability to ignore the absolute agony in his boot.
More to the point, if they don’t get out of this room in the next few hours, they’re going to run up against serious issues with dehydration and hyperthermia. He glances at the tricorder resting on his folded jacket and groans.
45C.
At the time, taking the opportunity to tag along on an away mission under the guise of “monitoring the Lieutenant’s condition” (Tracy had snorted unsubtly at his reasoning) had seemed like a good idea. There’s a half dozen other away teams exploring different areas of the derelict base, and no one had any reason to suspect anything worse than a stubbed toe.
Paul and Tilly were busy examining some sort of self-contained power generator when the ground had jolted beneath everyone’s feet. The planet had some seismic activity, but the magnitude of the quake was far beyond the small tremors that they’d picked up from orbit. This one violently pitched Tilly against the wall, Paul sprawling over the floor a few meters away as bits of dusty debris rained down. Hugh had unfortunately been coming into the room as the quake knocked out the base’s power, leaving the heavy slab of metal to fall on him.
Before all of the dust had settled, the other two were on their feet and racing to Hugh’s side at his cry of pain. Paul hadn’t panicked for more than a few seconds, and between him and Tilly they were able to lever the door up just enough to free his trapped leg. Proving Murphy’s Law, his field bag with its medical supplies managed to end up on the other side of the door, leaving him with only their tricorders and the tiny emergency medkit stashed in Tilly’s utility pouch. The painkillers were laughably inadequate, but he took them anyway, grateful for Paul’s hand to squeeze.
Speaking of, he’d really like it again now.
Their communicators aren’t working - Paul theorized some sort of magnetic interference - so they’re stuck until someone manages to locate them and get the door open again. On top of it all, the power loss means no more forced air to cool the room against the desert planet’s environment, and the temperature is still steadily rising. If he was superstitious, Hugh would probably ascribe the horrible chain of events to some sort of malicious intent. Unfortunately, it looks like nothing but a string of really bad luck, so there’s no restless being to placate for a quick fix.
”...oh! Damn, almost- no, hang on...”
Tilly’s cursing and narration are a welcome distraction. She’d suggested using the relays in the overhead conduit to boost a communicator signal, hence Paul currently serving as her ladder. It’s been a half hour since Paul and Tilly managed to coordinate their efforts enough to reach the conduit, but Hugh’s hopes for a technological breakthrough are dwindling.
All things considered, Hugh isn’t sure whether he’d prefer their roles to be reversed. On one hand, he’d certainly have an easier time supporting Tilly and would happily not be in possession of a shattered talus. On the other, seeing Paul in pain and being unable to help him beyond splinting isn’t a much better alternative.
The throbbing makes him want to tear his boot off, but it’s the only thing keeping the joint from swelling too far and stabilizing the broken bone. He presses his fingers to the skin exposed by his rolled-up pant leg, trying to gauge temperature. It’s hard to be sure in this environment, but his shin feels significantly hotter. Gritting his teeth, he scans his leg again.
”Hugh?” There’s no teasing in Paul’s voice at all, just mounting concern.
Damn.
He schools his expression back into something less pained, but there’s no ignoring the readings. By some small miracle it’s not an open fracture and he’s not going to bleed out, but there’s a real danger of serious ligament damage that could take days to regen properly. He closes his eyes against another wave of pain, lightheaded, and concentrates on breathing through it. It’s not as bad as the agony of a torn shoulder, but also isn’t far off.
There’s a thump and more assorted cursing. The darkness behind his eyelids disappears when he opens them in surprise at the hand on his shoulder. It doesn’t feel like Paul’s touch.
”Wha-“
Tilly sits down next to him, jacket abandoned and every bit of exposed skin streaked with grime and dust.
”If it worked, Discovery should be able to track us, but I uhhh it’s not something I can check. Broadcast signal.”
He feels Paul settle on his other side, protocol out the airlock as he wraps an arm around Hugh’s waist, and he leans into his partner hard enough to earn another worried look.
“How’s the leg?”
”In my professional medical opinion? Won’t kill me, but it really really hurts.”
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” Tilly mutters, “Michael kept telling me to pack a full kit just in case, but I thought, ‘we won’t need it, Doctor Culber is gonna be with us’, and...”
She trails off lamely, gesturing vaguely at the door.
”Nothing to apologize for, I’m glad you were carrying one at all.”
It’s not meant as a dig at his partner at all, but he can see Paul wince in his peripheral vision.
Sorry, Paul mouths at him, lips pressed into a thin line.
He squeezes his thigh gently in response, receiving a surprising kiss to the cheek when Tilly turns away to rummage in her utility pouch for water.
“How long until we know if it worked?”
Tilly glances at Paul instead of answering him directly.
”Honestly? No idea. If they weren’t in range who knows? We could try again in a half hour.”
”That’s...okay.”
Fifteen minutes later, the temperature has gone up another two degrees and Hugh is more grateful than ever for his choice of a sleeveless undershirt and upbringing in a warm climate. Paul’s not doing as well; he’s sweated out most of the gel, damp hair clinging to his forehead, and his cheeks are flushed with heat but he stubbornly refuses to move from Hugh’s side. Tilly’s fanning them all with a bit of broken panel, but even her sunny disposition seems to be melting.
Hugh gave up doing anything but focusing on not screaming five minutes ago. His head is starting to swim again, and he can tell from Tilly’s worried look that he’s not hiding it well anymore.
”-ugh?”
That’s weird.
Paul’s voice sounds funny, faint and quiet. He turns his head to look, but the room seems to roll upside down, and his ears are ringing.
”Doctor? Doctor!”
”Hugh!”
Stop yelling, he wants to say, but his lips won’t form the words.
The sparks of pain in his vision narrow down and fade out, and-
You're passing out.
“...’m fuh- fii...mmmffuhhnnnn...”
Darkness.
********
When Hugh and consciousness are on speaking terms again, the first thing he notices is that his ankle doesn’t hurt. He wiggles his toes before even opening his eyes, relieved when everything seems to be normal. The air smells like detergent and Paul’s cologne, and the surface under him feels far too comfortable to be a biobed, so...
”Hugh?”
”Hmmmmmm.”
His eyes feel gritty when he pries them open, blurred shapes solidifying into one of his favorite sights in the universe: Paul’s face.
He licks his lips and tries again.
”Hi.”
There it is. Paul’s frown is replaced with a small smile.
“Welcome back.”
There’s a pinch when he goes to raise his hand, and he glances down to see a line running with plain saline. It also confirms that he’s back in their quarters, tucked into bed, and he figures he can live with the IV for a bit longer.
”Dehad- dehydrated?”
A nod.
“Tracy said you’ll be fine, but she wanted to let you sleep it off. She also said to tell you she got to use her new osteo regen, and-” he cuts off Hugh’s question, “you can review the logs with her tomorrow.”
“Well then. Are you going to stay?”
That last is said in a voice that’s much more uncertain that intended.
“Promise. Tracy ordered me and Tilly off for a full twenty-four and banned us from the lab, so you’re stuck with me.”
Hugh uses his other hand to cup Paul’s cheek.
”No complaints here. But- sweetheart, what is it?”
Paul’s expression falls, but before Hugh can say anything, he’s lying down curled close against Hugh’s side.
”I don’t like seeing you in pain.”
Ahhh.
”Goes both ways, love.”
His partner has the grace to look contrite, even though it’s not meant as a criticism.
”I know. I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with this,” he taps his forearm, “I mean it.”
“I know.”
He rests his cheek on Paul’s forehead, eyes growing heavy again.
”Falling asleep on me?”
”You’re-“ he's interrupted by a yawn, “technically the one on me.”
Paul snuggles closer.
”Minor details. Go ahead and sleep, Hugh. I’ll be right here.”
He sleeps.
Notes:
I’m not sure where this one came from, other than a desire to reverse the roles of who’s usually the one injured. Also just realized Paul and Tilly are watching Hugh pass out again, like they did in the first chapter that started this whole collection of stories off. Ooops?
Chapter 110: Species
Notes:
Takes place some time after the halfway point of "The Red Angel” but before Pike beams down to talk to Gabrielle Burnham in "Perpetual Infinity".
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first time Nhan meets Dr. Culber is in the medbay. She’s had some trouble adjusting to the new augment, and is hoping Dr. Pollard can effect a quick fix. Instead, she steps into a scene of carefully controlled chaos. Dr. Pollard has her back to the main doors, flanked by a nurse and tech huddled over a biobed in the corner. An agonized yell cuts the air from whoever they’re treating, followed by a series of gasping breaths. Nhan takes a half-step backwards in surprise, then jumps as her shoulder collides with something solid.
”Whoa, hey, you’re okay,” the person she bumped into catches her elbow as she stumbles, “sorry about that, I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you.”
Someone activates a privacy field around the biobed, shielding doctor and patient from view, and silencing the pained cries. The hand on her arm lets go as soon as her footing is steady, and she turns to face the owner of said hand.
The person is a human male dressed in medical white, about her height and built strongly, judging by the way the uniform fits, with that strange affectation of facial hair that some humans seemed to prefer. She’s not the best at judging age for other species, but - her eyes flick down to the pips on his badge - he’s probably a doctor given his rank. He seems familiar, and Nhan frowns a little, trying to think where she’s seen him before.
“- do for you, Commander?”
His question cuts through her thoughts, and she smiles to defuse any awkwardness.
”Nhan,” she holds out her hand in the human fashion, “I don’t think we’ve met?”
Something flickers over his face, there and gone again in an instant.
”Not properly. Airiam’s service didn’t quite seem an appropriate place to make introductions.”
That’s right, he was standing behind her. Something’s off in her memory, because she’s almost certain he wasn’t in uniform at the time.
“I’m Doctor Culber,” his grip on her hand is firm, unlike that of some human males she’s met, “pleased to meet you as well.”
Oh. Well that’s interesting. She knows exactly who Dr. Culber was from the briefing notes Number One gave her before she beamed over from Enterprise with Captain Pike, was even on the bridge during his rescue from the mycelial network.
“Commander?”
He’s looking at her with concern, and she shakes her head.
”Sorry Doctor, I should have been paying more attention.”
”What? Oh, no, you’re fine. I’m sure you didn’t expect to walk into a delivery.”
Ahhh. Well, that explains the screaming, and it also means Dr. Pollard is going to be busy for a while.
“Definitely a first. Human births seem quite...” she searches for a polite way to say it, “ummm, messy.”
Her word choice draws a laugh from the doctor, and he nods.
”That’s one way to put it. Were you coming to see Doctor Pollard?”
”Yes, but I don’t suppose she’ll be available any time soon.”
“Probably at least another hour. I can have her comm you when she’s free if you don’t mind waiting. Or if there’s something I can do...” he trails off, head tilting, “unless it’s something you’d specifically like to see her for.”
She’s not sure Dr. Culber is familiar with Barzan physiology, but it can’t hurt to ask.
“No, nothing like that. It’s my augment,” she points at her right cheek, “when I woke up this morning the interface point was sore. Still feels funny, actually.”
He already has a scanner out before she finishes her last sentence, waving the probe over the area and humming thoughtfully.
”I see. There’s some inflammation at the site, probably what you’re feeling. Would it be all right for me to take a closer look?”
She sits on the edge of the biobed he indicates.
”Go ahead.”
The scanner whirs again, and he puts on a glove before gently touching the skin just behind the attachment point. It stings, and she can’t help the hiss of pain.
”I’m sorry,” he says immediately, “but it looks like you might have a mild infection.”
Nhan groans.
”Great.”
He flicks the scanner readings onto the screen at the head of the bed, zooming in to point at an area in her right cheek just behind the augment.
“See that there? It’s fairly minor, but I can see how it would cause you discomfort in that area.“
”My last set didn’t have any problems,” she side eyes him as he leans in to check the interface point again, “is there something wrong with these?”
Dr. Culber shakes his head.
“I’m not an expert on this type of device, but I think it probably happened when it was being fitted. It’s nothing serious but I’ll need to give you an antibiotic so it doesn’t get any worse.”
”Sure.”
He turns to retrieve a hypospray, opening a drawer and checking the labels on the cartridges.
”Have you worked with augments before, Doctor?”
His shoulders stiffen briefly, and she thinks he might have closed his eyes. There’s no trace of it on his face when he straightens.
”Yes, I designed Commander Stamets’ augments.”
Damn. Practically everyone on the ship knows they don’t seem to be on speaking terms at the moment.
”Sorry Doctor, I didn’t mean to bring that up.”
His kind eyes look impossibly tired for a moment, but it’s so quick she might have imagined it.
”It’s fine, really. You don’t need to walk on eggshells.”
Another peculiar human metaphor. There's not much she can say to that though, so she nods and pops her collar open for him to administer the antibiotic.
”That should take care of the infection. Do you want something topical for the site until it works?”
Nhan gingerly probes the area with a fingertip. Now that she’s expecting it, it’s uncomfortable but not unbearable.
”No, it doesn’t hurt that bad.”
”Okay. If you change your mind though, just let me know.”
”Thanks.”
He sets down the hypospray and discards his glove, tucking his scanner back into the holster on his hip.
”Is there anything else you need, Commander?”
”No, that’s all. And just call me Nhan,” she offers.
The smile he gives her lights up his face in a way that most species seemed to find attractive.
“All right, Nhan.”
He moves back to give her room to step off the biobed.
“Thank you, Doctor.”
”My pleasure.”
Doctor Culber nods at her one more time before turning to head back to one of the larger consoles, probably updating her file. Nhan gives his back one more look before leaving the medbay.
Very interesting indeed.
Notes:
I’ve had a lot of fun writing Tilly and Tracy, and figured it was time for another perspective. Nhan is such an underutilized character in fics! I tried to make her “voice” match with what we hear her say on screen, but let me know if anything seems out of character.
Everyone always seems to use Earth-norm body language and facial expressions, but I wanted to explore the thought process that must have to go on for anyone to interpret those from someone of another species.
Chapter 111: Standards
Summary:
A conversation between Hugh and Tracy about the state of their relationships.
Chapter Text
"Hi."
"Hey Trace."
"Now a good time? What time is it there anyway?"
"Just after oh-two-hundred, but I'm working a split so I'll be on in an hour."
"Okay. So..."
"So, tell me about this new guy you're seeing? Mykel or something, right?"
"Mikhail, and I'm not seeing him anymore."
"Oh. Oh? Hang on, I know that look...what did he say?"
"He told me that he couldn't see himself in a long term relationship with a doctor because he wouldn't be the first priority."
"Wow. Did he-"
"It's fine, Hugh. I appreciated the honesty."
"Still. There's professional and personal and sure, sometimes they collide, but I'm not sure how someone could think you wouldn't make them a priority."
"Both times we were out in SF, Medical called me in for emergencies and I had to leave. So I understand."
"...he did realize that saving lives is more important than a date, right?"
"I don't know. Leave it, Hugh, okay? I just...I would really, really like the next person I go out with to be in the 'Fleet too."
"Okay. Sorry. I won't bring it up again until you do. And don't tell me you're not hip-deep in heroic officers consigned to 'Fleet Med because they were injured in the line of duty?"
"That's the plot of a really bad soap opera."
"Just saying.
"And weren't you complaining to me the last time we were on leave about how being propositioned by patients just feels unethical? Pot, kettle."
"Ummm. Yes? Yes. I meant the ones asking you out for an actual date and not just 'thanks for saving my life, can I have sex with you to display my gratitude?' requests."
"Seeing their medical histories, probably not. Could you see me with some Security heavy who keeps throwing himself in the line of phaser fire when he could have just used all that tactical training and run away?"
"Yeah, no. Good point."
"What about you? Have we ruled out engineers as an entire profession, or was it just the last one?"
"I haven't decided yet. I mean, he was nice and seemed interested, but there was just something...off. It was weird."
"Your instincts are usually good."
"Most of the time? I dunno, Trace, it feels like maybe I'm just expecting too much."
"If you are, I am, and actually...that's probably why we're both single."
"Yeah."
"On the other hand, it does mean we're not miserably attached to someone else."
"True. But why is it so hard to find a guy who's intelligent and does something he's passionate about AND is an actual interesting human being?"
"Apparently we're setting the bar too high. And don't forget, isn't completely shallow, doesn't mind listening to that awful opera you like, isn't afraid of your grandmother, and is at least average in bed."
"Thanks for the reminder."
"You're welcome. It's a service I'm happy to provide."
"I mean, all of that is probably negotiable? For the right person?"
"What brought this on?"
"Dee and Nami just got engaged."
"Right, I saw that."
"It made me think...is there something I'm doing wrong?"
"Don't be ridiculous. You've got plenty to offer. Hell, like I keep saying, I must be doing it wrong too."
"And getting to know someone is terrible when you're going off-planet. No one's really been good about doing things long-distance, and I get it. I do. I want someone I can physically see on a regular basis too, but I'm willing to compromise. At least I think I am?"
"I know you, Hugh. You need someone who deserves you taking care of them, and I might be biased, but I think that's the part that's hard to find."
"...thanks, Trace. And sorry for being so depressing."
"I'm serious. Weren't you also the one telling me not to settle for less than I deserve?"
"..."
"Exactly."
"But what you're asking for isn't unreasonable."
"And you think yours is?"
"I think most of them have been found by someone else already. Like Dee and Nami."
"They only met because Nami missed her shuttle to Rigel, Dee wasn't going out of her way to look for someone. I thought she'd sworn off relationships anyway, after the last one."
"Exactly it though. People have these great stories of meeting someone without doing anything special for it."
"If I had an answer, you and I wouldn't need to have this conversation. Sadly, human men are still unevolved."
"I'm trying to decide if I should be offended by that."
"No. I'd tell you."
"Just making sure."
"Twenty-third century and people still can't communicate. Sometimes I wonder how humanity survived this long."
"The technological advancement curve outweighed natural selection."
"You would think. I- hang on, got a priority. Pollard. What? Okay, who's already covering? Three? Call in Guillaume and Lee, I'll meet you there in- in twenty. Pollard out."
"Sounds serious."
"Sorry, have to cut this short. One of the training sims malfunctioned. No fatalities so far, but there were seventy cadets in it. Probably going to be there a while."
"Yeah. Comm me later?"
"Sure. Night Hugh."
"Bye Trace."
Chapter 112: Spill
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The first time Paul sees Hugh without his shirt on is completely accidental.
They’ve had a dozen or so comms over the last few weeks, and he finally had to admit to himself that there’s more to his interest than simply arguing over Hugh’s questionable taste in music. The realization happened by the seventh comm, but he still hasn’t worked up the nerve to ask if the glint in Hugh’s eyes when he smiles at Paul means what he hopes it means.
Hugh is everything Paul isn’t - cheerful, outgoing, always assuming the best of others, the person even strangers immediately felt they could trust. And he’s beautiful. Moreover, he’s genuinely interested in what Paul has to say about fungi and the nexus of biology and physics. He asks questions that prove he’s listening, bringing in stories from his own experiences as a doctor, and doesn’t ever seem impatient for Paul to stop talking. Quite the opposite; the last time they spoke, Hugh let him ramble on long past his own intended bedtime, and Paul didn’t find out till the next day that he’d only gotten three hours of sleep before his shift. Hugh took his commitment as a physician as seriously as Paul was dedicated to his science, which made the seeming irresponsibility all the more striking.
They’re in the middle of a discussion on the merits of Vulcan sistra over Centurian bells when Hugh sneezes. Paul is halfway through a “bless you” (a quaint human saying to be sure, but one as instinctive as anything) when he realizes Hugh also managed to dump the entire contents of his mostly-full cup of coffee over the front of his shirt.
”...damn,” Hugh looks torn between laughter and incredulity, holding the dripping mug aloft for a few seconds before setting it off to the side.
”Are you okay?”
The coffee had probably gone cold already, and Paul doesn’t think Hugh would be laughing if it hurt, but he’d rather make sure.
”Oh I’m fine. That was...” he breaks off, glancing down at himself, “unexpected.”
”Terrible timing.”
”Sorry. Hang on- okay if I go change?”
”No, you have to sit here smelling like coffee.”
His deadpan reply draws one of Hugh’s toothy grins, and his heart leaps into his throat when he stands and winks at Paul before picking up his PADD and depositing it on the nightstand next to his dresser. Whatever clever follow up Paul thought he was going to make disappears along with most of his higher brain functions when Hugh grips the hem of his shirt in both hands and pulls it off in one smooth motion.
Oh. Oh.
Paul would have to be visually impaired to not be aware of how well-built Hugh is in comparison to his own slight frame, but even his most private musings about what he might look like under the tight shirts he favors don’t do him justice. Miles of golden skin fill the screen as Hugh bends to hunt through the dresser for a fresh shirt, back muscles rippling. From where the PADD is propped up, Paul can just see his left biceps flex as he closes one drawer and opens another. It’s...breathtaking, and he just manages to snap his mouth closed by the time Hugh turns back around.
He really shouldn’t have bothered when the view from the front is even better. Hugh has the shirt pulled over his head, but seems to be struggling with the long sleeves tangled in the armholes. It has the effect of flexing his stomach - and oh sweet goodness he has such a defined V-line that Paul can feel his pants starting to grow tight. His eyes flit back upwards as Hugh curses softly, laughing and trying to shove his arms through properly.
Paul really, really wants to touch those pectoral muscles and find out if they’re as solid as they look. He wonders what it would be like to have Hugh hug him, if he’d be as gentle as Paul’s imagination thinks.
”...okay?”
”Whuh?”
He blinks back to find Hugh watching him with an indulgent smile, apparently having given up as he’s holding the PADD again and is now completely shirtless.
”You zoned out for a minute there.”
”Oh. Ummm. No? No. I didn’t.”
Hugh tilts his head to the side, and for a few terrifying seconds Paul is certain he’s going to call out Paul’s complete inability to lie convincingly.
”Right. So, what where you saying about the bells?”
They pick up the conversation where it left off when Hugh sneezed. Paul does his best to argue in favor of the sistra’s harmonics, but he keeps getting distracted by the way the nightstand light shadows the swell of Hugh’s chest. He’s not entirely sure that Hugh buys his excuse of being tired, although he doesn’t say anything to disagree.
At last, they’re both yawning enough that they know it’s time to sign off. It’s clear that Hugh is just as hesitant as Paul, but he wishes he knew if it was for the same reasons.
”Same time tomorrow?”
”Yeah. I’ll try not to douse my shirt in coffee again, because I really need to do laundry.”
Hugh stands, stretching, and Paul is treated to a view of the thin trail of hair disappearing under the waist of Hugh’s pants.
“Earth to Doctor Stamets.”
”...huh?”
”You must really be tired. I won’t keep you up any longer then.”
”Goodnight, Hugh.”
”Night. Sweet dreams.”
He could have sworn Hugh’s smile is a little too knowing, but his image blinks out as the call ends and he’s left with a reflection of his own face over the Starfleet emblem on the screen.
Quit reading into it, Stamets.
********
It isn’t until years later into their relationship that they’re having breakfast and Hugh sneezes. The cup he’d raised to his lips lands squarely back on the table despite the disturbance, and it jogs something in Paul’s memory.
”Bless yo- wait.”
Hugh sniffles and wipes his eyes.
”What is it babe?”
”You...”
Paul looks from Hugh’s face to the full cup of coffee to his still pristine white uniform and back again.
”Oh my god.”
”What?”
”You...” Paul breaks off as realization dawns, “you did that...”
His partner blinks back at him in confusion.
”...did what?”
”That first time. When we were comming and you spilled coffee and had to change your shirt.”
“Yeah?”
”You did that on purpose!”
A moment later, Hugh’s face lights up with delighted laughter.
”Two PhDs and you’re only now figuring that out?”
”Oh my...you-“ Paul runs out of words and decides it’s just easier to kiss Hugh instead, “-I love you.”
Hugh pulls back and kisses the tip of Paul’s nose, laughing again as he swats at the tickling lips.
“I love you too. You’re lucky you’re pretty.”
There’s no criticism, just deep affection, and Paul tries to roll his eyes but he can’t suppress the smile.
”I almost passed out when you did that-”
”Okay now you’re making that up.”
”...from all the blood rushing to my dick.”
“This old thing?”
Hugh glances down at himself, cheeks flushing a little but mostly teasing. Paul’s fascination with Hugh’s body hasn’t dwindled over time, and he doesn’t think it’s likely to in the future.
“Yeah.”
A PADD chirps, interrupting them, and Hugh sighs when he looks at the screen.
“Shift starts in ten. You sure you won’t be bored here alone?”
”I brought work.”
”Sweetheart, you’re supposed to be on leave.”
”I am. You’re here, you’re abandoning me for six hours, but you’ll be back, so I might as well have something to keep my mind off feeling deprived until then.”
He’s rather proud of that answer.
”All right. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Standing, Hugh curves his palm around Paul’s jaw and gives him another kiss.
”Shoo. Sooner you leave, sooner you’re back,” he takes the opportunity to steal a brief caress of Hugh’s shapely backside outlined in his medical whites, “and I demand cuddling to make up for your absence.”
”Mmmhmm.”
Hugh’s gone a few seconds later, and Paul settles back on the couch, PADD forgotten on the table. He imagines them living together, having breakfast every morning and falling asleep next to each other becoming the norm and not a rare treat for a few weeks out of the year. Smiling, Paul closes his eyes and lets his mind wander.
Someday.
Notes:
Believe it or not, it was meant to be a few humorous paragraphs about Paul getting tongue tied seeing Hugh without his shirt on. I regret nothing.
Chapter 113: Sensual
Notes:
I can’t believe I haven’t managed to use this chapter title yet?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“What,” Hugh’s voice is husky in his ear, warm breath tickling the skin, “do you want me to do to you?”
A kiss below his ear makes him shiver, and he moans softly at the gentle nip on the underside of his jaw that follows.
”Hmmm?”
Hugh’s nuzzling his throat, nosing his way closer to that spot where neck meets shoulder, and he tenses in anticipation of what comes next.
”...ohhhh. Hugh...I-“
Paul inhales sharply at the feeling of teeth scraping over skin, the careful bite setting his nerves on fire.
”What’s that, sweetheart?”
His body sings when Hugh cradles his face in his hands and they share slow, feather-light kisses, breathing the same air grown heavy with desire.
”I...you, mmmmmm.”
A quiet laugh, fond and more than a little smug, and Hugh draws back enough for Paul’s eyes to focus again.
“Tell me.”
It’s a request masquerading as a command, his partner’s desire to fulfill every one of Paul’s fantasies just as heady now as it was years ago. All he has to do is tell him, in as little or as much detail as he likes, safe in the knowledge that he could ask for anything, and Hugh will happily provide it.
Hugh waits with only a hint of impatience while Paul considers what he wants from him. The possibilities are boundless - to be sucked off, a game where he pretends he needs to be ‘doctored’, tying Hugh’s hands and fucking him until he begs. He’s asked for those and so many more things, things that made them laugh in delighted discovery, or mutually decide it’s a terrible idea, acts that left them sprawled together sweaty and sated.
Tonight though, he wants closeness.
“Sweetheart?”
Paul wraps a hand around the back of Hugh’s neck, pulling him in for a devastatingly slow kiss. When they break for air, he finds Hugh’s hands and lays down, tugging until he’s blanketed by Hugh’s warmth and weight.
”Just this.”
The smile he receives in return fills his chest with contentment.
”Okay.”
Hugh’s lips are soft, letting Paul take the lead, no trace of impatience remaining. They’re both aroused, hips rocking together, but that’s not what he’s focused on as he claims his lover’s mouth over and over. There’s no words needed, nothing but sighs and the wet sounds of lips and tongues meeting.
After a while - it could be minutes or hours, time doesn’t matter in their bed - the kisses begin to grow hungrier. Hugh has both legs wrapped around Paul’s right leg and a hand down the back of his pajama pants, gripping the firm muscle as he grinds against his thigh. Paul’s hands roam Hugh’s bare torso, thrusting up to meet him with breathless urgency.
Closer.
Every kiss is punctuated with gasps and moans, growing less and less coordinated until they’re panting against each other’s lips. He whimpers high in his throat, wordlessly asking for more. Hugh answers by working his hand further back, teasing sensitive skin and just barely breaching him with a fingertip.
He swallows Paul’s sharp cry of pleasure, hot dampness spreading between their stomachs as Paul clutches at his shoulders and shivers with the aftershocks. Thirty seconds later, Hugh stiffens and comes with a groan, face buried against Paul’s neck.
Silence, broken only by harsh breathing gradually slowing again.
Eventually, they both stir, matching looks of wry commiseration as the cooling evidence of their pleasure starts to become uncomfortable. Pajamas are thrown vaguely in the direction of the bathroom door, the covers righted and pillows stacked. Hugh ducks down to clean the last stickiness from Paul with his tongue, holding him in his mouth and sucking gently until a hand in his hair guides him back up.
A kiss goodnight, followed by another. Hugh snuggles into Paul’s side, toes tucked under his ankles. They shift a little, bodies fitting together without conscious effort.
One more kiss.
Paul wraps his arms tighter around Hugh’s shoulders and smiles all the way down into sleep.
Notes:
I really, really needed sensual Culmets love tonight.
Chapter 114: Sunrise
Summary:
Paul watches Hugh sleep their very first morning together.
Notes:
This is the day Tracy comms Hugh in “Suite, Part Three” and finds him in bed with Paul (a bit later in the morning).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He opens his eyes to find the sun not yet risen and dawn barely visible on the horizon. Sleep falls away from him gently, not the harsh jolt to consciousness from his alarm or a comm notification. It's much earlier than Paul Stamets ever really likes to be awake, but he feels refreshed and languid in a way that he can't remember ever experiencing before.
He shifts to make himself more comfortable on the pillow and becomes aware of a very distinctive ache between his legs.
...what?
A moment later, Paul draws in a sharp breath when the sheet rubs roughly over his chest, sending an arrow of arousal to his groin. He groans, stretching unexpectedly sore muscles as he lifts the covers to find his nipples reddened and sore and the whole of his stomach covered in scarlet love bites.
Apparently you had sex last night.
Paul’s never really been great at casual sex, but it’s next to impossible to find someone to make a real connection with when he’s so focused on his research. More often than not when he does decide to find someone, he’s left unsatisfied by physical chemistry and orgasms alone. For that reason, his own hand is usually the more reliable source of intimate company. It also doesn’t hold awkward conversations, make him worry about picking up any transmissible diseases, or require him to get naked in front of anyone else.
This morning is completely different. He’s not filled with self-conscious regret or disappointment at all. Instead, he feels sated (well-used his brain unhelpfully supplies), his entire body relaxed without the ever-present knots in his shoulders.
A sigh behind him makes him tense, and he freezes when an arm lands heavily over his waist and a solid body fits itself against his back. Paul holds perfectly still, but his bedmate doesn’t seem to be fully awake judging by their even breaths tickling the hairs at the nape of his neck.
Who?
He looks down to see a hand the color of warm honey resting somewhat possessively on his stomach, and the memories come flooding back.
Hugh.
Hugh Culber, ‘Fleet doctor and lover of completely awful music, has been going on virtual dates with Paul for months. He’s never been this intellectually and physically attracted to someone before, let alone having those feelings reciprocated. Yesterday was the fourth time they’ve been able to meet up in person, and last night the hungry kisses led to increasingly more intimate touches. Hugh had pulled Paul onto his lap, marking up his throat and moaning as Paul’s hand slipped down the front of his pants. In the process of stripping off their shirts, he had discovered just how sensitive Paul’s nipples were, and proceeded to lick and suck and tease them until Paul was incoherent with pleasure and begged Hugh to take him to bed.
It wasn’t just sex, not the first time or the second. There were a few awkward moments getting to know each other’s bodies, but what he remembers most is the look in Hugh’s eyes, the way he ran the back of his fingers over Paul’s cheek while he waited for his body to relax enough that he could move. He thinks about how it felt when Hugh got the angle just right, the kisses growing more insistent as Paul gave up trying to keep quiet, how Hugh made sure he wasn’t too sore to keep going after he came.
Paul understands now what other people mean when they talk about making love.
He squirms around in Hugh’s loose embrace, rolling him onto his back, and can’t contain his smile or the feeling of wonder at what he sees. In sleep, Hugh’s lips are slightly parted, his expressive face gone still. There’s a hint of the smell of sex, but mostly he breathes in the woodsy spice of Hugh’s cologne and the indescribably warm scent he’s come to associate with happiness. Paul uses his thumb to wipe a wayward smudge of eyeliner off Hugh’s cheek before letting his hand come to rest on a very firm chest. Hugh’s body is a work of art, and all other things aside, Paul hopes he can work up the nerve to ask if he can rub off against Hugh’s stomach.
Paul surprises himself with the feeling of want deep in his stomach when he thinks about sharing more mornings with Hugh. He imagines waking to him snuggled close, of brushing their teeth and bringing coffee back to bed so they don’t have to separate for long. Thinks about discussing science and medicine and museums before falling asleep, Hugh’s hand in his and a steady heartbeat under his ear. And yes, definitely more amazing sex, but that desire seems just as - not more or less - important as the something filling his chest right now.
Hugh stirs a little when Paul curls up against his side, letting out a quiet sigh and a barely-awake inquisitive hum.
”Shhh,” Paul whispers, nuzzling into his neck, “go back to sleep.”
Hugh’s arms tighten around him and there’s the feeling of a kiss being pressed to his temple before he falls still again. The sun is just rising and he can feel his eyelids growing heavy, body still exhausted from last night’s activities. Paul watches him sleep and dares to hope that this time, this man, the joy he’s never been able to find with anyone else, will finally be the right one.
Notes:
Started out as emotional reflection, but the references to sex snuck in.
I promise I’m still working on When Sorrow Turns to Joy, and apparently I’m on a loved-up Culmets writing spree over here. You have been warned.
Chapter 115: Sorry! (Again)
Summary:
Continuing the tales of Tilly accidentally walking in on Paul and Hugh.
Chapter Text
Tilly is sitting in front of a particularly sad cluster of P. stellaviatori, sleeves rolled up and a frown on her face. She’s technically been off-duty for half an hour, but really wants to find the cause before dinner. Scans show a mineral deficiency, but all of the irrigation system is working properly and the fungi to the left and right don’t appear to have been affected. She makes a few more notes, then tucks the stylus behind her ear before reaching underneath the drooping stalks.
“Oh, gross!”
Her hand comes back smeared with bluish slime, a sure sign of parasitic bacteria - harmless to humans despite its nasty texture, but dangerous to fungi. Tilly resists the urge to wipe the gelatinous goo onto her uniform leg for fear of contaminating any other areas of the bay. Instead, she wraps her hand in a towel and heads over to the environmental controls where there’s a sink and disinfectants.
”Tilly to Stamets. It looks like a bacterial infiltration, but it’s just isolated to a few stems. I’m going to decon it, but I think we might have to clear that whole section in case it spreads.”
There’s no reply, but she’s too busy making sure she doesn’t bump into anything else with the towel to think much about it. She’ll write a proper report as soon as her hands are clean. Smiling at the thought of possibly earning some of Stamets’ rare but sincere praise, she rounds the condenser unit and blinks in surprise.
Stamets has his back to her, leaning over the environmental control console off the side of the path. It had been well clear of the forest at launch, but the fungi have grown so dense that it’s practically hidden. He’s probably engrossed in something, maybe running simulations, so she shrugs and keeps going because interrupting the Lieutenant usually isn’t a good idea.
The towel goes straight into the trash, and she vigorously scrubs the neon blue slime out from under her nails. Her skin is pink and a little raw when she’s done (because toxic or not, it’s gross), but her tricorder confirms that there aren’t any remaining traces.
Whatever Stamets is up to at the console must be super important, because he’s standing in exactly the same position as five minutes ago. That’s a bit odd, considering that the irrigation system is now running and filling the air with a fine mist. The control console is located under one of the sprinkler heads, and she’s seen Stamets very fastidiously avoid the falling drops before (“Doesn’t like his hair wet,” Harrington told Tilly conspiratorially when Stamets practically ran across the bay after a sprinkler malfunction triggered a downpour).
“Sir, is everyth-“
Hang on.
Tilly backpedals, nearly tripping over a railing as she ducks behind the condenser before cautiously peeking out from the side.
Stamets is indeed standing in front of the console, bent forward as if studying its display. However, what she’d initially taken for the light panels to either side of the console resolve into a pair of suspiciously white and silver boots now hooked behind Stamets’ knees.
She creeps around the other side of the condenser for a different angle, and yep, that is definitely Dr. Culber sitting on the console. They’re not doing anything particularly risqué; it looks like Stamets isn’t being any more unprofessional than resting his head on the doctor’s shoulder, both hands readily visible on the surface of the console itself.
It’s honestly really sweet, she thinks, watching Dr. Culber’s arms come up to wrap around Stamets’ waist, one hand rubbing his back in slow circles. For all that he’s grouchy and brusque, she’s seen a much softer side of Stamets with the doctor that she wouldn’t have believed otherwise. He’s been so run down with Lorca’s demands and constant overtime lately, and she’s happy to see him stealing a few moments for himself.
An alert beeps somewhere in the bay, and she ducks as Stamets straightens and looks around. From under the condenser, she has a clear view of Dr. Culber hopping off the console and reeling Stamets in with a hand behind his neck for a lingering kiss before swatting his hip and turning to leave. She counts to twenty after the bay doors close before poking her head back around the corner.
Stamets, hair damp but otherwise unruffled, nearly collides with her on his way up the ramp.
”Oh! I’m sorry sir, I umm wasn’t expecting- I mean, uhhh, I...”
He gives her nervous smile an odd look.
”Did you find the source of the withering?”
”What? Oh, yes, I did, I commed you but you were...busy, maybe? Not that you wouldn’t be busy sir, I just-“
“Cadet.”
”Yes, sir?”
”Are you going to tell me what you found?”
”Why- I mean, of course, sir. Definitely. It’s a bacterial contamination, but I think it’s just the one area. I was going to isolate to make sure nothing else got infected, but you ummm, you were using the console and I didn’t want to bother you.”
Stamets eyes go wide for a moment, and she does her best to look as though she didn’t accidentally see him having a mid-shift embrace with his partner.
”...ahem. Thank you, Cadet,” he forces out at last, cheeks starting to go pink, “but I think I can manage it from here. Aren’t you off duty?”
”Err. Ummm. I’m supposed to be off duty sir, yes, so I’ll just write the report and...”
He waves a hand in a vague gesture that could mean just about anything.
”Sir?”
Stamets is staring over her shoulder and avoiding eye contact.
”Get it to me in the morning.”
Tilly can read between the lines and does her best to take the opportunity without looking like she’s trying to escape.
”Okay. Umm, goodnight sir?”
She pivots and heads straight for the doors without waiting for a response, but she doesn’t think he’ll mind. Once safely in the turbolift, she exhales and leans heavily on the wall.
“Check the bay for other occupants before you go in off shift,” Tilly mutters to herself, hating the thought of interrupting that quiet intimacy Stamets and Dr. Culber seem to share when no one else is looking.
They deserve it.
Chapter 116: Soporific
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh is on the couch with his feet propped on the coffee table, PADD in one hand and stylus in the other when Paul finally gets home.
”Sorry,” is the first word out of his partner’s mouth as he approaches, “I-“
He’s within reach, so Hugh drops the stylus and tugs his wrist until he leans down enough for a kiss.
”It’s fine, babe.”
”I don’t deserve you.”
Hugh kisses him on the forehead.
”Go get cleaned up, you smell like dirt.”
”Sor-“
”Shoo.”
He sends Paul towards the bathroom with a gentle swat to the ass, retrieving the stylus and continuing to annotate patient files. When Paul emerges pajama-clad a little while later, he picks up his own PADD and sits down next to Hugh with a tired sigh.
”Bed?”
”No, I’ve got...” he gestures vaguely at the equations on the screen.
”Okay.”
Hugh’s done making notes, so he wraps that arm around Paul’s shoulders instead, nuzzling into his cheek absently. Over the course of the next fifteen minutes, Paul drops his head to Hugh’s chest, still reading, sliding lower slowly. Eventually, he rearranges himself to lie on his side, head pillowed on Hugh’s thigh, while he mumbles to himself and scrolls through data.
”You’re going to fall asleep like that.”
”No I’m not.”
Huffing a quiet laugh, Hugh runs his fingers through Paul’s damp hair and keeps reading, scratching gently.
”I traded with Aisha, so I’m not on till beta tomorrow.”
”...mmm?”
”Thought we could sleep in.”
Paul’s facing away, but he can hear the smile in his voice.
”Really? You’re not abandoning me to go running?”
”Long as you promise not to run off to your lab.”
There’s a mild reproach in his tone, but it’s still mostly teasing.
”I can’t be sur-“
”I know, babe,” he sighs, “just being cranky.”
Paul makes a conciliatory noise, squeezing Hugh’s knee before they lapse back into silence.
Just after 2345, Paul’s occasional continued muttering ceases and Hugh is pulled out of the report he’s reading when the PADD, previously propped on his thigh, slips down to land on the couch cushions.
“Sweetheart?”
He's not really expecting a response, but Paul rouses himself enough to wrap his now-empty hands around Hugh’s leg.
”Nope. You are not sleeping here, because I want to enjoy the morning, not spend it rubbing out your back.”
Grumbling, Paul heaves himself over to face Hugh.
”What if I ask really nicely?”
“Nope. Come on sweetheart, let’s go to bed.”
It’s a slow process, but eventually Paul climbs to his feet and shuffles towards the bathroom. Hugh collects both of their PADDs, depositing them on their respective nightstands before joining him. He keeps an eye on Paul while brushing their teeth, making sure he doesn’t nod off standing up, and turns out the lights once they’re both under the covers.
Paul tugs Hugh’s hand, making displeased noises until he’s spooned up close behind.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re demanding?”
”You,” Paul yawns, “all the time.”
Smiling, Hugh adjusts his arm until he can rest his hand on Paul’s chest. He kisses the back of his neck, nosing into his hair and sighing.
”Night sweetheart.”
”Mmmm. Night. Love you.”
”Love you too.”
Notes:
I woke up with a need to write sleepy, sweet domestic Culmets.
Chapter 117: Sick
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Hugh? I’m back, are you awake?”
Paul peers into the darkness of their quarters, listening intently. He sheds his boots and jacket almost immediately, noticing that the temperature has been turned up several degrees and ambient humidity raised. There’s the sound of labored breathing as he approaches the bed, and he taps the screen on his PADD. The glow is just enough to illuminate the Hugh-shaped mound of covers, and he sighs before turning to the bathroom.
Closing the door, he orders the lights to a quarter of their usual brightness and surveys the scene. Hugh must have showered earlier, judging by the wet towel in the middle of the floor, and it looks like he at least managed to brush his teeth. Still concerned, Paul takes a quick shower and dresses for bed in a t-shirt and loose boxers instead of his usual pajamas. The balmy atmosphere that’s soothing Hugh’s sore throat and lungs has him sweating already, but he can handle low level discomfort for a night.
He fills a glass with water before turning off the light and opening the door again. Hugh hasn’t moved, although Paul can tell he’s awake by the general sense of misery being projected from underneath the duvet. The water goes onto Hugh’s nightstand next to a pile of used tissues (“Hugh, you’re a doctor! That can’t possibly be sanitary.” “You’ve already been exposed to all of my microbiome, and you gave it to me so no, it’s perfectly fine.“), and he lays down on top of the covers on his side, doing his best not to jostle the mattress. The pitiful-sounding groan it evokes is a sign his efforts were unsuccessful, and he frowns.
”Sorry,” he murmurs into the heavy air.
”Hmmmm.”
Hugh’s monosyllabic response suggests he accepts the apology.
”Feeling any better?”
”Mmmuhhh.”
Sighing, Paul lets his eyes adjust until he can locate Hugh’s head on the pillow, laying a gentle hand on his forehead. He’s still sweating profusely, but it feels like the fever has come down from this morning.
”Is there anything I can get you?”
The answer is probably no, but he asks anyway. Even in the twenty-third century, things like influenza are still best treated by rest if there’s no immediate danger. Hugh seems to have passed the worst of it after waking up yesterday with a sore throat and chills. Paul had been reluctant to leave him, but Tracy assured him that Hugh would be fine, so he’d left a carafe of water and a cup of orange juice on the nightstand and gone on shift. Both containers are now empty, which allays some of his concern.
”Nuh uhh.”
The old saying about doctors making the worst patients doesn’t hold true with Hugh, for which he’s thankful because Paul’s already worried enough that he doesn’t think he could handle if Hugh wasn’t willing to take his own advice and stay off his feet.
”Thirsty? Hungry?”
Hugh shakes his head, then seems to regret it, squeezing his eyes shut again. He shifts, freeing a hand from his refuge for Paul to take.
”You.”
”What?”
The hand tugs weakly but insistently.
”Want-“ Hugh breaks off to cough, “you.”
Ahh.
”Skin still hurt? Or can I touch you now.”
Sick or not, Hugh’s annoyed look is the same.
”All right,” Paul sighs, moving as close as he dares and letting Hugh decide what he wants.
They end up on their sides facing each other, sharing the pillow with hands loosely clasped between their chests. Hugh’s joints must still ache because he doesn’t squeeze any closer despite the body language suggesting he wants to be held.
“Comfy?”
”Mmmhhh.”
”Take that as a yes.”
Paul leans forward enough to press a kiss to Hugh’s feverish cheek, ignoring the smell of sweat and the honey-lemon lozenges Hugh’s been sucking on. He waits patiently until Hugh’s eyes close again before exhaling a long sigh.
“Nnngghhh?”
Apparently his partner isn’t as asleep as Paul thought.
”I hate when you’re sick. It makes me feel...there’s nothing I can do and I hate that.”
One eye opens and Hugh pulls Paul’s hands closer, not so much holding them in his own as tucking them against his body.
”Hmmmphh.”
“I love you too.”
Eventually, his breathing slows with sleep, although Paul still cringes at the wet rasp of it. He briefly contemplates climbing under the covers to be able to hold Hugh properly, but decides it’s probably best for them both if he doesn’t until he’s sure it won’t cause him any pain. He hopes Hugh will be feeling a little better in the morning for everyone’s sake. Seeing him miserable makes Paul snappish and prone to over-solicitous care, which is probably one of the reasons Hugh insisted on him going on shift as usual.
He’s not particularly tired now, but the way Hugh’s clinging to his hands, he would definitely wake up if Paul tried to reach for his PADD to catch up on work. Instead, Paul takes one more look to check that Hugh is resting as peacefully as possible before closing his own eyes and concentrating on the rhythm of Hugh’s pulse under his fingers. It’s strong and steady, and he counts heartbeats in groups of twelve until his own matches it. In the morning he’ll fuss again, but for now he’s content to watch over his love while he sleeps.
Notes:
Hopefully no one is getting tired of Paul and Hugh in bed, because there's plenty more where this came from.
Chapter 118: Separation (Is Not An Option)
Summary:
A reunion, pre-Discovery.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Hmmmm."
Hugh shivers as Paul hums against his neck, smiling up at the ceiling.
"Feeling good, sweetheart?"
"Mmmhmmm."
Paul works his hands between Hugh's back and the sheets beneath them, hugging him close. Hugh's smile turns into a grin, tilting his head to the side for Paul to nuzzle closer, enjoying the rasp of near-invisible stubble catching on the tender skin.
"I'm so glad you're here."
Instead of replying verbally, his partner noses his shirt collar out of the way and starts licking over his pulse. Hugh squirms a little, slipping a hand up under Paul's own shirt, caressing his lower back and breathing him in while burying the fingers of his other hand in Paul's hair.
"Missed you so much," Paul murmurs, "missed you."
Gel crunches under his fingers as he teases the strands apart, kissing the patch of grey hair at his temple. Paul sighs, their bare feet rubbing together as they try to get even closer.
"You know, if you want, we could get undressed and have sex."
"We'd have to move."
"True."
Paul pauses, pulling back from Hugh's neck until they can look each other in the eyes.
"Do you want to?"
"I always want to, sweetheart," Hugh punctuates the sentence with a lingering kiss, "but I'm happy with whatever you want to do."
"Mmmm."
Thick blond eyelashes flutter as Hugh kneads the muscles to either side of his spine, tension from the sixteen-hour shuttle trip slowly dissipating.
"Hmmm?"
"You expect me to be able to think when you're doing that?"
"Don't know what you're talking about- hey!"
He glares in mock affront as Paul nips the end of his nose, but can't hold the frown for long at the sight and feeling of Paul in his arms. Paul's head drops back to his shoulder, resuming the slow mapping of Hugh's throat with his lips.
"Cuddles now. Sex later. Does that meet with your approval, dear doctor?"
Hugh wraps his legs around Paul's thighs, squeezing briefly, before tangling their ankles together again.
"Always."
" 'Mkay."
Notes:
Clothed cuddling is still awesome.
Chapter 119: Suspicious
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tracy mutters something uncomplimentary under her breath as the card reader on the room door returns an error.
“Twenty third century, we can travel at warp but hotels still can’t install readers that work... ahh!”
The door beeps at her before sliding open. She steps over the threshold and into the mostly-dark room cautiously, unsure what she might find on the other side.
”Morning Trace,” Hugh greets her from the bed closest to the far wall, “back early?”
She breathes out a sigh of relief. He’s half-sitting propped up on a pile of pillows, the duvet a rumpled mess and a PADD in hand, and most importantly, still clothed.
Tracy’s never minded sharing a room with him at conferences and the like, but Paul managed to get leave at the last minute and joined them last night. Normally it wouldn’t be a problem - Hugh would have gotten another room and Tracy wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally walking in on the two of them getting reacquainted. Unfortunately, there’s also a major ambassadorial function going on in the city center and not a single open room available.
(”Sorry Tracy,” Paul has the grace to look abashed, “I really didn’t think I was going to be able to get here.”
He also looks exhausted, travel-worn and clutching the straps of his duffel.
“Just stay here,” she suggests, watching Hugh tapping furiously on his PADD.
“What?”
Hugh’s finger halts in midair, glancing over at her in surprise.
”There’s two beds, just do me a favor and wait to have your reunion sex until after I’m gone in the morning. Please.”
“I’m about to pass out anyway,” Paul smiles gratefully, dropping the bag at the foot of Hugh’s bed, “okay if I shower?”
”No, you have to sleep smelling like shuttle fuel.”
Hugh watches Paul make his way into the bathroom with a look of yearning.
”Thanks, Trace.”
”I mean it on the sex, if I have to listen to you two again-“
”Promise.”)
True to their word, while there was clearly a lot of snuggling going on in the other bed once the lights were out, the only noises were whispers and kissing. Tracy couldn’t exactly begrudge them that.
This morning, they were both still asleep when she got up at 0600 to attend one of the pre-conference sessions, shaking her head fondly at the sight of them spooned together with Paul’s hand under Hugh’s shirt. She’d headed down to the conference floor, intending to return no earlier than 0930. Hugh’s alarm was set for 0700, and she figured that would leave plenty of time for the two of them to do whatever they wanted, shower, and air out the room before she got back.
Instead, a failure in the environmental controls in the ballrooms at 0745 meant no one could sit through a lecture at 40C. Tracy had sent Hugh a message warning him of her imminent arrival, then slowly made her way back up to the blessedly air conditioned guest floors.
“Morning.”
Unzipping her jacket, she sits down on the side of her bed, wiping sweat off the back of her neck.
”Felt like a jungle in there,” she offers with a groan, “the Vulcans were fine but no one else wanted to tough it out.”
”Ahhh.”
Hugh still looks half-asleep, eyes unfocused.
”Where’s Paul?” Tracy tugs off one boot, “He already go down to eat?”
”Hmmm? Oh. Yes. He went down. For umm, breakfast.”
“Surprised you two weren’t in the middle of causing a noise complaint.”
He laughs quietly, shifting against the pillows.
”No, not at this hour.”
“Should we join him? Could use another ten cups of coffee before we sit through the panels.”
”Mmm.”
His eyes have drifted closed, and he’s...smiling? The prospect of hours of mind-numbing presentations usually isn’t something that makes him happy.
Tracy pauses with her second boot half unzipped and narrows her eyes, giving Hugh a much closer look. For being drowsy, he’s got an awfully tight grip on his PADD. And while he’s definitely wearing a shirt, there’s also a sheen of sweat on his skin that shouldn’t be present with the ambient temperature. Hugh has both knees pulled up, but there’s no way the fluffy duvet should be piled that high by itself.
Seriously?
She can’t decide whether to laugh or roll her eyes.
“Hugh?”
”...what?”
”Tell me again where Paul is?”
His eyes fly open, and she suppresses a smile.
”Uhh. Like you said, he went down.”
That’s a terrible pun.
“I see.”
Pushing herself to her feet, she kicks off the second boot and reaches for her own PADD. Hugh’s eyes track her movements as she leisurely scrolls through the conference schedule. In her peripheral vision, she can see him biting his lip, and decides that he’s probably suffered enough.
Setting her PADD back on the nightstand, Tracy stretches and oh-so-casually plops down on the end of his bed.
“Wait- Trace, don’t, no-“
“...mmmppHhHwhatthehell?!”
The muffled voice and flailing limbs under where she’s sprawled are too much, and she rolls off the bed and onto the floor laughing. When she looks up, it’s to find a very rumpled Paul glaring down at her as Hugh yanks the sheet over his waist. Tracy grabs a fallen pillow and lobs it at him, snickering helplessly as Paul splutters and bats it away.
It takes a minute before she can sit up, surveying the scene. Hugh has the covers pulled up over his head, and Paul is still scowling at her, pink-cheeked with his hair standing up in all directions.
”You two had that coming,” she informs him, “seriously?”
”I almost bit Hugh- hey!”
There’s another flurry of motion as Hugh emerges from under the duvet and swats Paul with a pillow.
“You weren’t supposed to be back for at least another hour,” Paul grumbles, crossing his arms and...
Yes, he’s pouting.
She climbs to her feet, sitting down much more gracefully on her own bed again.
“Fair enough, but I did tell Hugh I was coming back up.”
There’s the sound of rustling fabric as Hugh squirms back into his pants under the covers before kicking them off. He stands, tugging on Paul’s wrist.
“I’m taking a shower.”
Tracy can’t resist.
”You need him to do that?”
He stops, embarrassment falling away into a smirk.
”I definitely do. Hope you don’t need the bathroom for the next ten minutes.”
”Oh go ahead,” she waves them off, “I think it has soundproofing.”
”Twenty minutes.”
”Planning to work up an appetite?”
“Yes.”
”Save some room for breakfast,” Tracy tosses at their retreating backs, “actual food.”
The only response is the bathroom door sliding shut. Still laughing quietly, she flicks on the holoscreen and turns the volume up just in case.
“We have got to get you posted together.”
Notes:
I’m not saying Paul was actively up to anything naughty under the covers, but I’m not saying he wasn’t either...
I feel written-out after the rush to get When Sorrow Turns to Joy updated, so this one isn’t quite as smooth as I’d like, but hoping you’ll still enjoy it :)
Chapter 120: Spell It / Sneak, Part Zero
Summary:
*** SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3 EPISODE 2 ***
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
*** SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3 EPISODE 2 ***
*
*
*
*
“I’ll let you go to work if you can spell ‘my partner brought me out of a coma and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.’ “
Hugh’s face keeps blurring in and out of focus, but his voice - that beloved voice, full of sarcasm that’s a thin cover for his physician’s adrenaline - is clear in Paul’s ear.
“Spell it.”
The next few minutes drip out of his mind like melting ice.
“s-y-t-s-h-i-r-t.”
”T-shirt has a hyphen.”
Hugh’s hands are gentle, stroking his face and smoothing his hair back.
”Oww!” the hypospray pinches, “...are you punishing me?”
His ears are ringing, but he’s alive and Hugh is here, and-
“Yes. And, I love you.”
Paul’s head is still swimming, but Hugh’s face comes into sharp focus as his lips press against Paul’s and linger.
”It’s good to have you back.”
Hugh’s smile makes all of the throbbing in his brain vanish.
Or maybe that’s the neuro blocker.
”It’s good to have you alive.”
The hum of the regenerator starts, but Paul’s not listening anymore.
He loves me.
Notes:
I literally screamed at the Culmets. This is the content we’ve been waiting a year for!
Happy birthday to me :)
Chapter 121: Stabilized
Summary:
Tracy’s perspective of Hugh waking Paul up on “Far From Home”.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tracy’s keeping an eye on three patients, moving between neural reconstruction on a head injury, internal bleeding, and a broken pelvis. The walking wounded are starting to stream in to the medbay, along with a fresh wave of serious injuries from Discovery’s rough landing. Luckily, the restraining fields were still active on the biobeds; there’s nowhere near enough spare hands to bodily secure all of the critical patients while preventing new injuries to those doing the healing. The medical staff ended up with an assortment of minor cuts, contusions, and whiplash, but on the whole it could have been a whole lot worse. She’s got a bruised elbow of her own that doesn’t rise to the level of wasting a regen on, and hopes the surprises are at least over for now.
At the moment, they’re moving any patients who are stable enough to be semi-mobile down to Med Two or at least the corridor. Aisha’s busy running concussion tests outside the doorway, and she’s borrowed a couple of techs to help people limp out. As for Hugh-
She spares a moment for a genuine smile as Hugh efficiently brings Paul out of a coma, thumb stroking his temple gently, as he snarks at him even as his eyes soften. Tracy looks away for a minute to focus on a delicate realignment, and when she glances over again, he’s helping Paul to sit up. Paul’s injury really isn’t fully healed by any means; he’s going to need hours of regeneration to finish healing the wound and his cardiac tissue is fragile. Walking slowly should be okay, but it’s a long way across the corridor at the rate he's hobbling. Hugh’s far too professional to devote more time to Paul in neglect of others, so it’s not a surprise when he stops them and simply picks Paul up, crossing the deck in long strides.
They’re going to be okay, she thinks, hopes, as Paul’s cheek comes to rest on Hugh’s shoulder, the universe owes them that.
Notes:
Interested in a slightly different version of Paul’s recovery? Check out “When Sorrow Turns to Joy” which contains slower timing because it was written before Season 3 started airing.
Chapter 122: Sneak, Part One
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul hadn’t woken up that morning - however long ago it was - planning to need Hugh to rescue him twice. By the afternoon, he was reeling with the knowledge that Hugh was planning to transfer to Enterprise. And just before dinner time (choking down a protein bar while preparing to battle a murderous AI for the fate of all sentient life), he makes the decision to stay with Michael on her journey to the future, thinking that nine hundred years just might be enough for his broken heart to start going numb.
Instead, it’s Hugh’s face he sees as he’s bleeding out on a biobed, his voice calmly talking Paul down into a coma with words of reassurance. And it’s Hugh’s touch that brings him out of that twilight state, his fingers tenderly stroking Paul’s temple, his lips warm and soft even as he’s declaring his love and admonishing Paul to stay put.
All of which is why Paul feels incredibly guilty sneaking out of the cellular regeneration chamber after just one cycle. It’s not technically disobeying Hugh’s medical advice, but the painful ache in his chest reminds him that he really shouldn’t be on his feet. Hugh is occupied in the medbay when he snatches a sheet off a cart - racing shirtless through Discovery’s corridors even in the middle of an emergency is still too much attention - and briskly walks back to his quarters.
He manages to pull on a clean uniform, gritting his teeth as the jacket constricts the raw scar, and locate a set of tools in Engineering before the neuro blocker wears off. His better judgment tells him he ought to go back to the medbay for more pain medication, but if he does it’s just as likely that Hugh will stuff him back into the regeneration chamber and he doesn’t, Discovery doesn’t, have time for that. Instead, he bites his cheek and continues to move around the bay, scanning for the blown relay and wincing as every step jars his bruised ribs. Reno isn’t helping either; assembling the mental wherewithal to respond to her constant poking means he has a whole lot less willpower to control the pain.
Her compassion for his sense of helplessness isn’t lost on him at all, when her sharp eyes fill with understanding. It’s too much, because if he gives in he doesn’t think he can stay standing. Climbing into a Jefferies Tube to escape it isn’t at the top of the list of Most Intelligent and Terrifying Things Paul Stamets Has Ever Done by a long shot (number one is asking Hugh to be his partner, and number two is injecting himself with tardigrade DNA). Of course Reno being Reno, she continues to harass him as he follows her drone through the curving junctions and deeper into the conduit system. She’s clearly deriving perverse pleasure in tormenting him, and he’s just rolling his eyes as she tries to involve Nilsson in her glee when the conduit on his left side explodes.
Paul’s already intimately familiar with the damage caused by shrapnel, which means he knows the blood leaking out of his abdomen isn’t enough to kill him, but it’s more than sufficient to put him in further agony. He knows he’s hyperventilating, moaning as Reno tries to get him moving again. His ears are ringing and the Jefferies Tube is starting to grey out around the edges when Hugh’s voice fills the air. Hugh sounds about as far from pleased as possible, and Paul doesn’t doubt for a moment that he’s earned himself one of Hugh’s angry-because-you-scared-me lectures when this is all over.
On the other hand? Hugh being here and caring enough to be that angry shouldn’t be as reassuring as it actually is.
When the power’s restored, he collapses onto his stomach, cheek pressed to the cool metal of the tube. Reno’s drone makes an about face and zooms off back the way he came, which can only mean one thing: Reno’s going to use it to guide Hugh up to him.
You are so in for it this time.
Three minutes later, he can hear the buzz of the drone returning, accompanied by the sounds of Hugh Culber’s irate muttering growing louder as he approaches.
“...I’m a doctor, not an engineer, why am I climbing up here? Because my partner can’t keep himself from nearly getting killed every five minutes, that’s why. This time, I’m going to tie him to the bed so he stays, because if I have to go chasing after him again-“
”You can do whatever you want to me, I won’t object.”
He’s facedown and addressing the bottom of the tube, but it must be clear enough because Hugh heaves an enormous sigh just as a warm hand grips his knee. It’s followed by the sound of him activating a scanner, and the drone moves to hover over Paul’s body for better lighting.
Paul wouldn’t put it past Reno to have angled the lights to shine right in his eyes.
Thirty seconds later, Hugh snaps the scanner back into the holster on his hip and crawls up alongside him. His wound is clearly not anything too serious judging by the way Hugh hauls him over onto his back with more force than strictly necessary, although he does cushion Paul’s head with his hand so it doesn’t bounce off the metal floor. He unzips Paul’s jacket briskly, pulls up his undershirt, and slaps a field dressing onto the sluggishly bleeding gash.
”Thanks Jett,” he addresses the drone, “should be good from here.”
”Oh no, I’m staying to watch this,” Reno’s voice is far too gleeful, “Crankypants has this coming for being an idiot and I intend to savor every moment.”
”Don't say I didn’t warn you,” Hugh singsongs.
”Hugh, I- mmmpphhhh.”
Eyes still screwed shut with pain, he doesn’t see Hugh lean down, but the kiss he gives Paul is enough to silence any protest. The one back in the medbay had been chaste and tender, an affirmation of love. This, on the other hand, is so completely filthy that Paul can’t do anything but melt under the way Hugh masterfully owns his mouth, tongue thrusting between his lips in approximation of something that he hasn’t done since the last time he shared his bed with this man. Neither of their mouths is terribly fresh at this point, but it doesn’t matter as Hugh’s fingers pull his hair and his beard rubs Paul’s chin raw.
”Oh, gross,” Reno’s words bely the poorly-concealed delight in her tone, “I did not sign up for this kind of free show. Doc, you’re on your own dragging loverboy out.”
Without waiting for a response, the drone zips off down the tube, leaving them bathed in just the cool blue light of the conduit walls. Hugh doesn’t end the kiss right away though, just slowly eases back until they’re sharing sweet, gentle pecks again.
“I’m sorry,” Paul mutters.
A hypospray hisses against his neck with only the slightest of pinches, and a wave of cool relief spreads down his spine. Hugh sighs, fingers loosening their grip and cradling Paul’s face between his palms.
”Don’t think this means I’m not still furious with you.”
He opens his eyes to find Hugh watching him with a mix of resigned exasperation and relief, although it doesn’t quite hide the concern.
”I’m pretty sure I deserve it at this point.”
”That’s debatable, but can you please at least give me a day to recover before you go throwing yourself in front of anything explosive again?”
There’s a brittle sort of exhaustion in Hugh’s dark eyes, and Paul raises a hand to caress his cheek.
”I’ll do my best.”
”All I can ask for.”
Clang
They both startle at the noise as the drone deposits a small antigrav cargo carrier at Hugh’s feet. It lays there awkwardly for a few seconds before the antigrav pops up to hover two inches off the tube floor.
”You’re welcome.”
The drone is gone again before either of them can say thank you, and Hugh chuckles as he slowly guides the platform under Paul’s back.
”Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
”Do I have to-“
”...and you’re going right back into the regen again. Don’t think I won’t sit on you to keep you there.”
”You do realize that isn’t an incentive to comply?”
Hugh smiles down at him.
“I missed this.”
”I missed you.”
One more kiss, and Paul sighs, closing his eyes again. Today hadn’t gone to plan at all, and he’s completely okay with that.
Notes:
Paul and Reno’s interplay is some of the best dialogue out of this episode :)
Hugh’s mix of snark and sweetness slays me every time.
Chapter 123: Sneak, Part Two
Summary:
Where was Hugh during the transporter platform reunion? Continues from the previous chapter.
Chapter Text
Hugh's waiting just outside the doors of the transporter room when Paul exits, hypospray in hand, snagging his elbow in an unyielding but careful grip.
"Doctor Culber!"
Paul expects Hugh to let go of him to accept Michael's embrace, but he merely takes a step away from Paul and gives her a one-armed hug, other arm still extended like an old-fashioned EV tether. The rest of the bridge crew hustle Michael off down the corridor, laughing and crying a little and all trying to talk to her at once. Left alone, Hugh leans back against the wall and waits. Paul stares at his boots rather sheepishly, can feel Hugh's eyes on him. The ache in his chest is no longer something he can ignore, and he tries to concentrate on breathing evenly.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles, "how mad at me are you?"
A sigh.
Hugh seems to be waiting for him to look up, and eventually Paul screws up his courage and does so. He's managed to change into a fresh uniform, blood no longer spotting his sleeve cuffs and trousers, but there's an air of deep weariness in the way Hugh's shoulders slump and the frown lines bracketing his mouth.
"I'm not mad at you."
"...what?"
Seemingly satisfied that Paul isn't going to try to escape, Hugh releases his elbow and gently nudges him into an observation alcove, away from a casual glance down the corridor. There's far fewer crew to worry about, but old and somewhat rusty habits apparently are hard to break. He's honestly a little surprised that he's not being whisked back to the regen chamber, less than half an additional cycle complete when the call came down from the bridge that Michael was beaming aboard. Once Paul's seated on the shallow ledge below the port, Hugh reaches down and unsnaps his collar, administering the contents of the hypo quickly. It doesn't pinch the way it did when Paul was under the regen, and he's always been fascinated by the way a ship's doctor could communicate their displeasure with a recalcitrant patient through the judicious use of microneedles. That's a thought for another time though, because whatever analgesic Hugh gave him isn't strong enough to take away all of the pain. It does bring it down to manageable levels, but given that his pain scale now has an upper range of "deep puncture wound to the gut" and "seven inches of shrapnel in my heart", it's probably fair to assume he's going to be in discomfort for a while longer.
The headiness of waking from his coma to find Hugh waiting, his competent hands touching him tenderly as they exchanged the kind of back-and-forth he thought lost forever in an ensuing millennium, is starting to wear off, leaving him wondering just how fragile a floor they're both actually standing on. Hugh had declared his love, sealed it with a thorough kiss, and Paul doesn't have any reason to doubt his sincerity. If he's learned anything though, in losing the love of his life twice, it's that love isn't necessarily enough when they come down off their adrenaline. A tendril of fear wraps itself around his stomach, creeping icy and sharp up his spine.
"Hugh?"
Another sigh, then Hugh drops to crouch in front of him until their faces are level. He sways a little, and Paul reaches out automatically to steady him with a hand on his shoulder. Hugh's face is unreadable as he lifts Paul's hand away, and Paul can't breathe at all until Hugh carefully folds it between his own palms.
"I'm not mad at you, Paul. I'm just-" he bites his lower lip, "you scared me. I almost...you coded on me during surgery. Twice."
The snark and deliberate sarcasm he'd used to mask his own emotions are nowhere in sight now, and though he longs for their familiar presence, he knows that being allowed to see the raw core of fear means so much more.
"I-"
A crew member passes by the alcove at a jog, carrying an armful of equipment. This conversation really does need to happen, but this isn't the place to have it. Frowning, he stands, unsuccessfully suppressing the wince when it pulls a barely-healed wound. He tugs Hugh to his feet, ready to balance him if he needs it. Once Hugh's standing, Paul doesn't release his hand, just squeezes his fingers and leads him out of their hiding place and to the nearest turbolift. It's a sign of Hugh's exhaustion that he doesn't ask where they're going, merely follows a half-step behind. In fact, it's not until Paul pauses to allow the door sensors to acknowledge his readings that he seems to realize where they are.
"Paul..."
The doors to his quarters swish shut behind them. He hasn't had Hugh in here in weeks. Not since they... not since.
"Help?"
The request surprises Hugh into giving Paul his full attention, and he brushes Paul's fingers aside to deftly unzip his jacket and ease the fabric from his shoulders. The compression bandage wound tight around his midsection over his blue undershirt is stained crimson, and for a moment all weariness seems to vanish as Doctor Culber snaps open his scanner and carefully checks for additional injury. He seems satisfied though, re-holstering the scanner and guiding Paul to sit on the couch. There's only a little hesitation before he sits down as well, farther away than Paul would like but much closer than he has in a long time. Paul takes his hand again, telegraphing the movement so that Hugh can avoid it if he wants. Instead, he meets Paul halfway, scoots towards him just a little more until their knees are touching.
"I'm sorry I scared you."
Hugh unsnaps his own collar with his free hand, staring into the middle distance for a moment. When he refocuses on Paul, it's with a very slight smile. Mostly, he just looks tired.
"I know."
They stare at each other for the space of a few more breaths before Hugh speaks again.
"There's a lot of things we should talk about, but I want you to know that I meant what I said. I do love you, Paul. And if you'll have me back, I...I don't expect it to be right away. But I want to try this again, properly."
He thinks he knows what Hugh means, but he dare not assume.
"This?"
Hugh takes his other hand as well, not holding it, simply resting their palms together.
"You. Me. Us. If...if that's what you want."
This uncertainty is something he rarely ever witnessed in his partner before his death, but seen all too frequently since his return. He's not sure if it's going to be a permanent part of Hugh, something changed that he'll have to learn and adjust to, or is more a matter of the circumstances. To be given the chance to relearn him though, is a gift beyond measure.
"There's nothing I want more," Paul blinks, eyes stinging, "nothing in the universe."
"We-"
"All personnel, this is Commander Saru. All critical systems are operating within normal parameters, thanks to your quick work on repairs and our rescue from the planet's surface. Commander Burnham will be briefing the senior staff on our current time and location in one hour, and I will provide an update at that time. Please see to yourselves, and return to your stations in forty-five minutes."
"Does Tracy need you back in the medbay?"
He shakes his head.
"No, or at least not for a little while."
Paul nods, slowly leaning back against the cushions and making himself more comfortable.
"Will you stay, then? I don't mean you have to move back in right away," he hastens to add at Hugh's frown, "not unless you want to or are ready. I'd just...if it's okay, I'd like to hold you. Please."
A few seconds pass, but the delay seems to be more about Hugh's tired mind processing the question than a reluctance to answer. Then, his lips stretch into a smile. It's not quite the brilliant grin that stole Paul's heart, but it's more than he could have hoped for when he woke up this morning.
"I'd like that."
Hugh stands and together they maneuver Paul's legs up onto the couch, back supported by the arm. As he watches, Hugh finishes unzipping his own jacket, folding it onto the coffee table before he carefully fits himself against Paul's side. There's an awkward moment as they sort out elbows and knees, Hugh trying to keep his weight off the left side of Paul's chest, but between one blink and the next everything falls into place. Paul's arm settles around Hugh's waist, sighing in deep contentment as Hugh's head comes to rest on his shoulder. Hugh's skin is warm under his hands, bare arms flexing as he strokes the fabric over Paul's heart, and he concentrates on the steady heartbeat against his side.
They sit in comfortable silence, breathing slowing and tension slowly draining from their bodies, occasionally exchanging light kisses but mostly simply being. Hugh's scent surrounds him, and Paul has a vague thought about being marked with it as Hugh rubs his cheek against Paul's neck.
"Hugh?"
"Hmmm?"
"I love you too."
Notes:
Because I'm always disappointed when I don't see Wilson's name in the credits, and honestly, there's no way Paul goes from collapsed bleeding in a Jefferies Tube to 100% in presumably a very short amount of time.
Chapter 124: S.O.S.
Summary:
Tracy and Hugh have had each other's back for a long time.
Notes:
The aftermath of the last breakup Hugh has before he meets Paul.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
June 2241
Hugh starts the week determined to be happy, stepping off the transporter pad at Starfleet Medical and turning in his field kit before heading back to his apartment for a shower. He's intent on surprising his lover with a romantic evening, something to make up for the last three months while he was on a Vulcan medical mission to the Tiburon colony. It's not ideal to be apart for that long, but in this case the adage about distance making the heart grow fonder is accurate.
In the week before he shipped out, they'd had what didn't quite rise to the level of a fight, but it had left him feeling supremely unsettled. Sure, he understood working late and being called in at short notice, but it always seemed to happen when Hugh had an evening off to spend together and he couldn't help snapping at yet another 2300 "emergency" at the fleet yard. He'd ended up apologizing to him when he saw how much his level of suspicion had hurt, and by the time his shuttle docked with the Vulcan transport, had convinced himself that it was mostly in his head and probably a product of three years spent getting used to each other. Of course the same spark wouldn't be present, and time away would help reset his emotions.
The medical mission was a success. They'd managed to control the Rigellian fever outbreak by the end of the second month, far ahead of the most optimistic projections, and the last month was spent ensuring the critical cases made it out of the ICU and that the overworked local medical staff were able to recover. His old friend from Medical, T'Vala, was also on the mission, and he'd enjoyed her steadiness and wry wit just as much as ever. Spending that much time surrounded by calm Vulcan competency was restorative, and T'Vala even managed to teach Hugh a few new meditation techniques. He hasn't commed ahead, reasoning that he'll have plenty of time to explain arriving home a month ahead of schedule after dinner, and eager to re-connect.
Instead, that hope turns into bitter hurt when he literally walks in on the man who claimed to love him in bed with a married coworker. Everything crumbles in a matter of seconds as he stands there in shock while the other man leisurely dresses and makes himself comfortable in the living room. Finally seeing incontrovertible proof with his own eyes that the suspicions he'd been justifying away for months were valid isn't even the worst part. The person he thought he knew isn't apologetic in the least; he's angry, twisting it into Hugh's fault that he was incapable of being faithful and driving him to it. Hugh's late nights in the trauma ward suddenly turn into accusations of infidelity on his part, as if even that would justify betrayal on this level. Incredulous and enraged, he does the only thing he can think of: he screams, "Get the fuck out of my life!" and storms out past the man on the couch who doesn't seem to be bothered in the slightest.
He runs the two miles back home, chest burning with unshed tears. His mind spins in circles as he stumbles over curbs, and it takes four tries to enter the code for his building because his hands are shaking so hard.
How could he? All this time? How long has this been happening?
Hugh knows he isn't going to be any good in the clinic tomorrow, much less for any trauma cases coming in. He types out a request to take a week’s leave for personal reasons, horribly grateful when his request is acknowledged and immediately granted. Chest growing tighter, he manages to send one more message.
[Culber-Hugh-LT/MED] SOS
His PADD chirps a reply fifteen minutes later even though he's in no shape to read it.
[Pollard-Tracy-LTJG/MED] Hold on. I'm coming.
Breaking down isn't pretty in the slightest, shock and numbness wearing off as the first tear splashes onto his collar, and the next fifty hours pass in a blur that feels like millennia.
Tracy arrives late on the evening of the second day after his SOS, letting herself into his apartment without ceremony. She doesn't say anything at the sight of him huddled on the couch in the dark, just orders the lights to half and physically pulls him off the couch, shoving him towards the shower without a word. By the time he emerges on wobbly legs twenty minutes later, the room is filled with savory smells that remind him of the dull ache of hunger pangs in his stomach. Tracy doesn't pause in laying out food from the local Jewish deli, handing him a fork and sitting across from him at his tiny dining table. In fact, she doesn't bring up the reason she's there at all, instead complaining about the quality of the shuttle she took back to Earth and the incompetence of her latest batch of interns. Over potato pancakes, she shares a story about a Commander who managed to fracture his leg in three places by mistaking a holographic panel for a solid railing, then gives her opinion on the size of the medbay on Constitution-class ships. By the time they've finished the corned beef and she's forced him to down his third glass of water, he almost feels human again.
It's a fragile and temporary reprieve, and lasts only until he's done brushing his teeth. The story comes out in bits and pieces as he paces the length of his apartment, stringing together everything. Things he should have seen - did see, but chose to ignore - pile up as the words tumble out, reminding him that he could and should have left sooner. It's telling that he's less upset at what his ex has said and done than he is at himself for not being stronger and believing his own instincts. He's too disgusted with the whole situation to cry, but he leans heavily on Tracy’s shoulder while she alternates between rubbing his back and making soothing noises with narrating increasingly more elaborate plans to let his ex know just how sorry he ought to be for hurting Hugh. The combination of non-trite consolation and humor thinly covers Tracy’s own outrage on his behalf, forcing an appreciative but humorless laugh when she proposes paying a visit to "punch him in the dick and see who else he tries to stick it into then".
By 0200, Hugh isn't sure how or what he feels other than completely exhausted. Tracy raids his wardrobe for pajamas and refuses to sit back down on the couch, glaring at him until he moves to the bed and propping herself up against the headboard. He thinks he's too wrung out to sleep, but she fills the empty space with 'fleet gossip until just before dawn when unconsciousness finally claims him.
She lets him sleep until nearly noon, doesn't comment on his snoring, and drags him out onto the cramped balcony overlooking the Bay. It doesn't take the edge off the sense of betrayal, but at least the coffee chases the lingering headache to the margins of his awareness. Tracy is still in listening mode, waiting until he runs out of steam before offering point and counterpoint in a mild tone.
”I should’ve left him. I shouldn’t have let him hurt me this much, Trace. Not when everyone else could see but I didn’t want to. You all told me, but I didn't listen.”
In the distance, a transport rises past the Golden Gate.
”You wanted to believe because you loved him. He didn’t deserve it, but you did. As for leaving...you weren’t ready yet. And I hate seeing it come to this to get to that point, but now you know. And it doesn’t matter how much he called you crazy or tried to blame you for his own asshole behavior. You didn’t let him- he took advantage of you.”
”I should have known.”
”Did you have proof?”
Tracy pours them both a refill while he chews his lip.
”No. Not really? Sort of. I...I didn’t want it to be true.”
”All right. And you know him saying it was your fault is BS, right?”
”...yeah. But- I just don’t...how could he-?”
”I’m no expert in psych, but I’d hazard to guess self-centeredness and refusal to take responsibility for much of anything as far as I could see. You can’t make sense of it because it doesn’t make sense.”
“I guess? But-I feel so...stupid," Hugh shakes his head, smiling bitterly, "I wasted all of this time, I turned down a chance to ship out on a Constitution mission because of him."
She sighs, setting down her coffee before turning to face him.
”Did you call me an idiot when I finally had enough of Josh for the last time?”
”What? Of course not, he was being a complete ass.”
”So...how’s it fair to do it to yourself?”
Tracy has the grace to not look triumphant when he doesn't have a good answer to that. They fall into silence again while he stares out across the Bay, Mount Tam's peak barely visible until the fog burns off.
"I...thank you. No," he catches the fingers she waves dismissively, "I mean it. You didn't have to take off and come here to deal with my sorry ass."
"We were drunk for three days after Josh, and I seem to remember you pouring me into the tub until I sobered up. You," she tugs her hand free and points a finger, "don't even try to say you owe me. I'm your friend, I love you, and I wasn't going to leave you to deal with this on your own."
"Still. Thanks for always being there."
"You're welcome."
Notes:
This is the backstory for a line in Chapter 37 of "When Sorrow Turns to Joy." I was going to post as a flashback there, but it felt like it distracted too much from the story itself.
Details loosely based on unfortunate personal experience.
Chapter 125: Sleuthing
Summary:
Tilly’s putting her Command Training Program observational skills to use at breakfast.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“...and Adira’s only sixteen. Sixteen!”
Tilly finishes with an emphatic gesture that nearly knocks her green juice into Commander Stamets’ coffee. They’re saved from that horrible fate by Dr. Culber’s hand intervening, nimbly catching the falling glass and moving the mug out of the way. She heaves a sigh of relief, then looks up to find them both looking at her expectantly.
You probably sighed a little too loudly.
”Umm. Sorry. I was uhh...relieved, thank you Doctor Culber, you’ve got such fast reflexes!”
Another beat, then the identical blank looks on their faces melt into smiles.
Before, she thinks, Dr. Culber would have thrown his head back and laughed, and Stamets would have given him that look, the one where his eyes go all soft and he stops frowning.
Really though, the fact that they’re all three sitting down to breakfast and that horrible heavy silence between them has vanished is more than enough for her peace of mind. She can’t help cataloguing the differences though, falling silent as conversation turns to the effects of temporal displacement on human cells versus the many species of fungi on board.
They’re on the same side of the table, but not sitting as close as she remembers. Both have their arms resting on the table, no hands tucked up high on the other’s thigh. Nor is Culber’s hand resting on the small of Stamets’ back, although their elbows are touching. And while they did arrive together, both are the picture of professional uniform attire, not a blond hair out of place on Stamets and certainly no hint of a love bite showing over his collar. Culber’s expression was pleasant when they joined her, but his eyes didn’t have the slightly languid, pleased look she’d learned to associate with her boss and his partner indulging in what she assumed was pre-breakfast sex.
Get your head out of the gutter, Sylvia. That’s not the important part anyway.
There seems to be a pause in the conversation, and she refocuses from Dr. Culber’s forearm back to his face.
”...hmmm?”
The pause goes on just long enough to be awkward before Stamets offers an opinion on mitotic disruption and they’re off again. Tilly jams the straw of her juice between her lips as an excuse not to speak.
Yes, Mom, I can actually be quiet sometimes.
The burst of frustrated anxiety whenever she thinks of her mother vanishes the moment she sees the doctor stretch and settle his hand on the back of Stamets’ chair. She leans back and tries to slouch enough to see under their side of the table without making it completely obvious. Unfortunately, her back is to the bulkhead so there’s only so far her chair will scoot away if she tries a stretch of her own.
Hmmm. Have to find another reason.
Her excuse arrives moments later when Stamets reaches for his coffee and accidentally elbows his napkin off the table. Before it’s even finished fluttering to the floor, she spits out the straw and blurts, “I’ve got it!”
Both men stop talking to stare at her.
Oh way to go being casual, Sylvia.
“...is something the matter?”
”What? Oh, no, I mean yes but not really. You umm, dropped your napkin sir. But I can get it for you,” she finishes brightly, “no need to stop talking!”
Stamets frowns at her (a standard one of bemusement and thankfully not one of the dozens of glowers she’s come to recognize), but shrugs before turning back to Culber.
”Right, thank you Tilly.”
Barely suppressing her excitement at being given the perfect opportunity, she sets down her juice, pushes her chair back, and bends at the waist. The position puts her eyeline at about knee-height, and she forgets all about the napkin when she sees their legs pressed together from thigh to boot heel. As she watches, Culber’s hand, previously on the back of Stamets’ chair, appears and settles on his knee instead. It’s not as high as she’s seen in the past, but the subsequent squeak of delight when Stamets rests his own pale hand on top is thankfully covered by someone nearby sneezing.
It takes her a moment to contain the grin, before she can sit back up without looking like she’s just been promoted to Captain and the reception is only serving spumoni ice cream. Tilly can’t help the happy smile though as she pops the straw back between her teeth and sucks.
Slurrrrrrrpp.
Unfortunately, the empty cup doesn’t magically offer up more juice, and she finds herself the target of their attention again.
”It usually helps if there’s liquid, Tilly,” Culber offers with a teasing lilt, “would you like me to get you another green juice? Paul needs more coffee, so I’m getting up anyway-”
”No! I mean, I’m happy to get up and get it sir, no need to stop your conversation about...” she actually has no idea what they’re discussing now, “the uhh, stuff.”
Tilly springs to her feet, already stepping between the tables before the doctor can offer a response. The synthesizers are behind them, so she takes the chance to really look. Their shoulders are touching now, and if she’s not mistaken, Stamets seems to be giving the doctor a small, sweet smile that makes her heart do happy loops.
The synthesizer dings behind her, interrupting her musings. She retrieves the beverages, and has just set them down between empty dishes when her comm buzzes on the table.
”Burnham to Tilly.”
”Tilly. Michael?”
”Sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you moved my shampoo? I can’t find it.”
”What? That’s weird...” she trails off, noticing Culber making shooing motions.
”Go on, I’ll clear the table.”
She hesitates, torn between the desire to continue her observations and an opening to reconnect with her friend who seems so...different now.
”Tilly?”
”Oh. Coming, sorry, I’ll be right there.”
Tilly snaps the comm shut and pockets it, grabbing her juice and offering them an apologetic smile.
”Sorry sirs, have a good day? Umm. That wasn’t supposed to be a question.”
They wave her off, and she makes a mental note to check if they’ve moved back in together. It’s not technically her business, but there can’t be any harm in it, right?
********
”Paul, did Tilly seem a little odd just now?”
He sets down his coffee mug, frowning.
“No more than usual, why?”
”All that fuss and she didn’t pick up your napkin.”
”Oh,” he leans over and snags it off the floor, “huh. Maybe she only had two espressos instead of three today?”
Hugh chuckles, and Paul struggles to focus on anything other than the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.
”Have you officially done it yet?”
”Done what?”
”Adopted Tilly.”
”Very funny.”
The mirth subsides, and Hugh turns his hand over on Paul’s knee to lace their fingers together.
”She cares about you a lot. I’m glad you had her when...when things weren’t great between us.”
A sigh.
”Me too. But I have you now, right?”
Paul’s smile is a little wobbly at the edges, still nervous that what he and Hugh are working to rebuild will somehow collapse. He tries not to feel disappointed when Hugh lets go of his hand to turn in his seat and face him fully.
”You never lost me, Paul. I just had to find myself again,” Hugh says quietly, “but I was always yours.”
They’re in a corner, but it wouldn’t matter even if they were in the middle of Times Square on New Year’s Eve when Hugh leans in and kisses him softly.
And if there’s the sound of someone dropping a glass with a delighted exclamation near the doors of the mess hall, well, he’s too busy smiling at Hugh to notice.
Notes:
I wanted to write just from Tilly’s viewpoint, but the epilogue demanded to be added.
(It’s going to take a bit for the two of them to return to the comfort level they had before, and Tilly is the #1 Culmets shipper.)
Chapter 126: Shield
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh watches his shy, sweet, affectionate partner Paul slip below Lieutenant Stamets’ snappy and critical exterior.
He remembers seeing him working with his team on Deneva, intensely focused and disappointed by failure, but never so critical and outright rude as he is on Discovery. Paul’s most at home in charge of a project, large or small, with a team he trusts and who shares his vision. He takes time to get to know his people, is exacting but not harsh when accidents happen. Thrust into the role of Chief Engineer for the spore drive, he covers his awkwardness and uncomfortable reaction to directing five or six times as many people with persnickety comments and biting sarcasm.
Hugh steps out from behind Doctor Culber’s professional manner with ease, but Paul struggles to do the same. He sees it sometimes in his interactions with the small group of engineers and scientists brought with him - Harrington among them - who still seem just as bemused as Hugh by the switch. Unfortunately, it only serves to further confuse the newly-assigned cadre of ensigns and cadets, who tread lightly around him. Cadet Tilly might be wearing down Paul’s protective measures, but he still winces when he sees him respond to her enthusiastic suggestions with skepticism.
He’s driven by the importance of the work to save lives, and Lorca’s heavy-handed militaristic attempts to drive the point home to who he sees as an aloof scientist only make it worse. Paul cares so much, Hugh knows it, even without the nights of holding him while he shakes and refuses to cry tears of frustration and fear that his creation will never succeed or worse, that it will be used to take lives instead. Hugh offers his arms, his mind, his medical knowledge, his love in support of his partner, even though it never feels like enough.
Every time Paul gives him a real smile, when Hugh watches him sleep, each kiss, is a sandbag in the wall against the tide of despair. He'll stand between Paul and the universe if he has to, no matter what it takes out of him. Hugh's losing the man he loves to this war, but he'll be damned if he does so without a fight.
Notes:
I wrote this back in September with the intention to make it a flashback in When Sorrow Turns to Joy, but I think it works best as a standalone.
Chapter 127: Scared
Summary:
**** SPOILERS FOR S3E4 ****
Hugh goes looking for Paul.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
****Spoilers for “Forget Me Not”****
Paul’s not in Engineering when Hugh arrives, heart pounding from the jog through the corridors. He checks the console logs, but no one’s accessed in the last half hour.
Since Saru called them for dinner.
Necessary confrontation is something Hugh is all too familiar with from his fight with Ash Tyler, but it doesn’t make it any less painful. Of everyone in the room, he was probably the only one who wasn’t shocked that it would happen. That being said, he hadn’t expected it to implode over the dinner table, or that Detmer’s usually calm temper would erupt and choose Paul as a target.
”Computer, location of Paul Stamets?”
”Lieutenant Commander Stamets is in personal quarters, deck nine section gamma four.”
Hugh doesn’t bother comming ahead, just takes the shortest route possible. He slows as he approaches the door, hand outstretched to signal for entry. Unexpectedly, the doors swish open as soon as he’s in proximity.
”Paul?”
He steps across the threshold slowly, hesitant in a way that feels foreign. Neither of them are quite ready for him to move back in, but he thinks it won’t be long until they have that conversation again. There’s still so much the two of them need to reconcile, he hopes that his access is intentional and not something Paul simply forgot.
He expected to find Paul nose-first in a PADD, hiding from the universe in his work. Instead, he hears a sniffle, faint and choked off, from the direction of the bed.
“Paul? It’s me.”
No response.
The lights are off, and he moves carefully to avoid tripping, although his feet know their way around the obstacles without thinking. There’s enough light filtering in from the stars that he can just make out Paul sitting on the side of the bed, elbows on his knees and face buried in his hands.
Hugh sits next to him, lays a hand on his shaking shoulder and waits. Paul stiffens, but it seems more to do with trying to control his emotions than cringing away. He slowly lifts his head, and Hugh’s heart twists at the mix of anger, fear, and doubt in his eyes.
”Oh sweetheart...”
Paul sags into his embrace, face buried in his chest and arms around Hugh’s waist. He mumbles something that Hugh can’t quite make out, despite being well-versed in all things Paul.
”What’s that?”
Heaving a sigh, Paul turns his head so that his words aren’t obscured by fabric.
“She’s right.”
Here we go.
“Who?”
”Detmer.”
”Paul-“
The man in his arms abruptly stands, agitated.
”She’s right. I- I’m selfish. Fuck, look what I did to you. And I...I hurt Tilly. She just wanted to help and I shot her down.”
Hugh doesn’t say anything yet, locking down the urge to wrap Paul in his arms and whisper words of comfort. It goes against all of his instincts, even though he knows it’s the right thing to do.
”And Saru wants me to find another way to navigate wi- without needing me. And I started thinking, what’s the point of me being here if that’s gone? My whole career, I wanted to create something impossible, something indispensable,” Paul laughs bitterly, edged with tears, “and look where it got me. Everyone thinks I’m a self-centered asshole, and yep, I guess they’re right. Turns out I’m the piece that isn’t needed.”
Paul’s hands are clenched into fists at his sides, shoulders sagging.
”All that for what? They’ve got my creation now, they don’t need me.”
Swallowing down the pain in hearing the self-loathing, Hugh stands and moves in front of Paul. He takes his hands, gentling them open and holding on tight.
”I need you.”
”No you don’t,” Paul shakes his head, “all I do is hurt you.”
Some of that control slips, and Hugh can’t suppress his annoyance.
”You don’t get to decide what I do and do not need. We tried that before, remember?”
“See? I’m doing it now.”
There’s a headache growing behind his eyes.
”No. You- all of us. What we are right now is lost in a time and place where nothing is what we expected. We’re missing all the touch points, all the structures that made us who we are. And everyone keeps pretending they’re fine, but the truth is that no one is. Listen to me, Paul,” he presses their foreheads together, “trauma and change aren’t easy on anyone. That’s part of being alive.”
”So how come you’re fine?”
He’s expecting an automatic Stamets defense, but it’s more a plea than any sort of challenge.
”I’m not. I just got a head start on dealing with it before you all.”
Paul’s eyes are clenched shut, but he opens them when Hugh’s hand brushes through his hair, coming to rest on the back of his head. He gathers Paul in his arms, lets him hide his face in Hugh’s neck.
”We’ll figure it out. Together. Okay?”
It’s far from okay, but he feels Paul nodding.
”I- I need to. Talk. To them.”
Hugh rocks them back and forth gently, kisses Paul’s cheek and sighs.
”They’ll still be there. Give yourself a chance to feel, love. Just a couple of minutes, okay?”
”...I’m scared, Hugh.”
“Me too, sweetheart.”
Notes:
Sleep deprived, I hope this reads clearly.
I needed to fill in the gap for what apparently has happened off-screen to go from one scene to the next and bring the emotions back down so that Paul is able to take the softer approach later on.
Chapter 128: Staying (the Night)
Summary:
Their first night back together.
Notes:
Time frame is vague - until we see an episode of them in their quarters, we assume they’ve made up and are living together again, but don’t have a reference yet.
Chapter Text
The first night Hugh sleeps with Paul again is a complete accident, and completely literal.
They’re on the couch cuddling, barefoot in undershirts and pants unbuttoned. It’s not awkward or tentative, not when their bodies know how to fit together, but there’s a sense of deliberate contact where previously it would have been casual. Hugh’s stretched out sideways and leaning on the arm of the couch with Paul cradled between his knees and both arms around his shoulders. Paul’s resting most of his weight on his chest, and Hugh drops kisses onto the hair at the crown of his head every now and then. The ship is still conserving power, so the environmental controls have been dialed back and while it’s not cold by any means, it’s cooler than comfortable with bare arms. Paul has the throw spread over them both, although the heat of him combined with a high metabolism is more than enough to keep Hugh warm.
Actually, the heat is making him drowsy. They’ve been yawning at increasingly more frequent intervals while stubbornly avoiding acknowledging the late hour. It’s prolonging the inevitable, because doing so would mean saying goodnight, sharing a few more kisses before Hugh puts on his boots and leaves Paul to crawl into bed alone. They haven’t broached the topic of Hugh moving back in again quite yet, and he appreciates Paul’s careful avoidance of pressure, but seeing the longing in those blue eyes isn’t the same thing as Paul finding the words to ask and he’s not sure it’s his place to presume.
“I should probably go soon,” he admits reluctantly when his eyelids have grown more than heavy.
”Yeah.”
The disappointment is concealed masterfully, evidenced only in the slight tightening of Paul’s hand where he’s stroking Hugh’s knee. They fall silent again, Hugh nuzzling Paul’s temple. Getting up to leave is part of the boundaries they’re still redefining, but Paul’s warmth and scent are a powerful argument against moving at all. He rubs Paul’s chest under the blanket, keeping his touch undemanding, and drinks in the resulting sighs.
“Just a little longer, okay love?”
”...yeah.”
They’re so cozy and comfortable like this, and Hugh lets his eyes fall shut, giving himself a mental count of one hundred to enjoy Paul’s nearness before starting to extricate himself.
He only makes it to forty-three.
********
The room is completely dark when Hugh slowly blinks awake again, surrounded by a sense of immense peace. He’s about to close his eyes and go back to sleep when he realizes that he’s not in his own quarters.
Paul’s a familiar/unfamiliar weight pinning him to the cushions. They’ve both slid down further, Hugh’s head resting on the couch arm and Paul’s feet pressed to the other. Whereas before he was cuddled with his back against Hugh’s chest, he’s somehow managed to turn over without disturbing either of them and now has both arms around Hugh’s waist, head pillowed on his shoulder. Their breathing is in sync, although Hugh’s is slightly constricted. It’s not enough to complain about at all, not when he finally feels grounded in his own body. Hugh tries to free an arm, freezing as Paul shifts, nose wrinkling before falling still again. His tousled hair tickles Hugh’s cheek, and he looks so peaceful that waking him seems out of the question.
On one hand, this isn’t breaking any unspoken boundaries per se, particularly not when he feels blanketed by Paul's love in a very physical way. On the other, it’s more than they’ve done in the last few days since Discovery landed in the future, feeling their way back together again, and he doesn’t want to upset the careful equilibrium.
”Stop thinking so much.”
Paul’s voice is drowsy, sleep-rough and fond.
”...you’re awake.”
Oh, real intelligent there.
“So are you.”
”I-“ Hugh turns his head to see a pair of stormy blue eyes watching him, half-closed but alert, “is this okay?”
Paul shifts his weight, squirming closer until he can kiss the underside of Hugh’s jaw.
”Yes. More than okay.”
He can’t help the smile at Paul’s expression.
”Good.”
”Is it okay with you?”
He takes a moment to think, and Paul lets him have it, waiting patiently.
”Waking up with you in my arms is...I don’t think there’s a word for it.”
Paul hums contentedly.
”Me too.”
It’s getting hard to keep his eyes open, even as he tries to commit every detail of this moment to memory.
This is happiness.
“Sleep. We can-“ Paul breaks off to yawn, “can talk about it in the morning.”
”Okay.”
He tugs the blanket further up over them both before slipping his hands underneath Paul’s shirt. Paul sighs, snuggling back down on his shoulder and tucking his head under Hugh’s chin.
”Goodnight, sweetheart.”
”Goodnight, dear doctor.”
Chapter 129: Simple
Summary:
Post-S3E4 lightheartedness.
Chapter Text
A hand shakes his shoulder, and Paul groans, swatting at it. It vanishes, but returns a moment later, more insistent.
"...whuh?" he grumbles, dragging his eyes open slowly and pulling his face out of the pillow.
Hugh knows he's not good with mornings, so-
"You're not Hugh."
Adira retrieves their hand, clasping both in front of them. Behind him, he can hear Hugh's slow, rhythmic breathing indicating that he's still very much asleep.
I would love to be asleep too.
"Adira."
"You weren't answering your comm."
"It's-" Paul pushes himself up on an elbow, squinting at the chrono while his brain slowly comes online, "it's oh-two-forty, why are you- actually how are you even in here?"
"A kid could override your door lock mechanisms."
"You're a...ugh, never mind. But seriously? You don't break into people's quarters in the middle of the night."
"It's important."
"You couldn't, I don't know, leave a message? Try sending a priority comm?"
"It's about the spore drive interface."
"Tilly's on gamma. Why didn't you talk to her?"
Adira fidgets.
"I did. She said I should ask you."
"Tilly said-"
Wait. She probably didn't think the teenage genius was going to let themself in to tell you whatever it is now.
"Ugh. All right, I'm awake. What is it?"
"See, I," Adira lowers their voice at Paul's glare when Hugh shifts on the sheets, "I had this idea for an interface that doesn't involve poking things into your arms."
He has a suspicion about where this might be going.
"...does it involve dark matter?"
"Uhh, no? Why would it? They're not even in the same domain-"
Paul waves off the comment, although he's privately amused.
"Go on."
Hugh groans quietly, and Paul really hopes he doesn't wake up because he doesn't want to have to explain why their resident Trill-human hybrid is standing in their quarters at this hour.
"Well, I was thinking, why not just use programma- oh. Umm."
In a bout of wonderful/terrible timing, Hugh rolls onto his side and snuggles up to Paul, clearly unconscious even as his hand settles on Paul's ass with a content hum.
"Eww."
"Adira?"
"Like ummm, no offense, but I can't figure out if that's really nice or just weird."
Paul briefly considers stuffing his face back into the pillow and smothering himself unconscious. At least Hugh's under the duvet, because as far as he can tell, his partner is still completely naked.
Wouldn't that be awkward.
"Can it wait for a few more hours?"
"Yeah, I just...I thought you'd want to know right away."
He summons up half a smile.
"I appreciate it, but please tell me you aren't just going to let yourself in every time someone doesn't answer a comm."
"Sorry," Adira has the grace to look abashed, "I'll...write it down?"
"Great."
Paul lets his head fall, pulling the covers up around his shoulders as he hears Adira leaving.
Kids.
Chapter 130: Side (of the Bed)
Notes:
I have no idea where this one came from, and I regret nothing.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul’s in bed already when Hugh gets back to their quarters, but he sets the PADD down as soon as the doors swish shut and greets him with a happy smile.
”Hi honey,” Hugh kicks off his boots and follows Paul’s grabby hands for a kiss hello, “you’re in a good mood.”
”My paper was accepted for publication.”
Hugh pauses with his jacket half off.
”Told you you didn’t have anything to worry about,” he teases with a grin, stripping down efficiently.
”Yeah, but getting Cell to accept it with only minor revisions? Unheard of.”
The grumbling is in words only, because Paul can’t even pretend to be unhappy about anything.
”Well,” Hugh skims off his briefs and picks up his pajamas off the pillow, “you are a genius.”
“Your genius?”
”Mmhmm. Coming in with me?”
”No, I showered already.”
It’s mildly disappointing, but Hugh doesn’t pout, just drops his uniform in the laundry pile and starts the shower. He’ll have to settle for snuggles to celebrate then, instead of soaping Paul down. With that in mind, he washes himself with economical motions, enjoying the heat and steam for another minute before stepping out and getting dressed.
”Babe? Did you want to brush yo- mmmppphhhh.”
He’s barely over the threshold when a maroon blur comes sailing at him, landing draped over his face.
“What the- hey!”
Hugh recovers from his surprise and pulls the offending object off his head just as a dark grey bundle of fabric follows the same trajectory. Blinking in confusion, he frees himself from what seems to be Paul’s pajamas.
”Babe, what are...oh. Well.”
He drops the garments without a second thought and swallows.
”Hi.”
Paul is sprawled over Hugh’s side of the sheets on his stomach, duvet kicked to the foot of the bed, wearing nothing but a playful smile.
”Is this an invitation?” Hugh raises an eyebrow, giving the expected response.
”Your side of the bed is much more comfortable.”
”Is it now?”
Paul’s hair is damp and messy, and Hugh wants to run his fingers through it, but that’s not how this game is played. Instead, he feigns disinterest, arms crossed over his chest.
”If you don’t believe me,” Paul rolls onto his back, revealing evidence that his hands haven’t been idle while Hugh was showering, “why don’t you come try it out for yourself?”
Try as he might to keep his expression neutral, his lips curve into a smirk at the sight.
”Are you going to move?”
“No, I think I should stay and demonstrate exactly what I mean.”
One of his hands walks itself down his body, and Hugh licks his lips as it starts stroking languidly.
”Oh?”
”Mmhmm. Best experienced without clothes, in fact.”
Hugh nudges Paul’s pajamas to the side with his foot before gripping the hem of his shirt in both hands and slowly pulling it off, flexing his stomach as he does so just to hear Paul’s hum of appreciation. The pants are next, and he stands there for a few seconds after, letting his partner look his fill (“You’ve seen this old thing for years, nothing special.” “To you. Get over here, I want to touch you.”).
“What now, then?”
He plants his hands on his hips, feels something below the waist give an interested twitch.
”Come lay down and see.”
”Where?”
“Right here,” Paul pats his hip with his free hand, “exactly where I am.”
”Is that the best spot to feel it?”
The bottle of lube nearly hits him in the chest.
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
“Well then,” Hugh murmurs as he climbs onto the bed and slowly crawls up Paul’s body, “I expect a full demonstration.”
”You won’t be disappointed. Come here often?”
This close, he can see Paul’s eyes have gone dark with arousal, cheeks flushed and biting his lip. Hugh rolls his eyes at the bad pun, but answers anyway.
”Every chance I get.”
Paul’s smile is the last thing he sees before closing his eyes for a kiss.
It’s going to be a good night.
Notes:
“Cell” is a highly respected peer-reviewed journal in the present day, and I’d like to think it would remain so into the twenty-third century.
And yes, Hugh and Paul have quite a list of games they play ;)
Chapter 131: Superior
Summary:
**** SPOILERS FOR S3E5 *****
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
** Spoilers for “Die Trying” below **
”So, Commander Stamets, if you are indeed essential personnel, surely you would have a contingency to operate your spore drive should your...augments malfunction.”
”Well, they haven’t.”
”And if they do? How would you plan on maintaining them?”
Paul barely controls the urge to roll his eyes.
”We may be nine hundred and thirty years out of date, Lieutenant, but Discovery’s capable of sustaining herself. And that includes these.”
”I see. And who designed them?”
The Lieutenant “debriefing” him has the most bored expression he’s ever seen.
”Doctor Hugh Culber.”
”The one who died?”
A muscle twitches in Paul’s jaw at the reminder, but thankfully his questioner is staring at the holographic display reading what Paul can only assume are the notes from Hugh’s debrief. Privately, he hopes Hugh turned the biting wit and frosty professional demeanor on these Security types.
He might not have had to. People tend to actually like him.
”He’s not dead anymore.”
The man hmmph’s before moving on to the next question.
“How would you sustain these were he reassigned elsewhere?”
They wouldn’t dare.
”You can’t do that.”
”You’re both Starfleet officers, you understand the Federation’s needs outweigh your preference for a personal physician,” the Lieutenant intones, “surely someone else can be trained to do so.”
”No. You really, really can’t do that.”
The man frowns, focusing fully on Paul instead of flicking through files.
”Why is that?”
Oh what the hell, he thinks, it’s not insubordination.
”Did you actually read my file, or are you just enjoying being smug and superior to someone who technically both outranks you and is nine centuries older?”
Pulling rank isn’t something he does often, but in this case both his sensibilities as a scientist and the panic gnawing at his stomach at the implication that Hugh might be taken away are in agreement.
”...sir.”
”Thank you.”
”You didn’t answer the question, Commander.”
This time, he does roll his eyes.
”If you’d bothered to read past my name and serial number, you’d see that I have a registered partnership with Starfleet. And that Doctor Hugh Culber, who, in addition to being my physician of record, is my partner. Has Starfleet changed its regulations governing separation of partners without their consent?”
The Lieutenant blinks at him for a moment.
Nope, definitely didn’t read it.
”I see. However-“
Hugh’s going to lecture you later for being rude.
”However, I watched my partner be murdered in front of me, held his body, buried it, had to leave him on another plane of existence only to find him again and bring him out and have to deal with weeks of angst because resurrection isn’t something they cover in the Starfleet Training Manual, and didn’t know he was going to come with Discovery until he fished seven inches of shrapnel out of my heart a few days ago. Death couldn’t separate us,” he smiles with a slightly vicious edge, “and Starfleet can’t do a damn thing about that. Now, any other questions that can’t be answered by actually reading my file?”
The man swallows. Tilly had told him that his glare could dent duranium, and he doesn’t hesitate to use it.
”Command may have further questions regarding your genetic manip-“
”Vice Admiral Katrina Cornwell’s approval due to extenuating circumstances in a time of war is also in my file. Next.”
”Your spore drive technology. Can it be reproduced elsewhere?”
”No. Next.”
”Can your...mushrooms be transferred off Discovery?”
”No.”
A headache is starting to form behind his eyes. What he needs is about ten hours of uninterrupted sleep, preferably with Hugh in his arms, not to be sitting here and trying to convince Starfleet that they’re actually the time-traveling crew they say they are.
”Why is that?”
”Is there a point to this? The drive is part of Discovery. I’m part of the drive, and it can’t function without the spores. And I can’t function without Doctor Culber.”
There’s not an immediate response, but the Lieutenant closes the file.
”That’s all then. Commander.”
”Have a nice day,” Paul pastes an insincere smile on as he stands and walks out of the room.
Hugh’s going to love this.
Notes:
Not the smoothest read, but I had to write it. A bit jumbled, built off of the split-second we see of Hugh holding Paul’s hand in the shuttlebay when Saru announces the crew is being split up. I can’t imagine Paul and Hugh would go quietly.
Chapter 132: Signals
Summary:
*** SPOILERS FOR S3E5 ***
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh rests his hand on Keyla's arm in gentle support after her "they're breaking us up?" has a note of more than a little panic. He takes in her rigid posture with arms tightly crossed, the widening of her pupils, and wonders if Saru even realizes the level of panic he's causing. Murmuring begins among the crew assembled in the shuttle bay, some confused, some angry, and others just frightened. Under it all, he hears one noise louder than others - Paul's breath hitching - and his focus narrows in on him.
Sorry Keyla.
Saru's saying something about trusting the process, and he doesn't spare the attention to protest the lack of empathy and cowardice. Instead, he takes a half step back and shares a look with Paul, brushing the backs of their hands together. Paul's lips are pressed together and his expression seems calm, except his eyes are full of fear and he can feel the tension in his partner's body. He reaches for Paul's hand without looking, squeezing it tightly and releasing it. It's meant to be brief touch of reassurance while preserving professional behavior on duty such as it is, but Paul's hand returns a moment later, gripping his fiercely even as they both look straight ahead.
Hugh squeezes Paul's hand twice, runs his thumb over the side of his palm three times. It's their silent signal for I'm here, it'll be okay.
Paul jogs their hands, taps his pinky. I don't like this, the gesture says.
They're being called apart and Paul starts to move towards Tilly, but Hugh doesn't let go of his hand just yet, tugging him close enough that their shoulders bump.
"Hugh-?"
He leans in until he can speak right into Paul's ear, quietly enough that no one else will hear
"I won't let them take you away from me."
Two squeezes. Okay.
They let go of each other's hand, and Hugh straightens his uniform, pulling Dr. Culber's neutral face on.
Try me.
Notes:
Inspired by a conversation with FrozenMemories about the two-second shot of Hugh reaching for Paul's hand, and when camera pans back over they seem to have switched whose hand is on top.
Chapter 133: Superior, Part Two
Summary:
***SPOILERS FOR S3E5 ***
Companion piece to Paul's debriefing in Chapter 131.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"So you were...dead?"
Hugh crosses his arms, wearing the patronizing smile he perfected pushing back on Lorca's unreasonable demands.
"Yes. As I said."
"Clinically dead?"
He grits his teeth to keep from replying with a "is there another kind of dead?"
"Well, I was emotionally dead too,” he continues conversationally, “and I was murdered.”
Is he even paying attention?
“That can really do a number on you," he huffs a laugh, "but my murderer and I are good now."
“And who is your...murderer?”
”Oh. Well, technically he’s probably dead now since it’s been nine hundred years or so, so it’s more a matter of who was my murderer. That was a Klingon named Voq, but his lover had his entire body rebuilt to look like a human and grafted a consciousness onto it. Must have been painful. Broke every bone, reshaped his organs and everything. Looked like PTSD except for the part where he snapped my neck. It didn’t really hurt, at the time.”
The Lieutenant is the first to look away from Hugh’s bland stare, and he doesn’t pursue it any further.
“What is your relation to the spore drive?”
”I designed the augments our navigator uses to interface with the drive.”
“Are you ever called upon to perform maintenance on the augments?”
”Occasionally. Commander Stamets rarely requires it.”
Where is he going with this?
”Could they be reproduced in another human?”
”Sure, but they wouldn’t work.”
”Why is that?”
”Without tardigrade DNA or other hybridization to allow horizontal gene transfer, the normal and even abnormal human genetic structure would be insufficient to support the neural impulses necessary to navigate the mycelial network.”
”I see.”
Hugh doubts that.
”Would you consider your role critical?”
”Excuse me?”
”Could you train someone else on how these augments function and their upkeep?”
”No.”
”I’m sorry, Doctor?”
”I said, no. Why would I need to? They’re unique, and I’m...intimately familiar enough with Commander Stamets’ physiology to ensure they remain optimally operational.”
The implication sails right over the guy’s head.
“If Commander Stamets’ modifications are indeed essential for operation of the drive, he of course would remain with the ship. Your reassignment may be in a wholly different location.”
Doctor Culber tells him to stay professional, but Hugh sees an outlet to channel the pain of seeing Paul's fear. Inside his boots, Hugh’s toes curl so hard his right foot cramps as he manages to keep from informing Starfleet exactly what they can do.
Not sure Paul would be okay with sharing when he has exclusive rights to kiss my ass.
"They can't separate us."
He’s proud of keeping his voice level.
"Under Starfleet regulatio-"
"If they try, I'll resign my commission."
The awkward silence tells him that the Lieutenant clearly wasn’t expecting to hear that.
"And what would that do?"
Hugh adds a heavy dose of condescension to his voice.
"Read my file," he tilts his head to the side, infusing his words with patently false cheer, “are we done?”
His tone is sharp enough to shave with.
“...yes.”
”Enjoy the rest of your day, Lieutenant.”
Paul is going to have so much fun with them.
Notes:
Snark level 1000%
Chapter 134: Stay
Summary:
Fluffy fluff on one of the first mornings back together again.
Notes:
Inspired by the new promo images for S3E6 "Scavengers" at https://trekmovie.com/2020/11/16/preview-star-trek-discovery-episode-306-with-17-new-images-from-scavengers/. Contains images for the next episode.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
For the first time in a long time, Paul wakes up with the feeling of being watched without the tension of a fading nightmare. Instead, he hears a soft hum and warm fingers trail down his cheek before ruffling his hair.
"Good morning, sweetheart."
Sleep falls away and he opens his eyes to the most beautiful sight in the universe.
Hugh's smiling at him, not his signature toothy grin, but the gentle upward curve of his lips that crinkles the laugh lines beside his eyes and makes Paul feel like he's being bathed in sunlight.
"Good morning," he murmurs, voice rough with disuse, "what's that look for?"
"Just thinking how lucky I am, to wake up next to you."
Paul scrubs a hand over his eyes, suppressing a yawn.
"Mmm. Funny, I was thinking the same thing."
Hugh pushes himself up to sit with his hip against the pillow and leans down, lips pursing for a kiss, and Paul lets his eyes fall closed again.
And waits.
He peeks out from under his lashes to find Hugh's face hovering about six inches away, frowning.
"Hugh? What is it?"
A quirked eyebrow.
"We haven't brushed our teeth yet."
Oh.
It takes a moment to register, then Paul's kicking the covers down and climbing over him and off the other side of the bed, Hugh's hand firmly in his.
"Come on."
He doesn't even bother to shake down the pant leg that's ridden up above his calf, not stopping until they're at the sink. Hugh's eyes are full of fond amusement as Paul practically stuffs his toothbrush into his hand for him, but he doesn't speak again until they're done and rinsing.
"If I'd known that's what it takes, I'd have tried that one years ago."
It's a tease, because they both know full well he did try to no avail. Paul pauses, half-turned towards the facilities.
"It wouldn't have worked."
Hugh washes his face in silence, but Paul can feel the quizzical look as he finishes and washes his hands.
"Why now then?"
Catching Hugh's hand in his again, he pulls them back to bed. They settle on their respective sides, Paul slipping his legs back under the covers with a sigh.
"Because I didn't think that this," he rubs Hugh's thigh, "would ever be something...that you wouldn't be waiting for me to wake up. I know better and I'm not going to waste any of it now."
"Oh sweetheart..."
Hugh's hands cradle his face, lips parting, and Paul's eyes flutter shut as he leans in. The kiss is close-mouthed and firm, and they stay just like that for several heartbeats, breathing each other in. When they finally separate, Hugh curls his fingers around the hand fisted on his knee.
"I'm sorry I made you wait."
Paul caresses the back of Hugh's hand, fingers running over the knuckles.
"No more apologizing, remember?"
Hugh's other hand comes down on top, the weight warm and welcome.
"Goes for both of us, then. Do you want coffee?"
He shakes his head, squeezing their hands more tightly.
"Not yet. Can we just stay like this for a little while?"
"Like this? Or did you want to cuddle?"
Hugh's smile is back as Paul gives him a look.
"Don't ask stupid questions."
He climbs back under the covers as well, opening his arms for Paul to snuggle against his chest.
"Comfy?"
"Mmhmm."
"You're going back to sleep, aren't you?"
"Mmhmm."
Paul hums in contentment as Hugh kisses the crown of his head, beard catching in his hair.
"Okay. I'll be here when you wake up."
"Promise?"
Hugh wraps the duvet around their shoulders, hand slipping under Paul's shirt to rest on his hip.
"Promise."
**** Keep scrolling to see promo images below ****
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Images from promo photos for S3E6 "Scavengers".
Notes:
WE WILL NOT BE DISAPPOINTED.
Chapter 135: Stir
Notes:
Only the thinnest excuse for a plot :)
Chapter Text
Hugh’s dreaming, he’s sure of it. He’s surrounded by colors and sounds, senses jumbled, the air tasting of warmth and smelling of delight. Glimpses of things flicker across his field of vision like rapidly-changing holos: a rocky slope covered in moss, his grandmother’s coconut pudding, the pristine silver and white of Starfleet Medical, flushed cheeks and tousled blond hair. He’s wrapped in contentment, cozy with heat spreading down to his fingertips.
Everything fades away as he slowly blinks his eyes open against the lowered lights, the profusion of images coalescing into the neat grey lines of personal quarters on Discovery. Oddly, the feeling of tingling heat remains, carried over and even intensified now that he’s awake.
Fingers squeeze his wrist, and he looks down his body to find his pants around his ankles and a pair of sparkling blue eyes full of mischief above a mouth full of...well, full of Hugh.
“Hi.”
Paul releases him with a long lick, propping his chin on Hugh’s hip. His lips are pink and shiny with spit, and he gives Hugh a smile that says he’s very pleased with himself.
”Morning. I hope you don’t mind me starting on breakfast without you?”
It’s playful and full of innuendo, but there’s a silent question in Paul’s raised eyebrow.
Want me to stop?
(Hugh knows all it would take is the slightest indication that he’s not onboard - regardless of his body’s reaction - and Paul won’t continue. He might pout and tease Hugh later, but some things are sacred between them, and one of those is trust.)
”By all means,” he laces their fingers together, “please continue. I’d hate to deprive you of...sustenance.”
Paul’s smile widens, and he kisses the tip before getting back to work. His mouth is hot and wet and slippery, and when he starts humming Hugh gives up any attempt at rational thought and just enjoys the ride.
A few sweaty minutes later, Paul swallows the evidence of Hugh’s appreciation and shimmies back up his partner’s body. He looks a bit like a pleased cat, all smug and satisfied.
”Now that...is a good morning,” Hugh rasps out.
He tries to pull Paul in for a kiss, frowning when he plants a hand in the middle of Hugh’s chest.
”Can you brush your teeth first?”
Hugh’s mouth opens and closes a few times, trying to get his thoughts in order. Then-
“You’re sitting here with my cum on your chin, but I’m not allowed to kiss you until I brush my teeth?”
Paul wipes his chin with the back of his free hand, shrugging and using the sleeve of his pajama top to clean the rest off. He ducks to drop a kiss on Hugh’s cheek before deftly evading his lips and giving him a push towards the side of the bed.
”Yes.”
”The things I do for you,” he mutters in a stage whisper, grinning at the indignant noise behind him.
”You love me.”
Hugh pauses with a hand on the doorframe, looking back over his shoulder.
”Babe?”
”Hmmm?”
He eyes the unresolved issue in Paul’s lap.
”Keep yourself busy. I’ll be back to return the favor.”
Paul’s delighted laugh follows him into the bathroom as he reaches for his toothbrush.
Definitely a good start to our day off.
Chapter 136: Slumber Party
Summary:
*** SPOILERS FOR S3E6 ***
Scene expansion.
Notes:
She/her pronouns for Adira as spoken during the episode.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
*** Spoilers below for “Scavengers” ***
Paul’s already tucked in bed when Hugh goes to use the bathroom, distracted by his missing augments. He watches Paul’s reflection as he dries his hands, sees him rub the skin of his bare forearm over and over again in wonder.
”So we have Adira to thank for this?”
He doesn’t mean to sound skeptical, and thankfully Paul doesn’t seem to pick up on it.
”God, I hated those things,” he groans, pressing down on the freshly regenerated skin, stopping when Hugh gives him a look.
”I hated them more,” Hugh mutters, climbing onto the bed.
They might have been his design, but they’d been created of sheer necessity, not something either of them would ever have chosen.
”It’s amazing,” Paul murmurs as Hugh settles down at his side.
”And she’s only sixteen?”
His partner sighs, pushing up on his elbow, expression bemused.
”She trusted me, today.”
”And that’s bad why?”
Paul’s wearing an adorable little frown in response to Hugh’s teasing.
”Because I’ve never had time to be a tween’s confidante.”
”Paul,” he laughs, “she’s not going to invite you to her slumber party.”
For all his scientific brilliance, Paul was amazingly blind to the ways he managed to effortlessly do the very things he swore he didn’t know how to do. He was amazing with Hugh’s nieces and nephews and cousins, and they had adored their Tío Paul ever since Hugh brought him to visit the first time. Over the years, Paul patiently explained the physics behind building structurally sound pillow forts and calmly administered first aid to their scrapes; as they grew older, he helped with science projects. Hugh sometimes wondered how Paul could ever think he was bad with kids.
Paul curls their fingers together on Hugh’s knee, pensive.
”Why do you think you reached out to her today?”
”Because she’s brilliant, and seemed to have a hard time with people, or doing anything besides work.”
He absently plays with Hugh’s fingers while he speaks, running his index finger back and forth. As he listens, Hugh can’t help but compare it to how Paul used to talk about Tilly.
I wonder if he even realizes he’s already adopted her.
“Remind you of anyone?”
That earns him a smile. The affection banks down a moment later, something else flitting across Paul’s face. His fingers still, covering the back of Hugh’s hand.
”And...,” Paul seems to be searching for the right words, “because she loved someone who died and isn’t gone.”
Hugh nods, can feel Paul willing him to understand when he himself isn’t even sure what he’s trying to say.
”I never, ever, thought I’d meet anyone who knew what that was like. And I guess...I’m grateful to her. And I want to help her, somehow. She has no idea.”
Hugh smooths his hand over Paul’s hair, thumb stroking his cheek and fingers curved around the back of his neck.
”So tell her.”
He’s missed these conversations in bed together, quiet moments where no matter everything else, they remembered to just be Paul and Hugh to each other. Living together again is still settling in, but this is something that hasn’t changed. Leaning forward, he seals it with a kiss, hands cradling Paul’s head.
I love this impossible man so much.
Paul makes an inquisitive noise when Hugh pushes his sleeves up again, kissing over the unbroken skin where the augments used to reside. He lingers there for a few breaths, erasing their intrusion from Paul’s lovely pale arms. When he’s satisfied, he slips under the covers as well, ordering the lights off.
Wordlessly directing Paul to roll onto his side with a hand on his shoulder, Hugh spoons up behind him. They tend to do the reverse more often, but he can’t help but respond to the remembered pain in Paul's voice with a desire to soothe and protect.
“Hugh?”
”Hmm?”
”Thank you.”
He kisses the back of Paul’s neck, burying his nose in the short hairs there.
”For what?”
”Just...for listening.”
Hugh tightens his arms, smiling.
”Always, sweetheart.”
Notes:
First, canon confirmation that I’ve been writing Hugh and Paul on “their” sides of the bed correctly? I’m dead.
Second...WTF, the promos teased us with a Culmets kiss but we didn’t get it onscreen?!?
Frankly, they spent way too long on the Burnham/Book kiss (nice, but did we really need that many angles? Michaels track record with romance is *terrible*). And if that’s a reason they cut the Culmets kiss, well...yeah.
I loved the bedroom scene. On so many levels. The tenderness and vulnerability was off the charts, and the sheer domesticity makes my heart flutter.
But I feel cheated of that beautiful kiss, and disappointment is interfering with my enjoyment of the minute and a half of Culmets we did get. I wrote it back in, but it’s not quite the same.
Rant over. For now.
EDIT 11/19 AM: Anthony just replied (!) to a tweet of mine expressing disappointment and said that it was a quick kiss and he was surprised to see it as a promo because it was misleading about its significance.
Chapter 137: Space
Summary:
Hugh moves back in.
Notes:
Set before S3E6, possibly during the three weeks of retrofitting done on Discovery.
Chapter Text
"Is this...everything?"
The doors swish closed behind him and Hugh pauses in setting down the last crate.
"...yes?"
"Oh."
He straightens to find Paul standing a few feet away, fingers fidgeting at his sides.
"What is it?"
"Nothing-" Paul winces at Hugh's look, "I just. I thought there'd be more."
Hugh surveys the space between them - three crates, his duffel bag, and a folded throw sit innocuously at his feet.
"Most of it's back in storage," he shrugs, unsure if he ought to be concerned or annoyed, "I didn't throw it out, if that's what you're-"
Paul shakes his head immediately.
"No, that's not what...of course I didn't mean that."
The fidgeting increases, and he steps over the pile to catch Paul's hands in his own, stilling the restless fingers.
"Then what?"
He frowns as Paul chews his lip, looking down.
I know that look.
"Paul, talk to me. Tell me what's going on. Please."
"I don't know," Paul addresses their feet, "the reminder maybe? I- I can't explain it."
Oh.
Hugh bumps their noses together gently, waiting until Paul raises his head.
"It's reminding you of me...moving out."
"Yeah."
There's not much else he can say to that, but there is something he can do about it. He kisses Paul's cheek, then lets go of one hand and takes a step back towards his things, tugging Paul along with him.
"Come on."
"Hugh?"
The confused frown makes him want to smile, but it's probably not appropriate right now.
"Let's make a better memory. Help me unpack?"
Comprehension dawns in Paul's eyes, and he nods.
"Sure."
********
It takes all of about fifteen minutes before Hugh collapses the crates and tosses his now-empty duffel back onto the top shelf of the wardrobe. Hugh ignores the tightness in his chest when he sets out mementos again, their spaces still empty. He makes sure to be occupied sorting things into his nightstand drawer in order to let Paul put away his off-duty clothes in the dresser. And he pretends not to notice the way Paul's fingers linger, smoothing over the seams as he hangs Hugh's medical whites in the closet next to his own uniforms.
At last, he comes to stand at Paul's side, gazing into the open wardrobe. It, like the dresser, is full again, no longer unbalanced by missing things. He thinks that maybe he'll move his stuff around eventually, but having them where they both remember is a comfort.
"You left space for me."
Paul blinks back to awareness, turning to look at him.
"Hmm?"
"I thought you might have...I don't know. Rearranged. No-" he squeezes Paul's hand, "I'm not talking about the process of grief. I just, wasn't expecting everything to be the same."
"Well. I did take over your underwear drawer, but I moved it all back to mine last night."
It's said quietly, and while he appreciates the humor, he appreciates Paul's honesty more. He can't resist a gentle tease in return, though.
"Are they actually folded?"
Paul's side-eye is mostly affectionate with only a little bit of lingering unease.
"No."
The of course not goes unsaid, and Hugh smiles at that, wrapping his arm around Paul's waist and feeling Paul's settle around his shoulders. Silence reigns between them for a couple of minutes, comfortable and contemplative.
"Thank you."
"For?"
"Letting me...fit back into your life."
Paul turns to face him fully, bringing his other arm up to pull Hugh into a hug and kissing him softly.
"We've both changed. That's what you were trying to tell me, right? We needed to change and grow, and I understand that now."
Hugh glances around their quarters again. This time he sees the changes - they're small, easily overlooked as he just did, but present nonetheless. Paul's switched the arrangement of chrono and PADDs on his own nightstand, moved holos and trinkets. Even though he's left the spaces where Hugh's things went mostly untouched, there's a different lamp on the desk, a few new sets of off-duty clothes folded on top of the dresser.
He does.
He can feel Paul watching him, waiting for him to finish his survey.
"Me too."
"But the parts of you that I love," his arms tighten around Hugh, "the things that truly make you who you are? Those are the same, and those are the parts that we know how to make fit."
"The mycelia have grown, but it still starts in the same place?"
For a moment, Paul looks surprised at the metaphor, then he laughs in delight.
"Yes. Exactly."
"I do listen when you're talking about your mushrooms," Hugh adds, smiling.
Paul laughs again, then leans in for another kiss, this one slower and sweet.
"Welcome home, dear doctor."
Chapter 138: Secret
Summary:
Hugh's grandmother post- "Such Sweet Sorrow".
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Four and a half months after Discovery was lost with all hands, Aida is in her study when the door chime goes off.
"Identify visitor."
The ID comes through and she raises an eyebrow.
Interesting.
She sighs, guiding her antigrav chair to the front door and touching the door panel. It swishes open a moment later, and she looks up with a stern expression at the man in a gold and black uniform standing at attention.
"Professor, I-"
"Captain Christopher Pike, of the U.S.S. Enterprise. What are you doing here?"
He blinks in surprise but recovers a moment later. Instead of offense at the demand, his posture softens minutely and a slow smile spreads over his face.
"Professor, may I come in?"
Aida nods, turning to lead him into the living room.
"May I get you something, Captain?"
Pike sits on the edge of the couch, hands clasped in his lap.
"That's very kind ma'am, but no thank you."
She studies him, not bothering to hide her scrutiny.
"So. Have you something new to tell me about the..." she clenches the arm of the chair to steady her voice, "the loss of my grandsons?"
"Grandsons? I thought I understood that Doctor Hugh Culber is- was, yours."
"Hugh, yes. And his Paul."
Something infinitely sad but hopeful flickers over Pike's face, there and gone in an instant.
"I see."
"Well?"
Pike sighs, glancing down at his boots for a moment. Her eyes land on one holo of dozens adorning the mantle, Lieutenant Junior Grade Doctor Hugh Culber in his medical whites, Aida kissing his cheek after the commissioning ceremony.
Gone.
"Nothing new, per se. But I do...I was Captain of the Discovery for several months until her final mission, as you know."
"Yes. And I know the mission was classified, and they're blaming a catastrophic failure of an experiment involving Paul's drive. Which," she fixes him with a look, "is preposterous. That man wouldn't let a lab experiment fail without thorough analysis, let alone an accident on a starship. So. Are you here to tell me what Starfleet is covering up, or to remind me again of my duty as a citizen of the Federation to remain silent on any details shared with me?"
He flinches just a little, and she shakes her head, holding a hand out.
"Forgive an old woman's grief, Captain."
"There's no need to apologize. While I can't confirm your suspicions, you would know Commander Stamets far better than I had the privilege."
Pike follows her gaze to the mantle, head tilted to the side.
"I buried him once," Aida sighs, "Paul sat with him, you know. All night, so he wasn't alone. I wanted to bring him and Paul home again, after. For them to be together. But there weren’t any bodies.”
"I'm sorry. Doctor Culber told me they spent fourteen years together."
"They should have had decades."
"Professor," Pike gently takes her hand, "I...while I can't tell you exactly what happened, I wanted to ask- do you believe in taking a leap of faith?"
It's an unexpected question, but there doesn't seem to be any ulterior motive. He waits for her nod before continuing.
"I brought something for you. I can't let you keep it, but I think you'll want to see it. It needs to be kept in strictest confidence, ma'am. I can't explain why, but it's vital that you not speak of it to anyone."
"Captain Pike," she smiles, "you don't strike me as someone who readily breaks the rules."
"Your grandson, grandsons, wer- are extraordinary men."
"That's not an answer, Captain."
"No, I suppose it isn't."
His smile tucks itself into a dimple, and she can't help but be charmed by it. He reaches into his utility bag, pulls out a PADD and taps in a series of access codes before tossing a holo recording into the air in front of the couch. Aida is very glad of her chair in that moment.
"Begin playback," Pike murmurs.
The image of Hugh, frozen with a tremulous smile, begins to speak.
"Hi Abuelita. I- I love you. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you this in person. We're...leaving. And I don't know that we can ever come back. Tracy- heh, Tracy said to tell you she'll look after me. Tell Mama and Dad that I love them, so much. And- I think I might have another chance. With Paul. I...I couldn't not try. I have to go now, but just...please don't worry about me. Thank you for everything, for always being there for me when I needed you. I'm going to miss you so much. I love you, Abuelita."
The holographic Hugh blows a kiss before the recording ends, but she can barely see it through the tears filling her eyes.
"A- again, please."
Pike offers neither platitudes or questions, nodding silently as he plays the recording for her twice more. She stares into the holographic Hugh's eyes, his voice washing over her, trying to memorize each detail of his beloved face.
"You knew Doctor Pollard."
His voice is quiet, respectful. She dabs at her cheeks, still staring at Hugh.
"Most people are lucky to have one truly faithful friend or a partner in all senses of the word. My Hugh had both."
Pike gently takes her other hand, not squeezing or shaking, but simply holding it.
"I'm sorry I can't let you keep this."
"It is enough to see it. I- thank you Captain. I apologize for my earlier rudeness."
Pike's smile returns, and he shakes his head.
"You had every right. I can see where Doctor Culber gets it from, and I mean that as a compliment in every sense."
"I will take it as such."
"Would you like to see it again?"
She raises her hand, closing her eyes as her fingers pass through Hugh's ghostly form.
"No. Thank you, for bringing my grandsons home."
"It was my privilege, Professor."
"Aida."
"Pardon?"
"You're a good man, Christopher Pike. My name is yours to use."
"I'm honored, Aida."
She sees him out, then floats back into the living room. Pike hadn't said so much as what was implied in his silences, but it's more than she thought she would live to hear. She picks up the holo from the table, turning the frame in her hands. In it, the cliffs of Cabo Rojo are illuminated in a fiery sunset, serving as a backdrop to Hugh and Paul sitting out on the back deck together, sharing the swing. The holo captured them turning to her with identical looks of surprise, probably being called in for dinner, Hugh cuddled into Paul's side and fingers entwined.
Love.
Aida kisses the frame and smiles.
Notes:
Companion to Chapter 69 of When Sorrow Turns to Joy.
Spock's log at the end of "Such Sweet Sorrow, Part Two" indicates it's been 120 days since Discovery's disappearance. Given that Pike was taking Enterprise out, I wanted to give him a couple of weeks to make it back to Earth. Also, I got to thinking that it's all fine and well to order Starfleet officers never to speak about Discovery, but what about their friends and family? Left purposely vague, but I had to include Aida knowing something was being hidden even if she wasn't sure what it might be.
I love writing Aida, but this is the first time I've tried to write directly from her perspective and not filtered through Hugh or Paul. Let me know what you think?
Chapter 139: Skills
Summary:
***SPOILERS FOR S3E7 “Unification III”***
Paul tells Hugh about Tilly’s news.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The doors swish open and, as has been happening with great and wondrous frequency lately, he still isn’t prepared for the joy blanketing him at the sight of Hugh in their quarters.
You thought you’d lost him forever.
Twice.
Three times.
Shaking his head, Paul lets the doors close behind him and surveys the room.
The lights are at half, viewports partially opaqued, and the air is filled with the delicious smell of a freshly showered Hugh. He’s minorly disappointed to not have a chance to share that shower, but it’s more than made up for at the sight in front of him.
Hugh is sprawled across the bed on his stomach, staring intently at something on his PADD. He’s already in his pajamas, and Paul doesn’t bother controlling the urge to stare at the slope of his shoulders, tipping his head to the side to further admire the sleep pants faithfully draped over his shapely backside. His partner is also muttering to himself, but that trails off when he notices Paul standing there.
”Hi babe, you’re home early?”
”Mmhmm,” Paul bends down for a quick kiss hello, “told you I wasn’t working late nights.”
Something flickers across Hugh’s face, there and gone again between blinks. Quirking his lips, he drops to his knees next to the bed, putting them at the same level so Hugh doesn’t have to keep craning his head up.
“I know when I said that before, I didn’t do a very good job of keeping my promises.”
”You’ve changed.”
It’s not an accusation at all.
”I had my priorities in the wrong order.”
Setting the PADD aside, Hugh shifts his weight to one elbow and reaches out to tug Paul closer for another kiss.
”I could have done a better job of being less passive aggressive about it.”
“We’re both doing better at that, I think.”
Hugh rolls onto his back and scoots over, patting the duvet beside him. Taking the hint, Paul pulls off his boots and sits next to him. Unzipping his jacket, he tosses it onto a chair and unbuttons his pants before snuggling into Hugh’s side.
”So how was your day, sweetheart?”
“Well. Tilly wanted my opinion on something, and I’m not sure being honest was the best approach.”
He groans as Hugh’s fingers find their way into his hair, scratching gently.
”What’s ‘something’?”
”Saru is trying to fill the first officer spot.”
”Did she hear who the candidates are?”
”Just one.”
A thoughtful hum and the fingers still in thought until Paul pushes his head against Hugh’s hand to remind him to resume his petting.
”Who? And what opinion did you give her that you’re worried about?”
”I told her it would be really weird to take orders from her as my superior officer.”
Hugh freezes mid-scratch.
”...wait. Saru asked Tilly to be his first officer?”
”Mmhmm.”
”And your response was that you’d have a hard time seeing her in that position.”
”No, I didn’t say that, I just think it would be really strange, not that I didn’t think she wouldn’t make a good first officer.”
”But not yet?”
He ignores Paul’s pointed nudges, and Paul sighs when it’s apparent that Hugh’s too distracted to engage in idle petting.
”I didn’t say that either. I mean of course she’d need more training, but it’s...Tilly.”
”So?”
”Hugh, she’s half my age.”
”Do you think she’s not qualified?”
”I don’t know?”
Hugh rolls onto his side so they’re face to face.
”Okay. Would you trust her with your life?”
”What’s that got to do with it? Of course I would. I have already.”
“Does she stay calm in stressful situations and manage to think clearly?”
Paul chuckles.
”Did you just ask me to describe Tilly as calm?”
”You know what I meant.”
He untangles his hand from Paul’s hair, but before he can complain, Hugh’s shoving the same hand up his shirt to scratch his back.
“Mmmm...you have all night to stop that.”
”You didn’t answer the question.”
”Yes, she thinks clearly. Brilliantly and creatively, too.”
”And is she fair? Responsible? Familiar with the standards of Starfleet protocols?”
“Usually, and probably to a fault.”
“Well, sounds like first officer material to me.”
Hugh’s right, but-
”I hate it when you do that.”
“What? Ask you questions until you’ve answered your own?”
”That.”
”No you don’t.”
He pecks Hugh on the lips again, shaking his head.
”Should I tell Detmer and Owo and everyone? I’m not sure what they’ll think, but she’s going to need the support of the bridge crew to pull it off. Tilly didn’t say not to tell anyone else.”
”It can’t hurt then.”
Paul nods, combining the gesture with a nuzzle.
”I’ll message them in the morning, in case Tilly talks to anyone tonight.”
”Mmm. I always knew you were smart and not just pretty.”
Hugh emphasizes the statement by pinching Paul’s ass, grinning at his mock frown.
”Only for you.”
The next kiss lingers a bit longer, until Hugh elbows the PADD and yelps in surprise.
”What did you want to do tonight? Could watch a holo, or I’ve got a couple of reports to read if you’re going to do work.”
Stretching luxuriously, Paul sits up and lets Hugh retrieve his hand.
”I should shower. Thinking we could forget about work and go to bed early?”
Hugh drops the PADD on his nightstand and smiles.
”Are you propositioning me, Doctor Stamets?”
”Think I’m too tired for that tonight, Hugh,” he admits, “raincheck?”
”Snuggles?”
”Definitely.”
”Go on then,” he shoos Paul off the bed, “I’ll warm up the sheets for you.”
“Mmm. Can’t think of a better offer.”
Notes:
As always, disappointed when Hugh doesn’t appear in an episode, so I just wrote him in on my own :)
Chapter 140: Shift
Chapter Text
It isn’t until Tilly is in the shower, of all places, mentally stumbling back over the surreal turn of events that it hits her. She stops with her hand halfway to the shampoo, the thoughts running in multiple directions coming back together into one.
Huh.
Aside from Saru’s out of the blue request, there’s something else flitting at the edge of her mind. Dispensing the shampoo and working it into suds in her curls, she narrows her eyes and carefully considers the evidence.
Once is remarkable but no guarantee of change, twice could be coincidental, but she’s fairly certain she’s seen more than three occurrences from Stamets of him being...well, nice isn’t the right word. Not exactly.
First there was the war, and the stress of dealing with Lorca, that introduced her to him as a brilliant scientist with a short temper for incompetence and a painstaking attention to detail. She’d been intimidated by him, but seemed to have passed some sort of test because he never called her stupid like he did with most of the others. They’d grown closer making all of those jumps - Stamets insisted Tilly be the one at the spore console - and she’d seen flashes of it when he talked about Dr. Culber.
Then, after Dr. Culber died, Stamets’ grief was palpable, and she could only imagine how the suffocating weight of it must feel for him. He’d been obsessed with work, barely sleeping or eating as far as she could tell. When the war ended (and Lorca taken out of the picture), it felt like he was a shadow of a man, present but untethered with all of the things that made him himself washed out.
Tilly rinses her hair and flips the shower to mist, leaning back on the wall and closing her eyes.
When they shipped back out on the run to Vulcan that ultimately ended up with Captain Pike and his mission, she’d been shocked to find that he intended to leave Discovery and abandon the spore drive. That more than anything told her how deeply wounded he was, retreating to an even further emotional distance that she could only sometimes bridge. He’d let her take care of him in small ways, but he’d shrunk in on himself, slamming shut all the doors just beginning to open.
After being kidnapped, transported to the mycelial network, and rescued together with Stamets’ not-so-dead partner, she didn’t think she’d ever seen Stamets smile so much. That was quickly lost again though, as he walked the ship with a different kind of detachment. It was harder to watch than the first bout of grief, honestly, because Dr. Culber was alive and she - along with everyone else on the ship - expected him and Stamets to be joyously reunited with nothing but happiness. Instead, she found herself with someone who seemed to eat and sleep even less than before. He felt empty, drained, and she’d hated seeing them apart when it was obvious that they needed each other more than ever.
She’d brought him to the medbay unsure if he would be alive the next time she saw him. Tilly had no idea Dr. Culber had stayed, not until she found him supporting Stamets on the way to the transporter room. Seeing them holding hands, well, she saved those tears of relief and excitement to mix with the ones on hugging Michael.
In this strange future, Stamets felt better and yet not, snapping at her suggestion of a dark matter coherent resonator in a way he never had directed at her before. Then there was that horrible dinner of Saru’s, the accusations and yelling that reminded her far too much of growing up and listening to her parents tear each other down over the table. He’d apologized to her, and ever since it was like the ballooning tension in him - in all of them - had popped, revealing someone she wasn’t sure she’d ever really met.
Stamets now is...softer isn’t quite the right word. Less snappish, the tightness in his shoulders relaxing into a slump that she hadn’t thought his spine capable of. There’s a lightness about him, more smiles for her and Adira in a few days than she’s seen from him in months. He seems to be present and grounded, focused on his science in a way that still leads to frustration but not the same sort of sharp and spiky irritability she’d gotten used to.
Being around him and Dr. Culber these days too, the first morning he’d walked into Engineering in more than a year with a love bite peeking over his collar, she’d stuffed her head into the guts of one of the consoles just so he didn’t see her grinning like a maniac.
Is this the real Stamets, she muses, the way he was before the war, before everything?
She sees now, more of the man Dr. Culber probably fell in love with, and she sees why. The curious scientist, idiosyncratic and obsessive, but with good humor. He’s much more easily willing to praise and encourage, the perpetual frown between his brows eased. And after his initial less-than-ideal reaction when she talked to him about her quandary yesterday, he’d organized their friends to offer their support en masse, offering sincere support and gentle teasing.
Also hugs. She’s not sure she can get used to those. Especially when she can smell Dr. Culber’s cologne on his cheek.
Anyway.
They’re all different now, herself included, but it feels like they’re probably going to be okay.
Notes:
So this is pretty much me stream-of-consciousness musing about Paul’s character development. ‘Development’ seems less descriptive than healing, maybe, but I really love Season Three Paul and the softer, sweeter side we’re seeing. It feels like more of who Anthony seems to be, and thus Stamets is more of ‘himself’ because of that.
Chapter 141: Sanguine
Summary:
Keyla goes to the medbay.
Chapter Text
Her ears are still ringing, the sounds of voices and equipment buzzing with a strange metallic echo, as she stumbles down the corridors towards the medbay. Keyla’s not sure if the ship is listing, or if it’s her balance, because she keeps finding herself moving off course and bumping into bulkheads she thought she was far enough away from. There’s a steady stream of people going to and from the medbay, the walking wounded like herself and others being wheeled in. No one seems to pay her any mind, too busy stabilizing limbs and running scans.
She squints in the blue glow of emergency lights, vision doubling, but spots a familiar face in the corridor. Well, a familiar body - no one else in medical whites is built quite like Dr. Culber - with his back half turned to her. He’ll tell her what’s wrong with her head and fix it, right?”
“Do-“ she clears her throat and tries again, “Doctor C?”
The deck wobbles again, this time seemingly for everyone as she hears noises of surprise, and she closes her eyes against the nauseating roll.
”Keyla?”
“My head,” she says in his general direction, “I-“
”Keyla, go on in, someone can help you in just a minute.”
”But, can...why can’t you?”
”Detmer?”
Her eyes pop back open. That sounded an awful lot like Stamets, but he should be in Engineering...
She shakes her head to clear it, which is obviously a mistake since it makes her temples throb. When she focuses again, it’s to find Dr. Culber now turned to face her, Stamets cradled in his arms as if he weighs nothing. For his part, Stamets is shirtless - did she ever realize he was paler than her under that uniform? - with a nasty, jagged red scar swooping across his left pectoral.
“What...happened?”
”Shrapnel,” Dr. Culber frowns, and she watches him heft Stamets a little higher. His head is lolling against a blood-streaked white uniform, but she sees the way his hands cling to the doctor’s shoulders.
”Is- wha...I don’t. Can’t, feel weird.”
Dr. Culber and Stamets are both staring at her now. They all stagger as the ship groans again, and Stamets cries out when someone passing by bumps his side.
“Shhh, it’s okay.”
Another jolt. Stamets whimpers, pushing his face into Dr. Culber’s neck.
”Keyla,” his voice is gentle but there’s an undertone of impatience that she hasn’t heard from the doctor before, “I’ve got my hands full, and I need to get him taken care of. Go on in, Zarrin can make sure you’re okay and probably patch you up.”
”...okay?”
He gives her a tight smile and turns away, but not before she sees him press his lips to Stamets’ forehead.
But they weren’t even talking? Why’s he being so- why can’t he...?
”Detmer,” Zarrin’s gripping her upper arm, peering at her with concern, “can you hear me?”
”Head hurts.”
A scanner hums by her ear and she flinches.
”Sorry. Should be clear - no concussion. Nasty cut though.”
Keyla swallows down another wave of nausea, palms clammy when she clenches her hands shut.
”Can you fix it?”
Zarrin gives her a smile, but she’s already looking over Keyla’s shoulder.
”Can’t, all the charged regens are being used. I’m running neuro tests, but someone can get that taken care of.”
Why won’t anyone help me?
She staggers forward at Zarrin’s nudge, arms wrapped around herself to keep her elbows from getting in someone’s way amidst the bustle. Alarms are going off, voices raised in pain, and it’s almost too much. There’s a quieter space in the corner past an empty biobed, and she heads towards it.
It takes her by surprise when her boot goes out from under her, sliding through something slippery on the deck.
“Whoa!” that’s Nilsson, catching her by the shoulders, “careful.”
Keyla frowns at the reddish-brown streaks under her feet.
“...what? Is that...blood?”
”Yeah, unfortunately.”
”Who?”
It looks like an awful lot, even as two cleaning drones swoop in and start a sanitizing sweep.
”Stamets,” Nilsson sighs, “he’s okay though.”
The blue shimmer makes another pass over the puddle.
”Keyla?”
”What?”
”I need to go help, are you okay?”
”I- okay?”
Nilsson squeezes her shoulder and is off again. No one else seems to notice her, moving around her as if she’s a piece of equipment. Her head is starting to buzz again, but she can’t stop staring at the floor, at the blood spilled over it.
Even the drones can’t clean it all up.
Notes:
I wanted to give a little insight into why Keyla chose Paul as her target at the disastrous dinner in episode four. She’s clearly very disoriented by the injury, enough that she doesn’t understand why no one seems to want to help her right then. Everything - Hugh’s seeming dismissal, Zarrin and Nilsson telling her they’re needed elsewhere, etc. - fixates in that moment, and boils over later.
Chapter 142: Starbase 12
Summary:
Hugh’s put in charge of the medical unit on Starbase 12 during the war.
Chapter Text
There’s a hundred, a thousand places Hugh would rather be right now, and nowhere else in the universe at the same time.
Around him, alarms and life support equipment and the sounds of surgery blend with the pained cries of the wounded. Too many patients, the neat wards set up two months ago overflowing and untidy. Not unsanitary, but the constant activity and turnover means there’s never a chance to return to quiet.
Starbase 12 is far closer to the front lines than Hugh wants to be. It’s also where he’s needed, the medical facility in his charge, his thirty-four staff fighting against time and the limits of physiological endurance to heal thousands of victims of this senseless war. Medical frigates, battered starships, and civilian vehicles alike crowd the base’s docking ring, offloading wounded and taking on what minimal supplies remain. If any of the Captains or indeed, the Admirals, onboard object to being snapped at by a Lieutenant Commander to please get out of the way, sir, no one’s dared complain to his face.
He’s been on his feet for thirty hours, sustained on nutrient drinks and protein cubes choked down with coffee. The influx of patients has slowed - it never, ever, stops - and his head nurse has just shoved him at the quietest corner and told him to sleep for two hours. Hugh knows better than to argue with her, and sinks to the deck with a groan. Making his way to his quarters is a waste of time he could be sleeping, the same as the rest of his staff. It’s precious little time, and he intends to make the most of it.
His medical whites are liberally covered in blood and other substances, and he shucks off the jacket without a second thought, transferring his badge to his waist and folding the fabric into a compact bundle. Inside out, the worst of the mess is hidden, and it will have to do for a pillow. To his right, T’Vala opens her eyes, even her serene Vulcan expression during meditation fraying a little at the edges. She’s been awake for fifty hours, a feat that would leave any human on the edge of collapse.
“Hugh.”
”Hi.”
T’Vala looks him up and down, then shifts over and hands him the folded blanket she’s been sitting on.
”I’m okay.”
”Refusing something that will enable you to take better rest is illogical.”
The arched brow says more than anything, and he accepts the offered item. Curling up under it, he puts his back to the wall and wedges his folded jacket under his head. He breathes in deeply, trying to force his muscles to relax when he feels too exhausted even to sleep.
As he shifts, Paul’s Academy ring on its chain slides down to his shoulder, and he wraps his fingers around it automatically. The metal is body-warm, solid, comforting.
“T’Vala?”
”I am here.”
Hugh doesn’t open his eyes or pull the blanket off his face, but he’d bet on her giving him a disapproving look for being awake.
”Is it illogical to worry about the safety of the shipyards at Utopia Planitia?”
”Yes.”
”Right.”
”It is not, however,” T’Vala continues, “illogical to be concerned with the safety of your mate given the situation.”
”I keep thinking, the Klingons could attack and he could be any of the patients brought in here. Or one who doesn’t make it,” Hugh swallows against the fear rising in his throat, “and I won’t know until it’s too late.”
Surprisingly, he doesn’t get a reminder that it’s out of his control. Instead, she’s silent for a moment before replying.
”You would know.”
”...how?”
“Your bond remains intact.”
This time, he does pull the blanket down to look up at her.
”I might be learning meditation, but I hate to remind you that I’m human and my psi-score is nowhere above average. I wish I had that sort of a telepathic link right now. I wish I knew what he was thinking even when we are together.”
”The depth of your connection does not require a mind link, and your physiology would not permit it. However, having observed your mutual dedication for several years, I can conclude that your sense of Paul remains correct.”
“Still not Vulcan.”
”There is a place in your mind where he resides.”
”I don’t-“
”You require sleep, Hugh. We may continue this conversation at a more opportune time.”
”But-“
“You would know were that bond to be broken. It is illogical to argue against a fact. Sleep, I will wake you in one point eight five hours.”
T’Vala’s eyes are closed, but she merely reaches over and covers his head again.
Hugh turns his focus inwards, opening the vault in his heart marked ‘Paul’ and carefully surrounding himself in memories of his love. Their warmth buffers him against the reality of war, and he can no longer resist the needs of his body.
He sleeps.
Notes:
As referenced in When Sorrow Turns to Joy, in my take on canon, Hugh is made a temporary CMO to oversee the Starbase 12 medical facility during the war. He's accompanied by his Vulcan friend and fellow doctor T'Vala who, along with Tracy, has been subjected to far too much Culmets over the years to think that their relationship is anything but profound.
Chapter 143: Space (Dads)
Chapter Text
It’s 0037 when Hugh makes it down to Engineering. He and Tracy still haven’t been able to pinpoint the cause of Georgiou’s...condition, but there’s nothing else either of them can do except let the computer keep running sims and get some sleep themselves.
Paul’s blinking blearily, jacket unzipped, and Hugh resists the urge to slip his hands underneath and pull his partner into his arms while they’re technically still in uniform. He’s wearing a gentle smile, pride radiating from him as he heaps praise on Adira’s work. They’re passed out over a console, a reminder that they’re still so very young indeed.
Dimples showing, Paul tugs his jacket off and drapes it over Adira’s shoulders. Hugh remembers him doing the same for Hugh’s niece, fallen asleep over the science fair project “Tio Paul” was helping her finish, and his heart swells with affection at the gesture. Then as now, Paul’s eyes shine with a certain proprietary satisfaction, a need to show off their work to Hugh with excitement. Even more than Tilly, Adira is bringing out the patient, nurturing side of his partner that he’s only been able to witness rarely.
He’s made for this.
Although he’d argued for them not to be disturbed, he’s glad of it when Adira stirs and makes their way out of Engineering after bidding them a goodnight. It’s just him and Paul left, the ever-present hum of equipment nearly inaudible with augmented technology.
”Pride,” he teases gently, “it suits you.”
Paul tips his head to the side, the corners of his mouth turned up in a sweet smile that makes Hugh fall in love with him all over again for the millionth time.
”Is that your professional opinion?”
The husky, playful tone still makes his stomach flip all these years later.
“Board certified,” he grins, leaning forward to meet Paul’s lips with a quick kiss.
Surrendering to temptation, he slides his hand under the hem of Paul’s undershirt, giving his bare waist a squeeze. With his other hand, he gestures grandly at the stairs.
”Shall we, Commander?”
“After you, Doctor.”
Hugh walks up the stairs first, the nearly empty corridor echoing with his steps.
“They may be something, sweetheart, but you’re one of a kind.”
”Yeah?”
”My kind.”
Waiting for the turbolift, Paul turns to face him, free hand stealing up to caress his cheek.
”All yours.”
It’s past midnight, so he doesn’t think anyone is going to care if he and Paul are holding hands all the way back to their quarters.
”Come on, Mister I’m Terrible With Kids.”
Paul doesn’t protest otherwise. It might be exhaustion, but Hugh thinks his smile says everything.
Notes:
Okay, watching our SpaceBoos become SpaceDads? I am dead.
I was so worried this episode wasn’t going to give us any Culmets based on the preview and promo photos. Literally squeaked at that kiss. This is the content that makes my heart happy!
Read the prologue to this in Chapter 145, which tells the story of Paul with Hugh's niece.
Chapter 144: So...
Notes:
Dialogue-only bit of naughty fluff based on the first five lines during a conversation with my bestie :D
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Hey Hugh?"
"Yeah, babe?"
"Umm. So I want to try this thin- what are you doing?"
"Getting naked."
"I didn't even tell you what it is yet."
"Do we have to have clothes on for it?"
"...no."
"I hope it doesn't involve anything that's going to sprain your ankle this time?"
"That was an accident!"
"Explaining that to Tilly while I was carrying you to the medbay was awkward."
"Yeah. Anyway..."
"Computer, privacy protocol. Do not disturb."
"Acknowledged."
"So, tell me more?"
"How am I supposed to think when you're doing that?"
"Sorry."
"Uh huh."
"Focus, sweetheart, I want to hear this."
"I'm going to sit on your hands if you don't stop."
"Promise?"
"Next time."
"Mmm. Okay."
"So..."
Notes:
Imagine this level of comfort in a relationship.
Chapter 145: Space (Dads), Prologue
Notes:
A little backstory for the moment with Hugh's niece mentioned in Chapter 143 "Space (Dads)".
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Nella, how are things go-"
"Shhh."
Hugh is pulled up short by Paul waving his hand in a quelling motion, taking a step back so Hugh can see past him. At the kitchen table, his niece Antonella is fast asleep with the soil sampler still clutched in her hand, Paul's sweater draped over her shoulders. In front of her, the nutrient extraction project she's working on for the science fair sits under growth lights, a series of hand-scribbled notes visible on the PADD under her elbow.
He'd brought Paul home for a couple of weeks around Christmas, and as usual, Antonella was inseparable from Tío Paul once he started talking about plant growth. Hugh's pretty sure her linguistics and resonance dynamics parents have nothing to do with her current obsession with all things botany. She'd dragged Paul off to see her project three hours ago, leaving Hugh in front of the fireplace with his grandmother. Aida hadn't said anything, but her smile widened the moment Nella grabbed Paul's hand.
****
"Those kids barely say hi to me at the holidays now," he laughs, no complaint in his voice at all, "they just want Paul."
Aida refills both of their mugs, wiping up a drip of cider from the table.
"He's good with children."
"He doesn't think so."
They both turn towards the kitchen as Nella's voice rises excitedly, followed by Paul only marginally less so.
"Remember what you told me about what you thought he should be doing?"
"...yes? A professo- oh."
Paul really ought to be teaching, more than just the interns in the lab.
"He'd make a good father."
"Was that a hint?"
"Of course not, just an observation."
Hugh watches the steam rise off his drink, eyes gone distant.
"Someday."
****
"So, Doctor Stamets," Hugh is careful to whisper, "how is the project going?"
Paul grins, beaming with unmistakable pride.
"Your niece is going to make a great scientist. She's-"
An alarm goes off, and Nella sits up almost comically fast, Paul's hand already out to catch the PADD and sampler from falling off the table.
"Oops."
"Hi Nellita."
His niece gives him a distracted smile, already reclaiming the device from Paul to take a new sample at the base of the plant stalks. She frowns, tapping at the PADD.
"What do you see?"
Paul's voice is quiet, not patronizing in the slightest.
Treating her as an equal.
He leans his hip and shoulder on the doorframe, watching.
"...the one on the left, absorbed more of the micronutrients. But the one on the right, the red, used more water."
"How does that work with your hypothesis?"
"I said," Nella pauses to yawn, "that the purple ones had a more efficient metabolism. Oh! Does that mean I'm right?"
Paul's smile is full of pride, but he wrestles it back into a serious expression.
"Maybe. But remember, you have to take at least three samples from different places, and repeat it."
"Oh."
"And there might be other reasons, but we can talk about those in the morning. I think your Tío Hugh is here to tell us it's time for bed."
"Hugh's not," Aida's voice drifts in from the living room, "but your grandmother is. Past bedtime, Nellita, even for the project."
Nella's scowl is adorable, and she pouts as both Paul and Hugh give her matching expectant looks.
"Yes, Abuela!"
Hugh hides his amusement by coughing into his sleeve. She takes two more samples from different locations, then carefully sets the PADD down along with the sampler.
"Will you help me in the morning, Tío?"
Paul glances over at Hugh, a vaguely guilty look on his face as he picks up his sweater. Hugh had promised him a lazy morning in bed, but he could hardly keep his partner locked away upstairs when there's science on the line. He gives Paul a nod, shaking his head and smiling as he turns back to Nella.
"Of course."
Notes:
Inspired by Anthony's amazing acting in S3E8 with Adira (and Hugh). Three stories in one day, I blame Culmets.
Is anyone else having an issue with missing/delayed AO3 notifications?
Chapter 146: Straightforward
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
> Open group message: Culber, Hugh; Rhys, Gen; Detmer, Keyla; Tilly, Sylvia; Owosekun, Joann; Bryce, R.A.; Nilsson, Sara; Reno, Jett
[Owosekun-Joann-LT/OPS] Congrats again Keyla, you've got your magic back! Even if you're going to be insufferable :P
[Bryce-R.A.-LT/OPS] That was some impressive flying, I think she deserves a week of bragging.
[Rhys-Gen-LT/OPS] Think Linus has any...beverages we could celebrate with?
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Tracy and I are not dispensing hangover cures this time. Keep that in mind...
[Tilly-Sylvia-ENS/EXECOFCR] Game Night tonight? We can celebrate! That was badass, Keyla.
[Reno-Jett-CDR/ENGR] About time someone gets that woman a drink.
> Private message to Culber, Hugh
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Adira told me something, but I don't think anyone else onboard knows.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Is she okay?
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] They, not she.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] ?
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Oh. Okay.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] They're worried about it?
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Not sure they know who they are right now.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] I can relate. Should I talk to them?
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Don't think Adira is ready for that yet.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Got it. Think they'll want to come to Game Night, get to know everyone else? That might help.
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Good idea. Do I tell everyone? They really don't like being called "she".
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Did Adira ask you not to say anything? No one's going to make a big deal out of it.
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] No, I know that, they just said they hadn't told anyone besides Gray.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Trust your instincts, babe.
> Open group message: Culber, Hugh; Rhys, Gen; Detmer, Keyla; Tilly, Sylvia; Owosekun, Joann; Bryce, R.A.; Nilsson, Sara; Reno, Jett
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Okay to invite Adira to Game Night?
[Detmer-Keyla-LT/OPS] Sure! She seems really smart. How old is she - 19?
[Tilly-Sylvia-ENS/EXECOFCR] 16. She's really smart. It's a little scary.
[Owosekun-Joann-LT/OPS] Oh come on Tilly, you know you were just like her at that age.
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Adira's amazing. More creative than me, actually.
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Pronoun update btw. They.
[Tilly-Sylvia-ENS/EXECOFCR] Oops :( Got it.
[Rhys-Gen-LT/OPS] Cool.
[Detmer-Keyla-LT/OPS] Bring them, it'll be fun to have someone new.
[Reno-Jett-CDR/ENGR] What's that? The Mushroom Lord admits he's met his match?
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Tilly graduated to the bridge, Paul needs someone new to obsess over his crazy ideas with :D They're perfect for that.
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Aren't you supposed to be in surgery or something?
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Someone has to be the responsible adult in this conversation.
[Tilly-Sylvia-ENS/EXECOFCR] I mean technically, shouldn't that be Jett? She outranks us.
[Reno-Jett-CDR/ENGR] Oh hell no. Have Stamets do it, he's oldest.
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] ...no I'm not.
[Reno-Jett-CDR/ENGR] What?
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Just checked the files. Sorry Jett, he's right.
[Reno-Jett-CDR/ENGR] Must have been the weight of pretending to be a tough guy that makes you look older.
[Detmer-Keyla-LT/OPS] Wait, how old ARE you Stamets?
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Six months younger than Reno.
[Owosekun-Joann-LT/OPS] Hah!
[Nilsson-Sara-LT/ENGR] Careful Keyla, he's about to burst your bubble.
[Tilly-Sylvia-ENS/EXECOFCR] Nah, Grumpy Stamets is a thing of the past.
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Wait, what?!?
[Detmer-Keyla-LT/OPS] Dr. C, how old is he?
> Private message from Culber, Hugh
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Do you not want people to know?
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] It's in my file, she could look it up.
> Open group message: Culber, Hugh; Rhys, Gen; Detmer, Keyla; Tilly, Sylvia; Owosekun, Joann; Bryce, R.A.; Nilsson, Sara; Reno, Jett
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Sorry Keyla, I don't want to sleep on the floor tonight.
[Bryce-R.A.-LT/OPS] Oh man.
[Rhys-Gen-LT/OPS] Ouch. He wouldn't, would he?
> Private message from Culber, Hugh
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] You wouldn't, right? <sad face>
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] I expect you in bed later, Doctor.
> Open group message: Culber, Hugh; Rhys, Gen; Detmer, Keyla; Tilly, Sylvia; Owosekun, Joann; Bryce, R.A.; Nilsson, Sara; Reno, Jett
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Personal space mean anything to you guys?
[Detmer-Keyla-LT/OPS] Nope.
[Owosekun-Joann-LT/OPS] What's that?
[Reno-Jett-CDR/ENGR] He wants to kiss you, that's his problem.
[Nilsson-Sara-LT/ENGR] No.
[Tilly-Sylvia-ENS/EXECOFCR] Sorry, that's a no.
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] I've changed my mind. I don't want Adira exposed to this...rabble.
> Private message from Detmer, Keyla
[Detmer-Keyla-LT/OPS] Sorry, I wasn't trying to start something.
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] I know. We're good.
> Open group message: Culber, Hugh; Rhys, Gen; Detmer, Keyla; Tilly, Sylvia; Owosekun, Joann; Bryce, R.A.; Nilsson, Sara; Reno, Jett
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Too late, I sent them a message already and they're excited about it.
[Owosekun-Joann-LT/OPS] Yay! Do they play kadis-kot?
[Rhys-Gen-LT/OPS] Recruiting, Jo?
[Owosekun-Joann-LT/OPS] Obviously.
[Nilsson-Sara-LT/ENGR] See you all at 2030?
[Detmer-Keyla-LT/OPS] Yep.
[Reno-Jett-CDR/ENGR] Sure.
[Bryce-R.A.-LT/OPS] Sounds good.
> Private message from Culber, Hugh
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Are you pouting, love?
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] No.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] You totally are. Do I need to come kiss it and make it better?
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Yes.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Ten minutes, cultivation bay?
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] It's a date.
Notes:
So I struggled a little here, because pronouns are important to Adira and as we can see from the episode, it's a very sensitive matter. Ergo, Paul wouldn't betray a confidence (although I think he tells Hugh everything), but he would also see that hearing "her" and "she" from people makes them uncomfortable. This felt like a plausible solution that remained respectful, and reflected future attitudes that it's completely accepted once pointed out.
Nilsson is the only one of the bridge crew we don't have a first name for. As I've done with the folks in Medical, going with Sara Mitich's first name until we learn otherwise. Rhys is referencing Saurian brandy if that wasn't clear :)
Borrowing Tig Notaro's birthday, she really is just six months older than Anthony. Also, where the heck has Reno been?!
Chapter 147: Scrutiny
Chapter Text
Adira is still figuring out this new life they’re making for themself, aboard a starship from the last millennium with people who still used synthesizers instead of replicators and boggled at personal transporters. They’re all very nice, so far as Adira can tell, but it’s instinct to be wary of so many strangers. Especially now, with Gray’s cheerful voice gone silent.
They do what they do best - watch, listen, and learn.
They watch Tilly manipulate a holographic model of the mycelial network and listen to her muttering about harmonics.
They learn that Captain Saru, despite his imposing height, is far less intimidating than most shorter beings when he comes to ask Adira about this planet or that nebula.
They watch Stamets, when he’s working and eating and discussing experiments with Tilly.
They listen to Doctor Pollard talk to Doctor Culber about new grafting techniques when they’re in the medbay for another scan of their symbiont.
They learn that the doctors have known each other for longer than Adira has been alive, and wonder what it’s like to have that kind of connection for so long.
Mostly though, they watch Stamets and Culber together. They listen to the two of them talk about work, then, in quieter voices, about concerns for the rest of the crew. They learn that they don’t use each other’s first names while on duty, that Doctor Culber smiles a lot, and that the way they look at each other feels like something almost sacred.
Adira doesn’t understand what it is they feel when Stamets drapes his jacket over them in Engineering. They can’t quite put a finger on it, the peculiar way Stamets’ eyes crease at the corners when he’s talking to Culber about Adira.
They lie awake, staring at the ceiling. Stamets and Culber remind them of the sense of wholeness they felt - they feel - with Gray, but there’s more to it than that. Adira can’t explain why, just that they know Stamets is safe, is someone they can trust. Gray liked him, which is a good endorsement because their boyfriend is a good judge of character. And Stamets seems to hear them, see them, in a way that they’re not used to.
They’ve been an orphan for as long as they can remember, just Gray and their dreams together the only safe harbor in an endless universe.
Today though, they don’t feel quite so alone. They think that just maybe, this is a place they’ll be able to call home someday.
Chapter 148: Solo, Part Two
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Reno twirls her wedding band around her index finger, ostensibly waiting for a scan to finish but mostly sitting in a Jefferies tube to think.
Stamets and Culber remind her - sometimes painfully - of her wife. She misses her with an ache that no hypospray can ease, still forgets sometimes and goes to send her a witty insult or random thought.
There’s no resentment at the universe for taking the woman she loved but giving Hugh Culber back. How could she, when Stamets’ quiet grief was so chillingly familiar? She’s seen the same face in the mirror, of a person slowly bleeding to death inside when their heart has been torn away.
No, she’s not angry. But she can’t stand by and watch them walk away from each other because they’re so convinced that they’re only causing the other pain.
Her wife would have laughed in delight after her conversation with Culber about second chances.
Jett, they’re adults. They’d have figured it out eventually without you sticking your nose in.
They might have, or they might have never been able to if Culber hadn’t chosen to stay.
The universe gave them a third chance.
She’d give anything for a second.
She’s glad they’ve decided to put each other first.
Notes:
Not sure where exactly I was going with this, but here we are.
Chapter 149: Seen
Summary:
A quiet conversation in the afterglow is a moment for vulnerability.
Notes:
Based on Paul's log entry as part of the series of logs posted by CBS. Set quite early in their relationship.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"I'm imagining you now, the kid who always had to be the first in class, get all the questions right. Your parents must have been really proud of that."
There's no judgment in Hugh's voice, just a little teasing and a lot of affection. They're enjoying the afterglow, comfortably loose-limbed, and Hugh's just finished telling the story of the scar on his shoulder. Paul's lying across the bed sideways, head pillowed on Hugh's chest, humming in contentment at the fingers in his hair, scratching gently. His boyfriend (and Paul still gets a thrill every time he thinks of Hugh as mine) smiles down at him, warm caramel skin still flushed at the cheeks. Paul raises a lazy hand, thumb rubbing the rather impressive love bite he left on Hugh's throat, and watches that smile widen.
This thing between them is so new, so...wonderful, that Paul sometimes has to stop and remind himself that it's reality. Hugh's everything Paul isn't - comfortable with strangers, handsome and charming in contrast to his own awkward attempts at conversation with people he doesn't know well. He's so generous and strong and kind that Paul couldn't have wished for a better partner even if he designed him himself, endlessly patient with Paul's idiosyncrasies and appreciative of his blunt honestly.
That being said, there are times like this, when Hugh says things that so casually make it clear his own relationship with his parents is vastly different than Paul's, that he feels self-conscious all over again.
"Sweetheart? What's wrong?"
He's been silent for too long, and Hugh's peering at him with curiosity bordering on concern.
"Nothing."
Paul attempts a reassuring smile, but it clearly fails spectacularly.
"Okay," Hugh sits up, cradling Paul's head to a soft landing in his lap, "now I know something's up. Was it too rough, I didn't...hurt you did I? I'm sor-"
"No!"
He pushes himself upright as well, the pleasant soreness between his legs a reminder of what they'd been doing ten minutes ago and most decidedly not anything he's unhappy with.
"Paul?"
Great, now you've got him worried.
He knows already that Hugh doesn't like to use his name, prefers one of the half-dozen terms of endearment that he seems to be testing to find which one they both like the most (he thinks sweetheart is his favorite so far, but beautiful and Doctor Stamets are a close second, the latter said when he knows he's being humored).
"You didn't hurt me," he hastens to reassure him, fingers tracing down Hugh's cheek, "you never have. No, I just..."
Some of the worry fades as Hugh reels him in, pulling Paul onto his lap.
"Just what?"
"My parents, I- we're not close. They're really good people, I don't mean that, just...you know how people can love you, but maybe aren't the greatest at showing it?"
Hugh nods along with a look of understanding.
"Yeah. Unfortunately."
"I was a good student. I liked school, and I enjoyed learning, but...it wasn't all because of that. My dad- he worked a lot. All the time. And he'd get home late and when he did make it for dinner or on the weekends, he just seemed so tired that it was like he wasn't really listening. And he didn't mean to be that way, but he didn't have time for us, because he was so busy."
"I'm sorry, love."
He leans into the kiss Hugh presses to his lips.
"It's fine, really. Just, what you said... it felt like the only time I knew he was really there, really paying attention and listening, was when I brought home a test or a report card, something that proved how smart I was. He didn't really care if I played sports or music or made a lot of friends. But if I got an A-plus, a good grade...then, he'd stop and just, just look at me. See me. And he'd listen, for a little while."
"So you pushed yourself even harder because of that."
"Yeah. It's funny," Paul laughs, a little sadly, "I defended both of my dissertations, and he said 'good job Paul, proud of you son'. He never really understood why I was interested in mycology, but that one moment? It meant more than it probably should have. More than the degrees."
"It meant exactly what it should have," Hugh murmurs, "to get that recognition. Validation. That's not something that I think people understand just how important it is for others. I'm sorry he didn't see that."
He shakes his head, not negating it, but trying to clear his thoughts.
"It's the past."
Hugh's palm is warm on his cheek, turning his face to look him in the eyes.
"Paul Stamets. You're brilliant, and your science is...amazing. And I love that about you, but it's not the most important thing. It's all of you, sweetheart. Every piece, every thing about you that makes you who you are...it's beautiful. Even the parts you don't like about yourself."
Licking his lips, he tries to put into words the feelings chasing themselves around his heart.
"You see me, Hugh. All of that- no one else ever has, not and still liked it. You make me feel like, I just...thank you."
"Thank you for being who you are."
The kiss they share is gentle and sweet, and his eyes shouldn't be stinging from that simple statement, but they are.
"I love you."
He means it every time he says it, but right now it feels like more. And he thinks Hugh understands, because his other hand comes up to curve around the back of Paul's neck.
"I love you too. And if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here to listen."
"I know."
****Below transcribed from linked Instagram post****
Commander Paul Stamets, personal log
I had this moment with Adira today. I feel like I should be talking about how they opened up to me, but what I'm thinking about, instead, is a staircase
When I was a kid there was this spot at the top of the stairs where I'd sit in my pajamas holding a test score or report card hoping my dad would come home before bedtime, because the only time he actually looked me in the eye - saw me in any way - is when I showed I was smart, like him.
Usually he'd be working too late, but I'd wait as long as I could, just counting the fibers in that section of carpet. Seven thousand, four hundred and sixty-one.
I'm not Adira's dad, of course. But whatever I am, I want them to know I see them. Not just because they're smart, but for all the other things they are too. They deserve to feel that. We all do.
Notes:
https://www.instagram.com/p/CIgXz1TonO1/
I listened to that log entry and just had so many, many feelings about Paul and his upbringing. It makes so much sense why he is the way he is - always driven, striving for better, perfect - because of his childhood. And I think with Adira, he's got the chance to make a difference for them in all the ways he wishes he had from his own father.
Chapter 150: Story
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Their first kiss is at the end of their first official date, nervous even after months of comms since their meeting in the café.
Hugh leans forward, slowly closing the distance between them and enthralled by the kaleidoscope of blues and greys in Paul’s eyes.
Paul’s eyes flutter shut and he can hear him holding his breath as their lips meet, soft and testing the physical aspect of their undeniable connection.
****
The first kiss is followed by a second, and a third, and a dozen kisses later Hugh thinks, I could fall in love with this man.
****
Their two hundred and eighty-fifth kiss is one of many the first time they make love.
It’s wet and messy and perfect.
Paul’s gazing up at him with lust, but between the gasped curses and moans, something deeper beckons.
Hugh’s lost, and he doesn’t want to be found again.
****
Their second to last kiss is on the floor of the medbay, Paul rocking Hugh’s lifeless body in his arms.
It’s a plea, a promise, salty with tears and bitter with devastation.
****
Their last kiss is in the network, Paul’s hair under Hugh’s hands and his breath on his cheek.
Hugh puts all of his love, everything he’s ever felt for him into the way their lips touch.
He expects to take the memory of it into oblivion.
****
The moment Hugh realizes he can’t remember what it felt like to kiss Paul, he wonders why he’s bothering to try and survive in the not-existence of the network at all.
****
Their second first kiss is in the commotion of a crash-landed Discovery.
He smells like soot and he’s so beautiful it almost hurts.
Paul’s lips taste like the antiseptic used to clean his superficial cuts, chapped and dry.
Hugh’s never tasted anything sweeter.
Notes:
I wanted to do something special for Chapter 150(!!!), and hope this fits the bill.
I’m also starting to run out of non-repeated words that begin with S to name the chapters. What started as a coincidence turned into a thing, and I can’t abandon it now.
Chapter 151: Swimsuit
Summary:
Propositioning an attractive stranger in front of their partner usually doesn't end well.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
A whistle.
Tracy looks up, takes the whistler in with one glance from head to toe, and suppresses a laugh.
She and Hugh are in Sydney for a week-long medical conference, and Paul joined them early yesterday morning. This time, kicking Hugh out of their shared room after breakfast was done with good humor as he booked a new room three floors up on the other end of the hotel for the two of them.
Paul's currently decked out in a tshirt and shorts, sporting a hat to keep the UV rays at bay along with an oversized tube of sunblock. He's also sitting mostly in the shade, which Tracy would think is overkill if she hadn't seen him turn lobster-red after falling asleep on the back deck of Aida's house last summer. Hugh, on the other hand, is laying out in the full sun and wearing the briefest pair of neon blue swimming trunks on this side of public decency. With the waistband riding below his obliques, he's been attracting quite a few appreciative stares ("Are you carrying your communicator in there?" "Shut up, Trace."). She'd accuse him of wanting attention, if she hadn't seen him in less revealing trunks the past couple of days before Paul's arrival.
No, these are definitely meant for Paul's enjoyment.
More to the point - and why she's both relieved and horribly amused that their room is nowhere near hers - Hugh's inner thighs just below his groin are darkened with what look suspiciously like bite marks, and she's fairly certain she saw scratches on Paul's back before he put his shirt on after swimming. Since they're not keeping her awake, she's firmly on the indulgent side of things today, margarita in hand and reading a text comm from her cousin when the afternoon's entertainment shows up.
The guy's probably a little younger than them, looks like he hits the gym and nothing about him sets off her alarm bells. He's got his shirt tucked in his back pocket, bronzed skin and dark hair that's just a bit too artfully tousled to be accidental, and what qualifies as a charming smile in several species as he saunters closer. Hugh's been smiling pleasantly since the whistle got his attention, his sunglasses hiding what's likely an unhealthy dose of amusement.
"Good luck," she mutters, watching his swagger increase.
He stops a polite two feet away from Hugh's chaise, one hand in his pocket and the other shading his eyes from the sun.
"Hello."
"Hi. Can I help you?"
"Oh, I think so. Nice to meet you, I'm-"
Tracy's too busy turning her laugh into a fake cough and misses the guy's name.
"Hugh, nice to meet you too."
"What brings you here...Hugh?"
Hugh sits up the rest of the way, taking off his sunglasses.
"How do you know I'm not a local?"
"I'm sure I'd remember seeing someone as cute as you before."
"Ahh. Well, I'm here for the med conference downtown. Sydney's a lovely city."
Paul's still reading, the picture of indifference.
"Oh, you're a doctor?"
"When it's not my day off, sure."
Most people would probably pick up on the polite disinterest in Hugh's lack of questions in return, but observation doesn't seem to be one of Mr. Bronzer's skills.
"Mmm. So, Hugh...I was thinking."
"Oh, you were?"
"What do you say to maybe going dancing," the guy jerks his chin towards the restaurant across the beach, "and dinner? I'd love to get to...know...you better."
There's enough suggestiveness trailing off the sentence to make even a Vulcan blush. On Hugh's other side, Tracy watches Paul lower his PADD and push his hat up to get a better look at whoever it is propositioning his partner. He doesn't seem the slightest bit worried.
"Mmm. I do have plans already though with someone."
A pout, that's not as cute as the guy must think it is.
"Are they fluent in four languages?"
Hugh tilts his head to the side.
"Why?"
"Because I've been told I have a very talented tongue."
Paul makes eye contact with Tracy and rolls his eyes.
"I see."
"Not yet, but I'm happy to arrange a demonstration."
"Well. I don't usually wander off to go dancing with just anyone. Early morning tomorrow, so I can't stay out late."
"That's a shame. I'm sure I could help you sleep very soundly."
Hugh hums thoughtfully, seemingly considering the offer.
"You've convinced me."
"Oh?"
"Mmhmm," Hugh leans forward, and she's pretty sure he's flexing his pecs just a little, "I know what I'm doing later."
"Do tell."
"Going to be flat on my back being fucked senseless by the hottest guy I've ever met."
The guy preens, and Tracy sets down her PADD, losing all pretense of doing anything but waiting for the punchline.
"Hottest guy, ehh?"
"Definitely. I get hard just looking at him."
TMI, she mouths at Paul, who shrugs.
"I'm flattered."
Hugh feigns surprise, eyebrows rising.
"Why?"
The guy blinks at him.
"Why what?"
"Why are you flattered, when I'm talking about him?"
Hugh points at Paul over his shoulder with his thumb. Paul puts on his best shit-eating grin and waves at the stranger.
"Hi."
Silence. Then-
"...seriously? His scrawny pale ass is gonna fuck you better than me?"
The amusement in Hugh's eyes dims. Flirting with him is one thing - she's watched him gracefully decline on more than one occasion - insulting Paul though...
"Twice. And I love his pale ass."
Mr. Bronzer takes a step back at Hugh's suddenly cold smile.
"I-"
"I'd leave now, if I were you," Tracy suggests pleasantly, "I'm sure there's plenty of other people's partners you can hit on."
"Ummm."
His eyes dart between the three of them before he mumbles something and walks off quickly.
"Well that was awkward," Paul mutters, "but did you really have to talk about our sex life?"
Tracy blinks.
"Sorry babe."
"No, I mean...nevermind."
"What?"
Paul points her direction.
"Tracy's sitting here."
Hugh doesn't look impressed.
"So?"
"Stamets, I've walked in on you two. In the supply closet at Medical. Naked. I don't think there's anything else you can do to embarrass me."
He squirms a little.
"ButwhatifIwannagetfuckedlater?"
It takes a second for Tracy's brain to parse the sentence.
Yep, you heard that right.
"Okay," she stands, pointing at them both, "I'm going to get another margarita while you two decide whose turn it is. When I get back, we're discussing where to have dinner, and I'll even ignore you two playing footsie under the table if you don't tell me what you're going to do in bed tonight."
Shaking her head, she heads off towards the bar.
Men.
Notes:
I blame Prax for encouraging me to write this.
If you've never seen Wilson in swimwear...get thee to Google.
Chapter 152: (Hello) Sweetheart
Summary:
*** MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR S3E9 “TERRA FIRMA, PART ONE” ***
Notes:
Contains copious mentions of blood and some very disturbing implications.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul falls to the deck, blood gushing from his neck, a terrible gurgling as he tries to breathe.
Only decades of survival in the cesspool of Imperial service keep Hugh from leaping to his feet and attempting to gut the Emperor the moment it happens.
You’re no good to him if you’re dead too.
Instead, he starts counting.
Five minutes.
Paul is still twitching, and Hugh mentally wills him to remember what to do. He gets to thirty, saluting the Emperor and staring straight ahead as she sweeps from the room. With luck, she’ll be so focused on taking revenge on Burnham, that he’ll have the time he needs.
Fifty.
Paul’s hands fall to the deck, breath rattling. The pool of blood spreading around him is impressively large, but it’s slow enough for him to know the stab probably only nicked the artery. His armor should compress the circulation enough, but only if Hugh isn’t delayed further.
The Emperor isn’t usually that careless with her aim.
Stop struggling, he mentally wills him even as Hugh pastes a sneer on his face.
”Suppose I’ll clean up the mess,” he announces with an appropriate tone of sadistic satisfaction.
No one’s retreating back seems to care as he swaggers across the deck.
Ninety-seven.
Landry smiles at him before leaving, and he breathes an invisible sigh of relief. As far as she’s concerned, he and Paul would like nothing more than to see the other dead. She’ll likely tell Detmer what she saw, Detmer will mention it to Rhys, and the word that Culber is dragging Stamets’ body off should be plenty of cover. For all they know, he’s going to dissect the corpse or - if the rumors he’s carefully started spread - they might even assume he’s going to fuck it.
Nothing like an appropriately cultivated reputation.
Hugh’s no more a sadist than he truly has to be, but the only one who knows that is bleeding out at his feet.
”Oh Stamets,” he shakes his head and tsks for the benefit of the few junior officers who have yet to leave, “how the mighty have fallen.”
Licking his lips, he kneels and, with his body blocking Paul from view, slips his fingers under the bloodstained collar. The pulse is weak and thready, but it’s enough.
One hundred fifteen.
”Beam this to my private lab,” he instructs a lingering guard, “I’m going to have so much fun.”
********
The last thing Paul remembers after the Emperor’s blade slices through the flesh of his neck is the sickeningly warm rush of his own blood as he falls. He’s failed, yes, but that’s all secondary.
Hugh.
He’s dimly aware of her still speaking, the roar of salutes, but his ears are ringing too much. His vision grays out at the edges, but trying to staunch the wound is futile.
If you ever get stabbed, Hugh’s gentle voice echos in his mind, make it look worse than it is. They’ll assume you’re already gone and stop attacking. Then you can escape.
Paul fights against his own instincts, even as he starts to lose the feeling in his limbs. He can’t hold on.
Hugh, he thinks, I’m sorry.
********
One hundred forty-two.
The first thing Hugh does when they materialize in his private lab is activate the sound dampening field. Ostensibly, he had it installed to keep the screams of anyone unlucky enough to meet with his displeasure from disturbing his work. In reality, it’s been the cover for more than one very illicit meeting with the man now lying motionless on his exam table. Neither of them were reckless enough to give in to their baser instincts outside the marginal safety of their quarters, but having a few minutes to share a kiss or gentle touch on a terrible day was beyond price.
The second thing he does is grab a scanner and a hypo of tri-ox. He knows better than to tear open Paul’s collar until he knows the extent of the damage, injecting his thigh instead.
One hundred eighty-nine.
Paul’s lost a significant amount of blood, but his heart hasn’t stopped and there’s still enough brain activity. Working quickly, he waits for the scanner to confirm what he suspects, then grabs a laser scalpel and regen.
It’s brutal, messy work, and he doesn’t stop to put on gloves or set up a sterile field as he opens the wound wider and inserts his fingers to apply pressure. He doesn’t dare use any equipment that’s logged, which rules out all of the larger regens and synthesizers. Infection’s the least of their worries right now as he contains the bleeding with his bare hand while he repairs the damage. Until he can get fresh blood for Paul, he’s going to need all of whatever he has left.
Once the artery is repaired, he pauses to take a quick holo and ‘accidentally’ route it through the system on its way to his files that he knows is being monitored. If anyone’s not watching the spectacle with Burnham, the image of him with his bloodied fingers in Paul’s neck, straddling his body with his other hand down his own pants ought to be sufficient misdirection.
Eventually, Paul's stable, but he doesn’t dare rouse him until he decides what to do next. He injects a sedative to keep his vitals low enough to avoid detection by a casual (or even a thorough) scan. Ideally, he’d put Paul in stasis, but if anyone notices that it might stretch his credibility too far. Hugh can only hide Paul’s survival for so long, and he needs to figure out a way to get them both off Discovery alive.
********
The air is warm around him, the muted beeps and hum of a ship at warp entering his consciousness. Paul opens his eyes the barest amount, trying to take stock of his surroundings. He seems to be naked, wrapped in a blanket and strapped to the back bench of a shuttlecraft. The Discovery insignia on the cabin wall comes into focus just as he hears footsteps approaching.
Fuck.
The lack of clothing means none of his weapons or poisons is within reach, and if it’s one of Lorca’s loyalists they probably don’t like him much right now either after blowing their best chance to kill the Emperor. Paul's not above begging for his life - they probably already think he’s a coward anyway - but he doesn’t have much to offer besides his knowledge of the Charon’s specs. Once that information is tortured out of him, whoever it is has no reason to keep him alive unless they’re interested in humiliating him or keeping him as some sort of pet. He could offer his body, but that’s also a moot point given that he’s already restrained, hands bound to his sides with thick leather straps and ankles hobbled.
As the footsteps stop at his side, the air currents shift and a very familiar scent fills his lungs. He doesn’t dare to hope yet, but his heart climbs into his throat.
Please, please, please let it be him.
There’s a hundred ways even if it is, that he’s still not safe. No one should be aware of the extent of their relationship, but it could very well be that he’s been tasked with keeping Paul alive at the behest of someone else.
Please, gods of old Terra...
Fingers caress his temple, too gently to be something they would ever do in the presence of anyone else. He slowly opens his eyes to find the one person in the entire universe that he could have wished for smiling down at him.
”Hello, sweetheart.”
*** Read Goodbye, Sweetheart and When Sorrow Turns to Joy (here and here) for my take on Mirror!Culmets. ***
Notes:
I...never, EVER expected to see Mirror!Hugh.
Ever.
Still recovering from the eyeliner and that red uniform.
I don’t know what next week will bring in Part 2, but this is my attempt to keep the canon divergence in line with my thoughts on Mirror!Culmets as written in Goodbye, Sweetheart. Depending on where things go, I might write a part two or even break this out as a stand-alone. We’ll see.
(Also, I thought the door was a plot device to send Georgiou back in time for the Section 31 spinoff. Now, I wonder if it’s going to be a lesson to her that she can’t save her universe’s Michael.)
Chapter 153: Swimsuit, Prologue
Summary:
"Paul's currently decked out in a tshirt and shorts, sporting a hat to keep the UV rays at bay along with an oversized tube of sunblock. He's also sitting mostly in the shade, which Tracy would think is overkill if she hadn't seen him turn lobster-red after falling asleep on the back deck of Aida's house last summer."
Notes:
Prologue to Chapter 151 "Swimsuit" telling the story Tracy references.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Do you need more sunblock, babe?"
"Mmmm."
Hugh sets down his drink and turns his attention downwards to where Paul is stretched out on the swing to his left, head pillowed on Hugh's thigh. Tracy's on his right, iced tea still in hand and legs stretched out with her bare feet resting on the low table.
"He's an adult, Hugh," she murmurs with just a hint of fond exasperation, "almost forty for goodness' sake."
"So? He can still forget to do it."
"...he's right here," Paul mutters into Hugh's stomach, burrowing his face deeper against the soft fabric of his tank top, "put it on earlier. M'fine."
"You don't think you should move into the shade?"
The only response he gets is a grumpy noise and warm fingers hooking themselves over the waistband of his shorts as Paul settles back in. His content hum as Hugh's fingers card through his hair draws a laugh, and Hugh thumbs over Paul's ear affectionately.
"All right."
Turning back to Tracy, he picks up his drink again and returns to their conversation about proposed upgrades to the Constitution-class medical facilities. The Puerto Rican sun is warm and welcome on his shoulders, and he couldn't ask for better company. It's not long after that Paul starts to snore quietly in his lap, and Hugh sighs happily.
****
It's easy to lose track of time here, the back deck at Aida's house the setting for so many good memories. Tracy's reading something on her PADD with occasional pithy commentary, but it's mostly comfortable silence. Conversation between them trailed off maybe an hour ago, and Hugh's leaning against the cushions with his eyes closed, hand still rubbing at Paul's back and shoulders.
"Tía Tracy?"
They both start at the sound of Nella's voice. She's standing halfway between the house and the swing, hands on her hips.
"What is it, Nellita?"
His niece blinks at him, then turns her attention back to Tracy.
"Abuela wants to ask you something about a cube pressure?"
"Acupressure?"
Nella shrugs.
"All right," Tracy smiles, collecting her sandals and standing.
She stretches, then tucks her PADD under her arm and heads for the patio door. Instead of following her inside, Nella crosses the deck and stops in front of him, seemingly waiting expectantly. Hugh tries to keep his face neutral, but gives in and chuckles.
"You want Tío Paul, don't you?"
Nella nods, holding out her own PADD with a diagram of a a miniature hydroponic system.
"Abuela said she'd think about letting me build one, but only if he thinks it's a good idea."
"Where?"
"In the sunroom, where the old planter boxes were."
She's going to have her own garden very shortly then, because Paul is incapable of saying no to any of Hugh's nieces and nephews.
"All right then. Sweetheart?" he shakes Paul's shoulder gently, "Wake up, babe."
"Mmmrrppphhh."
Paul's hand tightens on his shorts and he grumbles at the disturbance.
"G'way. M'sleepin."
"Nella wants your help."
"Hmmm."
Hugh smiles as Paul opens his eyes, smoothing his fluffed-up hair back down.
"There you are."
He waits while Paul slowly levers himself upright, then steals a kiss. When he pulls back, Nella looks unimpressed. In the grand scheme of things in her world, he supposes watching her uncles kiss probably ranks much lower than scientific inquiry.
"Go on," he shoos Paul off, "I'll be in in a bit."
"Okay. All right Nella, wha- OWW!"
His niece jumps back in surprise at Paul's cry of pain, and Hugh immediately switches into doctor mode as he lands back on the swing hard, sending it rocking.
"Paul? Paul, what's wrong?"
"Fu- freaking hel- heck. My legs."
He's retained enough presence of mind not to curse, so whatever it is can't be that bad. Hugh firmly guides him to sit up with a hand on his shoulder and takes a look at Paul's legs.
And winces.
Ouch.
Instead of the sprained ankle or bee sting to the foot he'd been expecting, the entirety of Paul's legs below the hem of his shorts are a bright, angry red that he can feel the heat radiating from inches away.
"You said you put on sunblock."
"I did," Paul groans, swiping the insulated glass from the table and upending the last of Hugh's melted ice cubes on one knee.
"Are you sure?"
Paul mutters something.
"What's that?"
"I put it on my face and arms."
Hugh glances at the position of the sun and does a quick calculation.
"So you've been lying in the sun for three hours. Babe..."
"Hugh?"
That's Tracy, from the patio door with Aida at her side.
"Sunburn, Trace," he calls back over, "can you grab a regen?"
"I'll get it!"
Nella dashes off past all of them, nearly colliding with the patio door in her haste to avoid running into her great-grandmother. By the time she's back, Tracy and Aida are watching with varying degrees of amusement as Hugh carries a protesting Paul back into the house. Under the kitchen lights, the damaged skin looks even worse as he props Paul's left foot on his knee and starts running the regen over it.
"You need to be more careful," his grandmother chastises Paul gently, "especially here in the summer."
Paul buries his face in his hands as Hugh moves up to his ankle, skin flaring red in a way that has nothing to do with the sunburn.
"I know."
When he looks up again, Hugh schools his expression into something mild, mostly out of sympathy for the three looks of disapproval his partner is receiving from the women in the room. He shakes his head and keeps going, lifting Paul's ankle to be able to reach the area behind his knee.
"Nellita," Aida sighs, "let's leave your tío to finish, hmmm?"
Tracy snorts, turning it into a cough.
"Your abuela says you're interested in plants. Did you know they're important in the history of medicine? Come on, I'll show you."
She holds out her hand to Nella, giving Hugh one last look. They file out, leaving the two of them at the kitchen table until the only sound left is the low hum of the regen.
"When I said you looked good in red, love, I didn't mean like this."
"I wasn't planning on falling asleep."
"It's probably my fault too," Hugh murmurs, setting Paul's significantly less red foot back on the floor and reaching for the other one, "I did sort of distract you when you were getting dressed."
Paul's smile is lopsided but genuine.
"It was a good distraction though."
"Promise me you'll be more careful? Could have been a lot worse if Nella didn't show up."
"I promise. What did your niece want, anyway?"
"Abuela told her she could have a hydroponic system, but only if you approved."
"Mmmm. Wait...am I supposed to say yes? Or no. I'm never sure."
Hugh pulls Paul's toes apart to reach the skin between them, ignoring the ticklish twitch.
"Oh, if she didn't want Nella to have one, she'd have told her. But if you want to check, you could go ask Abuela for some aloe."
"Got it."
They fall into silence until Hugh's done, setting the regen back on the table and running his hands over Paul's legs to check for any remaining soreness.
"Good?"
"Yeah. Thank you, dear doctor."
"Mmmm. You can thank me properly later," he grins, leaning in for a kiss. "In fact-"
"Ewww. Why do grownups kiss so much?"
Nella's back in the doorway with a scowl.
"Because we like each other."
She looks skeptical.
"Do I have to kiss people I like?"
Paul nudges Hugh's thigh with his foot.
"Only if you really, really like them. A lot. And only special people."
His niece seems unimpressed.
"Grownups are weird."
"We are."
"Really weird."
She narrows her eyes, clearly trying to determine if she's being humored. When their expressions seem to pass muster, she shrugs and holds out her PADD to Paul.
"Okay. Can you come look at this now? Please."
Hugh swats Paul on the thigh.
"Go on, I'll let you two know when it's time for dinner."
They leave, and he wonders what Nella will end up talking Paul into building.
This is going to be good.
Notes:
Nella and Aida demanded an appearance. It's a few years before Discovery (Paul's not 40 yet) and the science fair project in Chapter 145 ("Space (Dads), Prologue"), so Nella is probably seven or eight based on my very vague headcanon.
Chapter 154: Synesthesia
Notes:
For ElenAranel, who offered up the word "synesthesia" as a prompt :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul Stamets has always been a man of science. That's not to say that he doesn't have an imagination - far from it, he's imagined more expansively than most anyone else he's ever met - but that he's grounded in facts, in connecting the dots and explaining processes that might at first appear to be mystical but in the end are simply science. Traveling the mycelial network for the first time doesn't change his view of the universe so much as make tangible what had previously only been concepts that few people seemed interested in hearing about.
Besides Hugh, and Tilly, but that's beyond the point.
For a fraction of a moment, milliseconds, his consciousness entered a realm so expansive and full of possibility that his only reaction to finding that they'd successfully made the jump is to laugh. It's part hysterical, because he's just had holes punched in his sides and they hurt like fuck, but it's also wonder at the sheer beauty that defies explanation.
It isn't until Hugh's fussed and lectured and wrapped Paul up in a bundle of covers and his own arms that he finally has a few moments for it all to sink in. Start to sink in, at any rate, because each successive jump introduces him to even more of the dimensionless network.
After Hugh designs his augments and connecting is much less painful, Paul begins to learn how to refine his navigation, to recognize the myriad pathways laid out in the otherspace. It completely defies description using the three-dimensional framework the majority of sentient life seems to operate in. When he's in the network, he moves on instinct, following the scent of the flickering lights and tasting their colors to know where they lead.
Back in the reaction cube after a jump, there's a momentary sense of loss when he disconnects, an aching enormity of knowledge that he's been cut off from. It fades a few seconds later, certainly not more than a minute, fastest when Hugh is waiting for him with his gentle hands and concerned eyes.
Paul feels so...limited in his body now, grounded in a way that's heavy and dull. He tries to explain, but only Tilly seems to grasp part of what he's saying. Without the personal experience, she can only follow so far, yet he finds himself recounting the details to her hoping for a flicker of understanding in her eyes.
The closest he comes to finding that sense of connection outside of the network is with Hugh. It's always been there, and he thinks that maybe his jumps are helping him to comprehend what it is that passes between them. Paul can feel Hugh's moods in the touch of his fingers, sees flashes of golden warmth when he whispers into Paul's ear. Hugh's love for him is honey on his tongue, sweeter and more intoxicating than the finest wine, rich and melodic as it caresses his skin.
Someday, he wants to be able to show Hugh, to make him understand that Paul is so much more himself like this. He needs him to know that Paul will never abandon him, never become so lost in his wanderings that he can't find his way when guided by Hugh's shining light. Even were he blind and deaf, he could taste the bitter chocolate of his laughter and follow the scent of his heartbeat back home.
Notes:
Coincidentally, one of the first projects I worked on in my current job years ago involved curating and producing an event centered on synesthesia and the connections between sound - specifically music and human voice - with all of the other senses.
Chapter 155: Survival, Part One
Summary:
"Terra Firma" Mirror Universe story of how Paul and Hugh's relationship started. Multiple parts, leading up to Chapter 152 ("(Hello) Sweetheart").
Notes:
Typical Mirror Universe violence and its disturbing implications.
Warning for blood, discussion of torture, strangulation, and murder (mostly in self-defense). Please skip if it's uncomfortable.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul’s sitting in a darkened corner of the bar - with his back quite literally in the corner - surveying the crowd as he waits for Straal to arrive. He's slowly drinking something with a much lower alcohol content than he would have in the privacy of his own quarters, glowering at anyone who passes within a couple of meters of his table. It’s not his preferred location for a meeting, and his interest in ‘socializing’ with his current superior and former research partner is nonexistent.
Across the room amidst the smoke and low lights, a flash of red catches his eye. Paul simultaneously licks his lips and mentally cringes.
Fuck.
Dr. Hugh Culber, master of poisons and a reported artisanal skill in torment with a laser scalpel, is one of the last people Paul would expect to see here. He can't imagine any of the medical personnel frequenting this no-name bar, much less one this high in Imperial favor.
Imperial physicians are as a rule deadly, their knowledge of anatomy and physiology in high demand as interrogators. Culber in particular is whispered to be as vicious as he is attractive, moving with a surety that Paul envies, his reputation clearing a space around him. He's also in possession of a peculiar sort of honor: not violent for the sake of it and never reneging on his word, but those who tried to betray him tended to show up dead or dying in various degrees of agony. Others demand respect, but Culber commands it, an Imperial weapon of needle prick accuracy. Add to that his cold competence, muscular shoulders, and deft hands, and Paul's busy willing down his dick when it gives a hopeful twitch.
Stop staring Stamets, you do not want his attention.
It’s difficult. Were he anyone else, Paul might consider making an offer just to burn the inconvenient lust out and move on. Lust is a rare experience for him, far too distracting, and he's spent over three decades leaving behind anything that could be turned back against him. Culber’s simply too dangerous to approach, because Paul would very much like to not have a convenient accident if his offer is rejected. He has no intention of ending up a test subject for Culber’s latest lethal cocktail, and eventually his dick will get with the program and quit tempting him to do something stupid every time he glimpses those kohl-painted eyes and lush cupid's bow lips.
Movement to his right, and the hand resting on his thigh under the table moves to hover over his phaser.
”Hello, Paul.”
His fingers relax fractionally.
”Straal.”
He seems to be in an extremely good mood tonight, and Paul wonders which subordinate’s experiment he sabotaged or ensign he punched for not showing him enough deference. Straal’s been insufferable since he blew a hole the size of a fist in Commander Khorov’s chest two months ago with a centrifuge 'malfunction'. He’s always been an arrogant bastard, but after his self-made promotion he’d wasted no time in making it quite clear where Paul stood in the hierarchy of things. Paul thinks he could have dealt with Straal’s latest bit of power hungry avarice if he didn’t suddenly start claiming credit for all of Paul’s work and blaming him for his own abysmal failures.
If he were a different kind of man, Straal would be facedown in a gutter somewhere with significantly less blood and no heartbeat. Fortunately for him, every time Paul considers solutions to the problem he remembers the promise they made at the Academy, to always have each other’s back. At the time, it seemed like a wise investment, strength in numbers as they made their way as scientists in an Empire that prized soldiers. He should have known that Straal would abandon him at the first opportunity, but ten years of supposed trust is hard to overlook.
That might be something he needs to leave behind as well, if he's ever going to find stable patronage for his work.
“You know-“
Whatever Straal is about to say is interrupted by his comm. He shrugs and heads to one of the soundproof alcoves to take it, and Paul can’t say he’s sorry to be alone again.
More purposeful movement coming his direction.
”Hello.”
The speaker looks barely old enough to have survived the Academy, but he’s apparently confident enough to approach a Lieutenant Commander in a bar. Paul's hand twitches back towards his phaser.
”Who are you?”
”Cam.”
”Mmm.”
He sits down across from Paul without an invitation.
“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”
”No.”
”Well, I suppose I’ll just have to make you yell mine.”
Paul doesn’t bother resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the clichéd proposition. Cam’s in uniform and doesn’t look like a licensed professional seeking business - too bad, because he might have availed himself of it for a physical release - which means he either knows exactly who Paul is and is currying for some sort of favor (likely), or he’s genuinely interested (extremely unlikely). Neither option seems particularly worthy of a response.
“Not interested.”
“Oh, I bet you are.”
He gives him his coldest stare.
”Fuck off.”
It takes a few seconds, but eventually he gets the message and leaves.
Whatever it is has Straal still on his comm ten minutes later. Paul’s drink is empty, he’s not stupid enough to order another at this hour, and Culber’s glanced his direction at least five times.
Definitely time to leave.
Straal will just have to tell him whatever it is tomorrow, he decides, pushing his chair back and shouldering through the crowd. The spaceport is relatively empty for once, and he briskly heads for the end of the no-transport zone. He’s almost there when the sound of footsteps behind him land his hand back on his phaser yet again.
Paul turns and has just enough time to open his mouth to tell Cam to fuck off again when he lands a punch on the side of Paul’s head that makes his vision blur and drags him into an alley between buildings.
Fuck.
Dazed, Paul fumbles for his stunner, but Cam is faster, slamming him face first into a wall with his arms twisted painfully behind him and some sort of noose around his neck.
”Don’t- you...take no...for an answer?” he forces out between beats of his throbbing temple.
Cam does something that sends lancing pain up his right arm, leaving it to dangle useless at his side. Before he can even draw a breath to curse, Cam’s now-free hand is holding Paul's own dagger at his throat.
”Should have said yes, Stamets.”
”Oh, so you do know my name.”
Paul tries to reach the stiletto in his left sleeve cuff, but his arm is pinned too tightly.
”Would have given you a nice fuck,” Cam hisses in his ear, “before you died. Pity.”
He shifts his weight to stamp on Cam’s instep, but he dodges, kicking Paul’s ankle painfully instead and tightening the noose.
”By all means, keep struggling. Turns me on.”
”Planning...to fuck. M'dead body. Then?”
The tip of the dagger digs in deeper as he gasps out the words, and he can feel the blood leaking from its shallow slice. It’s a struggle to keep his head from moving forward and cutting his own throat, but he fights it with every ounce of strength, searching for an opportunity with what oxygen he has left in his brain.
”Oh, no. They want your body intact.”
Shit.
Who wants him dead that he hasn’t picked up with his intel?
Cam laughs nastily, rocking the razor edge back and forth and twisting the cord further.
“If you'd said yes, I'd have fucked you real good. Now, I’m just gonna bleed you out real slow. Or maybe I'll strangle you first. You know, some men get a hard on when they're being strangled. Think if I do it slow enough, you'll get off before you die? Watching you choke to death on it is re-“
Footsteps.
Paul pushes back, hoping his assailant might be distracted, but all it gets him is a knee pressed up into his groin in all the wrong ways that forces what little air he has left in his lungs out in an aborted cry of pain.
"Fuck off, I'm busy her-"
There’s a flash of red in his peripheral vision right before he feels a spray of hot liquid on the back of his neck, and Paul’s suddenly free of Cam’s weight and able to breathe again. That realization is followed swiftly by a sickening crunch and the the thud of a body hitting the ground, and he whirls, reaching for his phaser left-handed.
Lightning fast fingers bend his thumb backwards, and Culber smiles at him as he neatly plucks the weapon from Paul's grip.
“You really should watch your back.”
Paul flicks a glance at either end of the alley, but it appears deserted save for the two of them and Cam’s contorted, whimpering form. He doesn't seem to be able to move anything below the neck, which is fine by Paul until he's done hopefully getting away from this situation alive.
”...thank you.”
Those kohl-rimmed eyes bore into him, amused and arresting. Culber's even more beautiful up close, smells like woodsmoke and musk, and his traitorous dick twitches again.
Please don't be about to kill me.
”Oh, it’s my pleasure,” Culber purrs, “just passing by."
Bullshit.
There’s something unsettling in Culber’s cheerful expression, but he can’t put his finger on it. More to the point, there are less than zero reasons why he would bother intervening in what for all intents and purposes must have looked like a personal dispute. There's not much he can say when he's down to one working arm and Culber is in possession of both his phaser and dagger. Unless...
"You two acquainted?"
He prods Cam with the toe of his boot, stepping out of the way when the action produces a pitiful gurgle and Cam coughs up blood.
"No."
Culber crouches down and grips Cam by the hair, lifting his head off the pavement. On a purely professional level, Paul has to appreciate the surgical precision of the knife wound at the base of his neck that clearly severed the spinal cord but left the victim alive.
"Amateur mistake," he chides as more blood dribbles from Cam's mouth, "too bad you won't live to learn from it."
Paul might feel sorry for those pleading eyes on someone else.
"What's that? You want me to spare you?"
Another wet, choked noise. A cold, dangerous smile spreads over Culber's lips.
"I hope you already spent whatever they paid you for the hit. Must have been cheap, or they'd have hired a better assassin," he continues conversationally, "but I'm not in the mood to give a lesson. You're lucky I'm in a hurry, or I'd have taken the time to cut your dick off first."
Before he can react, Culber tucks Paul's phaser and dagger back into their sheaths, then he reaches for the abandoned garrote on the ground. He loops it around Cam's neck and lets go of his hair, taking the ends of the garrote in both hands and pulling them apart sharply before tying a knot. Cam's face turns a dusky scarlet, eyes bulging, and Culber nods to himself before standing.
Wiping his bloody hands on his own red uniform, he steps over Cam's still-twitching body until he's a foot away from Paul. There's surprisingly no sadistic glee on his face, just a mask of bored indifference. Were he not concerned with clearing his debt to Culber to avoid him crossing Paul's path again, he'd have long since fled the alley.
”Anyway,” he continues as if they were having a polite conversation and he hadn't just killed a would-be assassin for a stranger, “you might want to consider keeping a closer eye on things.”
Paul’s still fumbling for something to say when Culber checks his chrono.
”Well. I've an appointment I need to get to.”
"Wait!"
Culber's half turned away, but he stops and looks back, face impassive.
"It'll be a couple of hours till your arm is back to normal, but I wouldn't let anyone else find out."
"That's not...what do I owe you for this?"
"Nothing."
“I’m really not a fan of debts.”
He's proud of himself for not flinching away when Culber uses his sleeve cuff to swipe some of the blood off the sluggishly bleeding slice in Paul's neck.
”I know.”
Then he pats Paul's cheek and turns to leave again, tossing one last thing over his shoulder.
"Until next time, Stamets"
Notes:
I wrote this story in stages, got to 4500 words without being done, and realized it reads better broken into chapters. This is just the first 2100 of those.
“Terra Firma, Part One” suggested different dynamics between Mirror!Paul and Mirror!Hugh than the tragic ones I’ve written for Goodbye, Sweetheart and When Sorrow Turns to Joy. I wanted to explore something a little different, so this may or may not end up linked to those other stories. Hopefully I haven't pushed things too far. It's a much darker version of Hugh than I've ever written, and I welcome your feedback.
Chapter 156: Survival, Part Two
Summary:
Continues the story of "Terra Firma" Mirror Universe Paul and Hugh from the previous chapter.
Chapter Text
He doesn’t linger in the alley long after watching Culber’s departure (and he would only admit under torture to staring at the doctor’s ass in the process). The warning that whatever Cam did to his arm would take a couple of hours to wear off echoes in his head as he spends a few moments ensuring that his phaser is secure in its holster and straightening his armor. His dagger is mostly free of blood when he checks, and his memory shows him a split second of Culber wiping the blade on his own sleeve before re-sheathing it. The action seemed habitual, reflexive, and he shelves the thought for later examination.
The last ten minutes have been most...enlightening. He definitely knows even less about Culber than he thought he did before the man appeared and effortlessly took care of Paul’s assassin problem.
Speaking of...
Paul checks the alley one more time before crouching over the body and rifling through his pockets. It’s a calculated risk, given that whoever paid for his death might be close by, but chances are they’re waiting comfortably somewhere if they expected to be delivered his corpse. Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to have so much as a comm on him, and Paul doesn’t dare pocket his badge for fear of it being used to trace him. He flips it, memorizes the serial number, then tosses it a few meters further into the shadows. Then he pulls off the chest plate to examine it for concealed data chips, but it too seems to be nothing of note.
Sighing, Paul stands and uses his left hand to tuck his right thumb under the flap of his phaser holster. It’ll be obvious to anyone taking a closer look, but it ought to do well enough for a casual glance to assume he’s simply another paranoid Imperial with his hand on his weapon. There’s not much he can do about the blood on his face, although that’s hardly something remarkable.
He spares a glance at Cam before walking away, dispassionately taking in the horribly purpled face above the garrote tied around his neck. There’s a rapidly fading spark of life in his glassy eyes under the burst capillaries. Paul briefly considers slitting his throat, but it’s a courtesy his would-be murderer doesn’t deserve and he’ll be completely dead in a few minutes anyway.
Heading towards the nearest transport point at a brisk walk, he resists the urge to rub at his cheek where Culber touched him.
****
Straal, predictably, laughs when Paul mentions the attempted murder. He doesn’t say anything about Culber’s part, just tells Straal he left a body in a back alley and locks himself in his lab with every security measure armed.
Over the next few days, Paul makes some discreet inquiries about Hugh Culber. They don’t turn up much more than he already knows, and he’s left two hundred credits poorer with only the additional discovery that Culber prefers paid companions and seems to have never had an additional fee levied on him for excessive injury.
Worse, no one seems to have any inkling who might have it out for him. A search of the serial number on Cam’s badge turns up nothing, and he wonders if the uniform was simply misdirection. Paul doesn’t like loose ends, and can’t think of any left unaccounted for. He’d suspect Straal, eager to claim full credit, if not for the fact that he’s not been able to reproduce Paul's results and killing him won’t change that.
This week hasn’t been wonderful scientifically either, although he’s not stupid enough to suggest he’s anything but on track with his experiments. He loses an entire day repairing the seals on the incubator, only to find that the batch of spores he’s been carefully culturing for months has contaminated growth medium. Paul had had to beg and scrape to get his hands on the necessary reagents, and he’s not eager to go to any of his suppliers for more when it would be only too easy for them to mention it to Straal. It leaves him in an even more snappish mood than usual, not helped by the morning he wakes up hard and humping the sheets, a vision of smoke-lined eyes flickering in his head.
After jerking off efficiently and setting himself to rights, he’s just finished buckling on his chest plate when the door chimes. It’s 0630 and he’s not expecting anyone, so he thinks he’s more than justified holding the groveling courier at phaser point until he’s scanned the cargo container to ensure it doesn’t include any surprises. Just to be on the safe side, he erects a blast-proof forcefield around the small parcel and remotely provides a sample of his DNA. There’s a hiss of de-pressurization, then the two halves of the container pop open to reveal several vials nestled in protective foam.
What the hell...?
All six of the necessary components for his growth medium stare back at him from the innocuous cargo capsule. Not only that, they’re in excess quantities that mean he won’t have to obtain more for at least a year. He scans three times before lowering the field, running a slightly shaking hand over the vials. That’s when he notices the data chip tucked in between, and he retrieves it with a pair of forceps, still too afraid to damage the precious reagents.
It’s a standard chip, new and not reused, with no identifying marks or clue as to its contents. Paul fishes out a firewalled PADD and places it on the reader. There’s no holographic message, audio file, or anything besides a single line of text:
Appointment went well.
“What the fuck?”
No one else knows the exact ratios for those reagents except him, but they’ve been presented to him in perfect proportion. The thought that someone has managed to access his data pales in comparison to the realization that the anonymous gift-giver is still the last person he wants to be indebted to.
What to do about it though?
Generally speaking, Paul takes his advantages whenever they present themselves, but never unless he’s sure of the potential consequences. Over the years, plenty of others tended to sneer and call him a coward; he ignores them and is happily still alive while many of them aren’t. Nothing in the Empire is free, in his experience, always strings attached or a knife in the dark. Which is why he carefully seals the capsule up again and retreats to his bedroom to think.
Culber had in all apparent sincerity brushed off Paul’s offer to settle the obligation created by literally saving his life. Paul had placed him on the mental list of people to keep an eye out for a way to return a favor if the opportunity arose - not out of altruism, but self-preservation. This though...
Negotiating for a few microliters at a time cost an inordinate amount of credits plus completing the transaction with time spent on his knees when currency wasn’t enough. Killing someone is business as usual, but obtaining half-liter quantities of these bio-chemicals in top quality is, frankly, worth more than Paul’s life.
What does he expect in return?
There’s a very small possibility that it’s not Culber, although he can’t imagine who else would have the connections and the still-unknown desire to provide them to Paul. Recompense in the form of credits is laughable, and he doubts his particular skillset would be of interest to an Imperial physician who already has access to most any resources he needs. He’s not a poisoner of Culber’s caliber or a weapons developer, nothing he could barter with.
That really only leaves offering his body in trade. His dick is certainly interested in that option, despite the inherent suicidal danger of engaging with Culber. And he’s not possessed of enough sexual prowess to be any sort of prize, not when his skills were mostly learned of necessity.
Culber mentioned an appointment in the alley, but it can’t possibly be for these? That would mean he had to have arranged for them well in advance of their meeting. Paul toys with and discards the idea that Culber could have been the one to set Cam on him with the intention of killing him as a demonstration.
Regardless of motivation, he needs to acknowledge it. He’s about to reach for his PADD when his comm buzzes, setting his heart racing. The frequency is encrypted, but half of his contacts are more than capable of obscuring their digital identity.
”Stamets.”
”Did you open it yet?”
”...Culber?”
Paul’s not sure if he’s surprised or if it all makes too much sense.
”Yes.”
“I’ve opened it. You-“
”Are the amounts correct?”
Culber’s question almost has a hint of uncertainty about it, but that’s impossible.
“Yes. But-“
”Oh, good. Let me know if you need more.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out as he stares at the comm in his hands.
”Stamets?”
“No! I mean, for- that’s...yeah. What,” he has to pause and clear his throat, “what do you want?”
”Want?”
“In return for a year’s worth of reagents I’ve had to sell my ass to scrape together even a fraction of, what do you want in exchange for them?”
“Oh. Nothing.”
“What?”
”Consider it a gift. You-“
Culber’s voice is drowned out by an agonized scream somewhere nearby.
”Sorry, I’d love to stay and chat.”
That’s the first time Paul’s ever heard that statement made without a trace of sarcasm.
What the hell is Culber playing at?
“You can’t just-“
”Have to go. Watch your back, Stamets.”
Culber disconnects before Paul can say anything else. He closes the comm and stares at the capsule with its precious contents.
“What. The. Fuck.”
Chapter 157: Survival, Part Three
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul spends most of the next night staring at the vials on his table, unable to sleep. In the morning, he stares at himself long and hard in the mirror, trying to objectively evaluate if Culber could possibly be interested in him physically.
For his own survival, he's spent the better part of the last three-plus decades building mannerisms to compensate for the fact that nothing about him is threatening by nature. Paul's pale, freckled skin is a liability, pinkening in easily discernible reaction to stress or fear. A black eye or cut lip looked intimidating on others, but glowed an obvious and ugly red on him. The cursed slenderness of his youth is thickening, and not in a way that enables him to use seduction as a strategy, not that it was ever a successful thing. He's been told - by a professional he paid for a night who didn't have any reason to lie once the credits were transferred - that his eyes are striking, but it could have simply been empty flattery in the hopes of engaging a repeat client who didn't expect anything but an orgasm and minimal conversation.
It's absurd, really.
Transferring the reagents to his lab is done over the course of a week, separately and in much smaller aliquotted quantities to prevent Straal or any of the lab techs realizing he'd obtained them through anything but the usual means. He takes a perverse sort of pleasure, actually, watching Straal frown in consternation when he can't determine where Paul's sources are. The week lost regrowing the spores is tedious, but being able to augment the amounts of each component allows him to cultivate a much ore robust batch and even place some in stasis against future setbacks.
On the other hand, Paul still hasn't been able to think of an appropriate token of thanks for Culber. A comm of any sort, even if he had a frequency, speaking in more than the vaguest terms is too risky if it's intercepted, and arranging an in-person meeting when he doesn't have anything in exchange isn't going to helpful either. No, despite what Culber's said, Paul isn't eager to leave any possibility of an open debt.
Which is also exactly why another courier arriving on his proverbial doorstep at 2300 leaves him with a sinking feeling.
This time it's an even smaller parcel no larger than his clenched fist. He takes the same precautions with this one, only lowering the field once he's sure it's inert and not a delivery of biohazardous gas or incendiary material. Paul pops the lid open carefully, half-expecting more reagents although he has more than enough now. Instead, he finds a sleek little device waiting inside, matte silver and small enough to be easily concealed in the palm of one's hand. There's no note accompanying it, but a detailed scan of its components proves it to be a neural paralyzer. What's more, he discovers that it's already coded to his bioneural signature, meaning that he's safe from its effects and no one else would be able to activate it. That Culber was able to obtain and program his signature in seems practically mundane compared the fact that it's less than a quarter of the size of any he's seen even on high ranking officers.
Paul's baffled, and it's not a feeling he's used to. The device isn't designed to malfunction and immobilize him, nor does he receive any correspondence after opening the parcel. It can't be an attempt at intimidation on Culber's part, and a demonstration of his connections would also be superfluous unless he means to engage with Paul further.
What could he possibly be after?
The paralyzer doesn't have any answers for him. It does, however, fit neatly into his sleeve cuff with minimal alteration of the stiletto sheath already there. He considers that it might very well be a tracking device, but Culber clearly knows far more about Paul than the reverse and if he wanted him dead, Paul would be a cooling corpse already.
Two and a half weeks later, he puts the paralyzer into use when he finds the new lab tech trying to hack into his files. It's not a new tactic of Straal's, but this is the first time one of his minions cuts power to the lab and tries to club his face in. There's the briefest flash of orange light when the business end of the device makes contact with the bare skin on his attacker's wrist, then he collapses like a puppet with its strings cut. Paul stands over him with his phaser in hand, looking down at the fear in the tech's staring eyes and wonders if he ought to kill this one so that Straal finally figures out his tactics aren't going to work. He really doesn't enjoy killing the way some do, but it's a necessary thing sometimes. Luckily (or possibly unluckily) for the tech, Paul figures that the best way to deliver the message is out loud.
"When Straal gets here," he informs the spasming body, "tell him that he might outrank me now, but he's never been the brightest mycologist and that's not likely to change even if he kills me."
Then he leaves.
The next morning, Straal doesn't comment on the disappearance of the tech, and Paul pointedly ignores the dent in the condenser his head left when he hit the floor. He does, however, ask to see Paul's "new toy". Paul's not in the mood to oblige, offering commentary on the likelihood of bloom failure using freeze-dried spores instead that leaves Straal red-faced and fuming.
In hindsight, he wonders if he shouldn't have pushed back quite that hard. A month passes, then two with nothing more than the usual animosity. Paul submits a report with updated progress to Command, and comes in four days after that to find the door to his private lab blasted off its track and every sample container smashed on the deck. The controlled-environment units took the worst damage, Straal clearly trying to find Paul's mysterious source of components, and he's once again glad that the precious vials are safe in his quarters. He's nowhere to be found, of course, but Paul knows better than to display his rage where it will be captured in the security footage. Instead, he calmly picks through the wreckage, pocketing a few remaining data chips that avoided destruction, and heads back to his quarters.
Straal's systematic attempts to get rid of him mean that Paul's going to have to do some very thorough cleanup, because he doesn't know if Command is going to believe his version of events or just enjoy the excuse to strip Paul of his rank and privileges. They're not overly fond of him either.
It takes more groveling than he has the stomach for, but he does emerge from the latest meeting with Command with all of his limbs intact. Barely. He's not sure they're going to continue accepting his claims of sabotage, particularly when he has his doubts whether there's enough scientific competence among them to actually understand his results. Half of them are there through bloody promotion, and it's a struggle to put on a mask of arrogant indifference when he has to explain, yet again, why his work is important for the Empire. The situation is clearly untenable, and things could escalate at any time.
At the end of the week, his comm chirps with an unencrypted but unfamiliar frequency.
"Stamets."
"Want it taken care of?"
"Culber."
"Obviously."
"I'm fine."
"Won't be for long."
His chest tightens at the ominous statement.
"I can handle things."
"Fine. But the offer's open."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"All of this. Helping me. The...gifts?"
He knows better than to speak in specifics on an unsecured frequency, which is maddening.
"I have my reasons. Do you like them?"
"Mind sharing? And yes."
"Oh good."
"But-"
"You'll figure it out."
The comm ends abruptly. Paul should probably be worried that he's starting to think Culber sounds friendly. This can't possibly end well.
Notes:
So disappointed that we didn't get to hear Mirror Hugh speak in either part of "Terra Firma", although I admit to being quite appreciative of his involvement in the final fight scene.
I'm not terribly happy with the Straal portion of things, because it's choppy, but necessary to advance the plot. It's difficult to reconcile scientists still having to deal with the cutthroat Mirror society, so I hope this works.
Chapter 158: Survival, Part Four
Summary:
Straal used to be Paul's friend.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Two weeks pass, in which Paul gets frustratingly little done in the lab. Eventually, the door is repaired, with an extra layer of duranium that cost three days of work to make fifty milliliters of a powerful hallucinogen for the engineer Command begrudgingly sent to fix it. All things considered, it's worth the extra hours spent perfecting the formula just so he doesn't have to constantly check that Straal is still at his bench and is only glaring daggers his direction rather than actually attacking. It's an uneasy ceasefire, and he's left wondering what the next salvo will be.
Things with Straal hadn't always been like this. When they were helping each other survive the spate of poisonings that took out half of their cohort in the graduate program and sharing a meticulously debugged apartment, he'd thought Justin would be a rare friend he could trust. And he had been, more or less, for a decade until Paul received his first promotion after the Lieutenant leading their project met with an actual transporter accident and Command put him in charge. Justin had congratulated him, but there was a coldness about it, as if he was recalculating an equation that had always favored him over Paul. He'd withdrawn, suddenly "busy" when Paul asked for his help on a delicate graft or "forgetting" to change the growth medium on only Paul's batch of mushrooms.
At the time, he'd chalked it up to Justin's more volatile emotions, assuming the envy at Paul being given a promotion he hadn't even wanted would settle. Being a Lieutenant put him in the crosshairs of every other Ensign in the lab who would have just as soon assassinated their way upwards, no longer occasional allies as they all struggled to make breakthroughs fast enough to survive. Eventually, it was just the two of them left, everyone else having found a patron, a ship, or the wrong end of someone's knife. Things between them had grown cold, but Paul never saw it coming when they had a drink together to celebrate Justin's promotion and he woke up the next morning with a high fever, unable to speak and convulsing with chills. He'd commed him for help, sprawled over the floor of his quarters in his attempt to crawl to the medkit in the bathroom. When he'd arrived, Paul's relief quickly turned to shock as Justin kicked the PADD out of his hands, then stepped over his body and sat at Paul's console.
That morning, he'd watched the man he thought was a friend try to hack into his data, ignoring Paul as he vomited blood. Paul's firewall proved effective though, and he left empty handed an hour later, never saying a word. It took forty minutes for Paul to drag himself the fifteen feet into the bathroom, weak and convinced he was actually dying. The scanner identified the poison - and he should have known what his former friend was up to when he started studying Andorian deathcap - and he was able to hypo himself with enough standard antitoxin that he actually woke up alive after passing out in the shower.
It took a week to recover, cobbling together a cocktail of chemicals to counteract the toxin tearing his body apart. There was no point in calling Medical, not for something they would class as a laboratory "accident", nor telling Command who would expect him to take care of the problem himself. He should have spent the time devising a means of revenge, planning an opportunity to remove the threat. Instead, he spent most of it coming to terms with the fact that his friend Justin no longer existed. When he returned to the lab five kilos lighter and even paler than usual, Straal didn't bother to hide his disappointment, watching stony-faced as Paul sat back at his bench and acted as if the betrayal hadn't nearly gotten him killed.
It's been three years since Straal's attempt to poison him failed, three years of looking over his shoulder and adding extra layers of encryption to his data, and Paul doesn't honestly know how much he has left in him. Sometimes, when there’s a lull in hostilities he can almost forget everything that’s happened since. Culber's attention has given him something else to focus on, but it's only slightly less worrying.
>>Are you sure I can't help with your problem? appears on his PADD while he's taking samples out of the centrifuge.
The sender is anonymous, but he knows who it is.
>> I told you, it's fine.
>> You should let me handle it.
>> Why?
>> Have you figured it out yet?
He really, really hasn't.
>> Thank you for the help, but I can take care of myself.
>> All right.
The conversation ends there, and it's not until an hour later that his PADD chirps again.
>> Do you like wine?
"What the fuck," he mutters, quietly enough that the sound of the centrifuge covers it.
>> No.
>> Okay.
There's nothing else after that, which is fine because he has absolutely no idea why Culber even cares and he really needs to transplant these seedlings and put them in the low pressure chamber before midnight. It's slow going, and thankfully Straal leaves at 1930 so he at least can concentrate a little more. He doesn't leave the lab until 0100, exhausted and intent on indulging in a long hot shower, but still pauses outside his door to check his security measures haven't been tampered with before keying the door open.
"Oh good, I was wondering when you were getting home."
Paul stops in his tracks.
"Should I have commed first?"
He glances at the control panel to confirm that yes, all of his defenses are still up. The neural disruption field on the threshold should have fried anyone else trying to enter without deactivating it first, and yet Hugh Culber is lounging on his couch with his collar unzipped, boots propped on the coffee table along with an expensive bottle of whiskey. Paul takes a step forward to let the doors close behind him but doesn't get any closer (because shocked or not, there's no excuse for leaving his back to an open door or straying from an escape route).
"How...?"
"Oh, that? Sorry, it was making visiting you difficult. Impressive bit of tech actually, it took a while to program it to accept my readings."
"You-"
"It'll still work just fine on everyone else."
Paul blinks, wondering if he's actually asleep back in the lab and this is his brain's twisted sense of humor. Probably not, since he can still feel the blister on his left big toe from breaking in this new pair of boots.
"...okay."
Culber stares at him for a few seconds, then stands and crosses the room. His stride is confident, powerful and he reaches up towards Paul’s neck.
Fuck.
A warm hand curves around Paul's throat (gently, so gently) and guides him closer. There's no force in the grip, and Culber lets his hand fall as soon as they're toe to toe. This close, without the stink of sweat and blood in an alley, the scent of woodsy musk is even stronger, overlaid with a hint of medical antiseptic. Paul can't look away from his eyes, the kohl smudged a little at the edges, lashes dark and thick.
"Don't worry," he coos, "I'm not going to hurt you."
He tries to clench his hands to hide their shaking, realizing that he still has his carryall clutched in his left hand and his right hovering over his phaser.
“What are you doing here?”
”I wanted to talk,” Culber tilts his head towards the crook of Paul's neck and shoulder, inhaling, “I’m very interested in you.”
Paul swallows, knows he can see the movement.
"Clearly."
There’s no missing the implication. As unlikely as it is, could it really be that simple?
Culber straightens, pursing his lips thoughtfully.
”You didn’t try to take advantage of my offer. No one usually has the balls to do that.”
Fuck.
”I-“
"I like that."
...what?
"You-"
"You're not groveling at my feet. You didn't ask for anything else, didn't even want me to get rid of any of your rivals for you."
Dark amber eyes study him with an odd fascination, like Paul is some sort of exotic fungi to be catalogued and described.
Chirp.
Paul nearly jumps out of his skin when Culber's comm goes off. Annoyance clear on his face, he flips it open.
"Culber."
"Where the hell are you?"
A woman's voice, authoritative and slightly frustrated.
"Busy. Call you back, Trace."
Culber snaps it shut and clips it back onto his belt.
"Well," he sighs, "looks like I can't stay, unfortunately."
"What- why?"
"I thought you'd be home earlier," he sounds genuinely disappointed, fastening his collar with a frown and tugging his armor straight, "only docked till 0200 and I need to get back."
"You...here."
Paul seems to be reduced to monosyllables, which usually isn't ever the case. His brain is refusing to wrap itself around any of this.
"What kind of food do you like?"
What?
His comm chirps again, insistently.
"You don't have to decide now," Culber pats Paul on the cheek, "we can talk later."
He smiles then turns towards the door, face settling into the same neutral expression as when he left Paul in the alley.
"Watch your back, Stamets."
Culber steps around him and is gone a moment later, leaving Paul staring at the unopened bottle of whiskey still on the table.
"Fuck."
>>Survival is now a standalone story at https://archiveofourown.org/works/28443885!<<
Notes:
Two or three more chapters to go. Should I have made it a separate story, or part of Paths Not Taken? I'm a bit worried it doesn't quite fit in with the rest of the snippets in here and ended up about five times longer than I originally wrote it.
absolutedisasterbi’s comment on the previous chapter is GOLD:
Hugh: *pats self on back* another successful flirtation
Paul: I'M GONNA DIE
Nailed it!
Chapter 159: Space (Dads), Part Two
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Adira lets themself in to Stamets’ quarters at 0700 with only a twinge of guilt - they had promised to stop overriding door locking mechanisms - carried on a sense of urgency.
”Commander, I-“
It skids to a halt in their brain as they realize that neither Stamets or Culber are awake.
Stamets is on his stomach, face mostly buried in the pillow with one hand resting on the sheet next to his face. Beside him, Culber is snuggled close and partially on top of Stamets, arm flung carelessly over his waist on top of the covers and cheek resting on his shoulder. They’re both snoring quietly, but otherwise completely still.
Adira wrinkles their nose.
”What’s that face for?”
Grey’s voice seems loud, and they go to shush him before remembering that he’s not audible to either of the men asleep in front of them.
”They look so...” Adira trails off with a vague hand gesture.
”Cute? Comfortable? ...old?”
He gives Adira an impish look before coming to stand at their shoulder.
”...right for each other.”
Stamets and Culber are fully dressed so far as Adira can tell with the covers pulled up, nothing sexual in the way their bodies are touching at all. Instead, there’s an intimacy that makes them want to avert their eyes for the sake of privacy and yet they can’t look away all at the same time.
”It’s rude to stare.”
Adira lets out a surprised noise that they will later deny was a ‘meep!’ and takes a step back as Culber’s eyes open sleepily. Beneath him, Stamets shifts, and they watch in fascination as Culber gently shushes him and rubs his back until he settles again.
”Umm.”
Culber pushes up on his elbow to regard them with a wry smile.
”Can I help you?”
“...sorry?”
Behind them, Grey snorts but offers no helpful input.
”Are you all right?”
”I- it’s nothing.”
”It's oh-seven-hundred and you’re standing here in your pajamas. What’s going on?”
Culber’s voice is kind with a hint of concern as Adira glances down and realizes that yes, they have indeed not bothered to change into their usual jumpsuit. They both freeze as Stamets mutters something and rolls over to shove his face into Culber’s chest, nose tucked between his prominent pectoral muscles.
“N-nothing. Sorry. I shouldn’t have...”
The doctor tilts his head to the side and seems to be studying them even as his hand comes up and starts absently stroking Stamets’ messy blond hair.
”You don’t have to tell me, but if it’s not super urgent, can it wait for another hour?”
He nods down at Stamets whose hand is now clinging to Culber’s pajama shirt.
Adira grimaces. Of course they know exactly how late it had been before Stamets left Engineering.
”Yeah. It can. I’m sorry.”
”You don’t have to apologize,” Culber smiles, “but I might as well give you the door code.”
”Why? I mean I can overri- oh. Right.”
Grey, across the room examining a shelf of mementos, turns to give them a smirk.
”Is that Grey?” Culber gestures in the direction of their glance.
”Yeah.”
”Ahhh. Nice to meet you,” he waves, “but just keep it down until he wakes up, okay?”
Grey seems to take it as an invitation, sitting down on the couch and looking at Adira expectantly.
”We should go.”
“Oh, you can stay if you want. I’m sure Paul won’t mind.”
”Okay?” Adira widens their eyes and tries to communicate silently with Grey who’s cheerfully waving them over. “Sorry.”
”If you want to make up for it,” Culber yawns, settling back down, “make coffee at 0745.”
“Ask him what kind.”
”Oh, uhh, Grey wants to know what kind?”
“Just use program three, café con leche and double espresso. Thanks.”
Culber’s eyes are already closed, but they wave awkwardly and goes to join Grey.
”I like him too!”
Adira groans quietly before curling up and burying their face in the cushions.
“This was your idea, you know.”
”Mine?”
”Yes.”
”How?”
”I...don’t know. But it was.”
“Shhh, you’ll wake them up.”
Adira lifts their head just enough to glare with one eye. Grey seems unfazed, as usual.
”Grrr.”
Notes:
I’ve been so caught up trying to finish the “Terra Firma” Mirror!Culmets that I have a backlog of a few other snippets I was going to hold off posting till that finished, but this one was too cute to wait.
Chapter Text
“You realize this is crazy.”
Adira’s eyes dart towards Grey, but they don’t stop punching calculations into the console. In the middle of the drive bay, Stamets is getting more and more agitated, and the adamant refusal cloaking raw terror in his voice makes Tal shiver in remembered pain.
“I can’t let him die down there.”
”Who?”
Grey knows full well, but they stare at him anyway.
”Hugh.”
”What about Michael and Saru?”
”Of course them too. But-“ Adira finishes another line of code, “Paul needs Hugh.”
”Adira...”
”He can’t lose him.”
”Are you just doing this for Paul, or...?”
”Or what?”
”Is it for you too.”
Adira’s teeth grind together.
Breathe, a voice that sounds like Senna whispers, the calm certainty of age and authority wrapping their spine in steel, this is the right thing to do.
“Are you going to help me or not?”
Grey’s face undergoes a transformation from surprise to trepidation and finally lands on determined.
”Of course.”
They give a tight nod and finish the algorithm just as Stamets pivots and heads into the spore cube. Adira exchanges a look with Grey and they head immediately to Reno.
Reno, for all of her irascibility, doesn’t ask if Adira thinks they can do it. She hears out Adira’s breakneck speed explanation, takes three seconds to consider, and plucks the badge off her jacket to press it into their palm.
”Thank you.”
Adira turns to go, but Reno’s hand on their elbow stays them.
”Reno?”
Her eyes dart over to the spore cube, the blue light bathing Stamets in an otherworldly glow that makes it all too easy to see the bleak despair he’s trying so hard to hide.
”Bring him back.”
”Or die trying,” Adira mutters.
Reno's grip tightens until it’s almost painful.
”Don't make Paul mourn you both.”
Her lack of a clever rejoinder or even dark humor shakes Adira to the core, heart racing before Tal intervenes and slows it. There’s nothing else to say, just a sharp nod. Reno releases their arm and a moment later is shouting out commands to re-route power, hands flying across the interface.
“Ready?”
Adira gives Stamets one last look before reaching up to tap Reno’s badge.
“Let’s go.”
Notes:
W.T.F.
Dude.
That episode.
I’m not sure how I feel right now. Talk about ramping up the drama and conflict and uncertainty so close to the end of the season.
I understand why Hugh chose to stay, I agree (character development and conveniently not having Hugh present while they force Paul under mind control), and I also disagree (Hugh needs to do it for him, yes, but I don’t think a simple “tell Paul I love him” covers it and does a disservice to the strength of their relationship even though I suspect the writers are trying to portray independent action).
Chapter 161: Scrabble, Part One
Notes:
Since folks seemed to really enjoy the group chat in Chapter 146 (“Straightforward”), here’s another installment.
I changed the naming conventions because typing out all the brackets on my phone is wearing out my thumbs :P
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
>> New game created
>> Players: kdetmer, jowosekun, grhys, hculber, pstamets, stilly, jreno
>> Language: Earth standard English
>> Ruleset: Traditional, modified —> continuous gameplay, unlimited tiles
>> New game initialized
kdetmer - Hey guys!
jowosekun - Great idea, Keyla.
grhys - Aww, only English?
kdetmer - I could have made it twentieth-century dictionary only :D
grhys - You’re not that evil.
> kdetmer has changed their name to borntofly
borntofly - Wanna bet?
hculber - Rhys, you’re outgunned. As your physician, I highly recommend not trying to one-up a pilot.
> grhys has changed their name to tacticalguy
borntofly - Thanks Dr. C!
tacticalguy - Hugh, I thought we were friends >:(
hculber - As your friend, I’d suggest you listen to your doctor :)
tacticalguy - Aww, come on guys...Stamets, help me out?
pstamets - I’m going to wipe the floor with everyone, so...no.
> jowosekun has changed their name to owoknows
stilly - Sorry I’m late, did I miss anything?
owoknows - Just Rhys being a pain.
> jreno has changed their name to gearhead
gearhead - Free entertainment.
> hculber has changed their name to operadoc
borntofly - Everyone’s here now, right?
owoknows - I think so. Who’s starting?
> stilly has changed their name to redengineer
> pstamets has changed their name to blondhottie
gearhead - Seriously?
blondhottie - I didn’t change it?
> blondhottie has changed their name to funguy
owoknows - LOL
borntofly - Omg Stamets, that’s awesome!
funguy - What the hell?
gearhead - I didn’t think the Mushroom Lord had a sense of humor.
funguy - Ha ha
> funguy has changed their name to titaniummushroom
tacticalguy - Stamets, you might have a security breach on your access. Run a diagnostic?
owoknows - Specifically only during group Scrabble that messes with his name?
redengineer - That’s awfully specific.
titaniummushroom - I don’t see anything.
borntofly - It seems pretty harmless?
owoknows - The most recent system backups didn’t show any corrupted files, so it’s not a tech glitch.
owoknows - Ops are all normal too.
> titaniummushroom has changed their name to shroominator
shroominator - What. The. Hell.
shroominator - Nothing wrong in Engineering, Tilly can you check the computer core from the Bridge?
redengineer - Nothing. Log shows the changes coming from your access codes?
tacticalguy - Someone hacked Stamets’ codes?
owoknows - Who would?
gearhead - Not me.
shroominator - Wait.
shroominator - I know who it is.
owoknows - Who?
borntofly - Who is it?
> shroominator has changed their name to hughssweetie
operadoc - :)
borntofly - Aww, that’s cute.
gearhead - Can you two make kissy faces somewhere else?
hughssweetie - ...
owoknows - Ohh. He was being pretty quiet.
tacticalguy - Wait, Hugh was hacking him?
redengineer - Huh. It’s not showing up as a spoofed identity. Even I can’t hack that cleanly.
redengineer - Umm. I only hack for completely official Starfleet reasons.
gearhead - They’re not monitoring chats, pretty sure your secret is safe with us.
> hughssweetie has changed their name to sporeguy
sporeguy - Thats because he didn’t hack in.
operadoc - Took you long enough to catch on ;)
tacticalguy - You’re using your PADD for this though, right Stamets? So how’s he got access?
operadoc - I know all his codes.
owoknows - That makes sense now.
> operadoc has changed their name to badhummer
sporeguy - I know his too.
borntofly - This is awesome.
gearhead - I did not need to know that much about your sex life, Stamets.
redengineer - ...
sporeguy - What?
sporeguy - What’s that supposed to mean? Reno?
badhummer - O:)
sporeguy - Bad at humming KASSEELIAN OPERA!
owoknows - I thought their vocal structure meant that humans can’t reproduce the music?
borntofly - But I’ve heard you sing, Dr. C. It sounds nice. Classic Earth musicals, right?
redengineer - Dr. Culber sings?
tacticalguy - You didn’t know that?
owoknows - I didn’t know that either.
gearhead - I’d like to point out the irony in that statement.
borntofly - LOL :P she’s right Jo.
sporeguy - ANYWAY.
> badhummer has changed their name to paulshugh
owoknows - That’s really sweet.
redengineer - And kind of weird.
redengineer - Not that him loving Stamets is weird!
paulshugh - I know what you meant, Tilly.
sporeguy - Detmer, aren’t we supposed to be playing Scrabble?
borntofly - This is better :)
gearhead - Much as it pains me to say the words...
gearhead - He’s right.
sporeguy - What’s that, Reno?
gearhead - Nope, I’m only saying that once. Begrudgingly.
>> Gameplay initialized by sporeguy
Notes:
“Titanium Mushroom” is a random nickname someone gave me on a bowling scorecard during summer advising before my freshman year of undergrad. Seriously. No idea where it came from, but it felt like the perfect time to use it :)
Hugh is feeling extra playful here. I hope it wasn’t OOC? Contemplating a second part where they actually play Scrabble...
Chapter 162: Scrabble, Part Two
Summary:
The group Scrabble shenanigans continue from the previous chapter.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
>> Tile distribution complete
>> Expanded board selected --> Unlimited rows and columns
tacticalguy - Ugh, these tiles suck.
owoknows - So who goes first?
tacticalguy - Does it matter? We're not capping the score, right?
borntofly - Don't be too mad Stamets, that was awesome :D
borntofly - shroominator LOL
redengineer - I'm just glad there isn't a hacker with that level of skill.
sporeguy - Just a doctor who might be sleeping on the couch later.
paulshugh - Aww, are you mad at me babe?
sporeguy - No, I'm...peeved.
paulshugh - >:(
tacticalguy - He wouldn't really Hugh, would he?
gearhead - Oh quit it Stamets, I can see you from here.
sporeguy - Aren’t you supposed to be in a Jeffries Tube somewhere?
gearhead - I am. It just happens to be the one above your mushroom cube.
gearhead - I can see you smiling from here.
tacticalguy - Bustedddddddddd.
paulshugh - Medical log: Grumpy patient has responded well to humor treatment. Symptoms have undergone a temporary enhancement, but will most likely subside.
owoknows - I'm saving the chat log.
borntofly - Thanks Jo :)
redengineer - So umm. About the game?
paulshugh - Paul?
gearhead - He's fine, doc.
gearhead - If he sticks that lower lip out any further though, one of his engineering minions is going to trip over it.
sporeguy - Have I mentioned, I don't like you?
gearhead - Feeling's mutual, bobcat.
redengineer - Ooooookay, this is getting awkward again.
tacticalguy - Gotta admit Stamets, that was funny :P
sporeguy - I'm not admitting anything.
borntofly - Aww, how can you be mad at Dr. C?
owoknows - Don't the rules say the oldest person starts?
sporeguy - Ha! Grease monkey, that's you.
gearhead - It's called experience.
gearhead - Clearly some people respect that.
redengineer - Go ahead Reno.
>> gearhead plays SPANNER --> 9 points + 50 point full tile bonus
>> gearhead: 59
sporeguy - What?! How did you just happen to have all seven match up like that?
tacticalguy - Nice one!
borntofly - Oh man.
redengineer - Stamets, I think you're next.
>> sporeguy plays ROOTS --> 5 points
>> sporeguy: 5
>> gearhead: 59
gearhead - Still planning on wiping the deck with that score?
sporeguy - It's the first word.
borntofly - Dr. C, you're next.
tacticalguy - Then it's Jo, Keyla, me, and Tilly, right?
owoknows - Yes.
redengineer - Why do I have to go last?
gearhead - Because you weren't even a zygote when I got commissioned.
redengineer - I'm going to pretend you didn't say that.
redengineer - Eww.
sporeguy - What? Why?
redengineer - I refuse to consider my parents doing...that.
owoknows - I'm with Tilly on that one.
sporeguy - ...right.
sporeguy - Hugh?
sporeguy - It's your turn.
tacticalguy - We should get Bryce and Nilsson and Burnham in on this.
redengineer - Probably not Michael.
borntofly - Why not?
redengineer - I just meant, she's been spending a lot of time with Booker lately. I don't think she'd join if she couldn't play properly.
redengineer - Also, her vocabulary? Is scary.
owoknows - Michael and Book, ehh?
gearhead - Doc, you going to play a word?
sporeguy - Hugh, are you mad at me? I didn't mean it.
tacticalguy - Try comming him?
sporeguy - I have been.
tacticalguy - Oh.
tacticalguy - Wait, Hugh are you ignoring Stamets?
borntofly - Dr. C? is everything okay?
paulshugh - Sorry, couple of sprained ankles and a concussion came in, I had my comm off.
paulshugh - I wasn't trying to ignore you, sweetheart. You know that, right?
paulshugh - I know you didn't mean it, looking forward to snuggling later.
paulshugh - Naked snuggling, in case that wasn't clear. If you're still worried, you can make it up to me >:)
paulshugh - <3 xoxo
redengineer - Ummm.
owoknows - I don't think that was meant for us.
paulshugh - Fuck.
paulshugh - Wrong message string.
gearhead - I'm going to need some of Tilly's memory deletion now.
paulshugh - So clearly those weren't supposed to post here.
tacticalguy - Yeah.
gearhead - Shit happens.
redengineer - Right, it wasn't too embarrassing!
redengineer - I'm sort of an expert on embarrassment and that barely counts.
owoknows - Stamets?
gearhead - He's hiding under a console.
paulshugh - Paul? I'm sorry.
sporeguy - I wasn't hiding, there was a blown relay I needed to fix. Still on duty and everything even if it's a slow day.
sporeguy - What did I miss?
sporeguy - Oh.
paulshugh - That wasn't supposed to go to the group.
gearhead - NOW he's hiding under the console.
gearhead - Man, I didn't know humans could turn that shade of red.
gearhead - He just flipped me off.
redengineer - Reno...
borntofly - Hang on, I'll fix it.
>> borntofly has deleted previous messages (10) from paulshugh
>> Chat log buffer updating
>> Update complete
paulshugh - Thank you, Keyla.
paulshugh - Umm, Gen? Can I bunk with you tonight?
tacticalguy - What?
paulshugh - I think the couch probably isn't far enough away.
tacticalguy - Sure.
owoknows - It's okay, we're all friends.
owoknows - Stamets?
sporeguy - Don't you dare go hide with Rhys.
sporeguy - You just promised me snuggling in front of everyone. I expect you to pay up.
> paulshugh has changed their name to verysorrypartner
verysorrypartner - Promise.
gearhead - Now that we all know way more than we needed, it's your turn doc.
verysorrypartner - What?
gearhead - This Scrabble game that we're nominally playing.
>> verysorrypartner plays GROVEL --> 10 points + 10 point double word score
>> verysorrypartner: 20
>> sporeguy: 5
>> gearhead: 59
sporeguy - Definite groveling required.
Notes:
To be continued!
Using most of the actors' real ages (with a couple of exceptions):
Tig Notaro - 49
Anthony Rapp - 49
Wilson Cruz - 47
Oyin Oladejo - 35
Mary Wiseman - 35 (Tilly is obviously much younger)
Emily Coutts - 31
Patrick Kwok-Choon - ?? (I can't seem to find an age for him)
Chapter 163: Sure
Chapter Text
Paul Stamets knows he wants to spend the rest of his life with Hugh Culber long before the first time they have sex.
The first time they have sex is long after the first time they make love, because their long-distance courtship gives precious few opportunities to be physically together and every encounter takes on new meaning.
He knows he’s in love that day at the Met, Hugh eagerly tugging him from painting to painting, talking a light year a minute about elements and abstract concepts, and Paul follows with a look of wonder not for the paintings but for the man whose heart is so very, very beautiful.
He thinks he hears Hugh whisper “I love you” into his cheek as he dozes on the couch that evening, worn out from miles of walking and the giddy exhilaration of his own feelings.
The first time they make love is a revelation, and in between cries of pleasure Paul thinks, no wonder it was always so disappointing before, because it’s meant to be like this.
Paul’s awash with sensation, but the most overwhelming of all is the tenderness with which Hugh holds him, fingers caressing his cheek in soothing strokes as he whimpers when he tries to take Hugh all at once.
He’s the one to slow down and make sure Paul isn’t in pain, holding back until the discomfort fades and he’s mewling in a desperate plea for “more, Hugh, please!”.
Hugh makes love to him with his entire body, the weight of his chest bearing Paul down to the sheets, his hands roaming everywhere, lips locked together as every roll of his hips pushes Paul closer to the edge.
Hugh’s eyes are burning with desire and lust, but it’s the wonder and joy in Paul’s pleasure that he’ll never forget, the delight written on Hugh’s face as he writhes and moans and paints their stomachs with his release.
He sees it when Hugh starts to pull out after, considerate and seemingly surprised as Paul clings to him with wobbly limbs and begs Hugh to keep going.
And when he’s holding Hugh to his chest as he comes and comes, stroking his hair and kissing his cheek while he shakes, he feels that same joy and knows they’re meant for each other.
Chapter 164: Stranded
Chapter Text
“Stranded on some godforsaken lump of rock that barely qualifies as a planet with a walking case of anxiety, a doctor with a savior complex, and his mushroom-obsessed bed warmer,” Georgiou bemoans dramatically, “in sub-zero temperatures with no hope of Discovery beaming us out until tomorrow. I don’t know why I’m even down here.”
The walking case of anxiety pauses in her jittery pacing, hands tucked in her armpits and glaring past a curtain of red curls let down from her braid to help trap warm air.
”You bullied your way past Nilsson and beamed down with us.”
”Worst idea ever. Not only is this planet boring, there’s not even any entertainment. I might have to amuse myself by killing you all in your sleep.”
Hugh looks up from where he’s leaning against Paul’s side reviewing tricorder readings together, and Paul shivers at the draft when they separate. It’s petty, but he’ll add being annoying enough that Hugh moved to his list of grievances with Georgiou.
”Cut the ‘deadlier than thou’ BS,” Hugh manages to make his voice both cutting and calm, “we all know if you were going to kill us, you’d have done it already.”
He pretends to be engrossed in the analysis of the planet’s core - its wildly skewed orbit doesn’t align with its composition - but is mostly busy watching Georgiou try to push his partner off balance. When he looks up, the Terran Emperor is literally toe to toe with Hugh whose hands are folded together primly, not crossing his arms or any other sign of defensiveness. Instead, he meets her stare levelly, a mask of professional disinterest in place and for all intents unflappable. Of course, behind and off to the side, Paul can see Hugh’s tell that’s otherwise hidden from her.
Well.
Paul bites the inside of his cheek as something below the waist gives a poorly-timed hopeful twitch when Hugh tenses the muscles of his ass in response to whatever she just said. Hugh Being Assertive (from the front or the back) is right up there on the list of his turn-ons, along with Hugh Being Casually Competent and Hugh Eating Peanut Butter Cups In Bed.
Tilly comes to stand next to him, sharing a look as Hugh and Georgiou continue their standoff.
”Who are you posturing for? I don’t see any other Terrans to impress.”
”...you know what I’d do to you if you were on my ship?”
”You wouldn’t know what to do with me, Philippa.”
A crunch of gravel under her boots as Georgiou shifts her stance a little wider.
“What makes you think you have the right to use my name?”
”Would you like me to stop?”
As a doctor, his partner prided himself in always using respectful address. Paul’s not sure if there’s an opposite to that, because ‘disrespectful’ doesn’t really describe it. Pointed then, with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
”...pfffft. Your attempts to exert dominance over me are amusing. Amateur, but amusing.”
Despite the uncomfortable situation, Paul snorts. Hugh is very good at exerting verbal dominance when he wants to be.
”Commander?”
Tilly’s frowning at the holo-display with her own readings, fussing with the controls before collapsing it back into her combadge.
”Hmm?”
”Bad news.”
Paul peels his eyes off Hugh examining his sleeve cuffs while Georgiou circles him slowly, seemingly searching for a weakness.
” ‘Bad’ as in ‘the warp core is about to breach’ or ‘Linus accidentally ate peanut butter and is gassier than a nebula’?”
”Bad as in the temperature is going to drop another seven to ten degrees in the next hour.”
”You’re sure?”
”The planet’s rotation means it’ll be turned away from its star for six hours starting in about forty five minutes.”
He winces, sighing and collapsing his own holo-display. None of them are wearing tactical vests or heavy field jackets, not planning to be stranded in the cold as the planet neared its night cycle. They’re already closer to freezing than he’s generally comfortable with, and a drop of even five degrees would bring them far enough below to put them all in serious danger of hypothermia.
Just what we need.
“Hugh?”
His partner glances over his shoulder at the sound of his name.
”You should be telling him what to do, not responding to his beck and call,” Georgiou scoffs, “what’s the appeal anyway? Stamets was always so...uninspired in bed.”
Tilly pauses with her mouth open, breath fanning out in a cloud of steam.
Paul closes his with a snap that rattles his teeth before something extremely uncomplimentary comes out.
Hugh, on the other hand, just smiles with cheerful condescension.
”Maybe you just didn’t know how to properly inspire a man of his skill. Or taste.”
A scornful snort.
”Skill? For a man who doesn’t like a little pain in his foreplay?”
Tilly makes a noise like an old-fashioned kettle about to boil.
Smile fading, Hugh arches an eyebrow and his tone hardens.
“Was it pain, or humiliation?”
Paul clenches his jaw, reminding himself that Georgiou is just trying to goad them for the sadistic pleasure of it.
It’s working.
”How should I know? No passion,” Georgiou’s boots on the cavern floor punctuate her words in a way that has to be deliberate, “at all. Completely limp. Useless.”
”Okay,” Tilly blurts out, “I’m going to go inventory our uhhh...the contents of the field packs.”
She stands and grabs their bags, moving as far away from them as the cavern allows.
”I thought you were having massive kinky orgies with him.”
”Surprise, Doctor. I lied. He was so...unenthusiastic.”
Paul’s torn between joining Tilly and staying to watch the confrontation play out. Why Georgiou’s decided to fixate on his apparent performance in bed, he’d rather not consider. The implication that his counterpart did anything remotely sexual with the Emperor is an effective damper on any residual thrill to be had from Hugh’s current attitude.
”You on the other hand...”
Her fingers land on Hugh’s shoulder and start heading towards his neck. Between one blink and the next, Hugh’s gripping her wrist and Paul nearly leaps forward. He’s wearing a phaser, but pulling it on someone nominally a part of the crew - in the loosest definition of living in the ship - isn’t something he wants to report to Saru (“Sorry Captain, but she was touching my fully clothed partner after insulting my sexual performance”). Hugh’s expression is still a veneer of pleasantry, but his bicep bulges with the effort of holding Georgiou’s hand in place.
”My universe, my rules. I’m not yours to touch. He isn’t either.”
Georgiou pulls her hand free with a lascivious leer.
”Oh papi, I know how you like to be touched.”
Fuck this.
Paul takes two steps towards them, stopping when the fingers of Hugh’s hand hanging by his side splay wide, palm facing him.
I’ve got this, the gesture says, stay back.
”You’re a terrible liar,” Hugh informs her, “and you’ll never know what you’re missing.”
”Stamets face down and screaming while you’re railing him-“
“You know, I pity you.”
Hugh’s crisp diction hangs in the cold air and Georgiou’s face freezes halfway between malicious glee and surprise.
”What did you just say?”
“You’ll never be able to understand what it means to be with someone without fear. Never know what it’s like to trust them so completely that what you do in bed becomes an act of love. And I feel sorry for you, that you think it’s a weakness. Enough with the games,” he shakes his head, “I’m not interested.”
Whatever she’s about to say next is cut off when Tilly’s voice rises.
”Guys? We’ve only got two emergency thermal blankets.”
Paul frowns.
”What was in her bag then?”
Georgiou rolls her eyes.
“Who needs a blanket? I brought backup in case someone showed up with real weapons.”
”...two grenades, a knife, water, and tactical rope.”
”Well,” Hugh sighs, “none of that is going to be useful when the temperature goes sub-zero.”
In the few minutes since Tilly took her readings, it’s already gone significantly colder, and his breath puffs out in a cloud of steam. Hugh takes a step back from Georgiou before crossing to accept the blanket Tilly is holding out. He unfurls it, tucking Paul against his side under its shelter in the same motion. Hugh’s always run hot, and while it makes sharing a bed in a tropical climate sticky in more than one way, he’s grateful for it now. Under cover of the insulating fabric, he snakes an arm around Hugh’s waist and is rewarded with a small smile. Paul rubs firm circles on his partner’s back, feeling more of the tension drain out, and tucks his fingers into Hugh’s waistband a few moments later.
He really does have a hot ass.
Sub-zero isn’t going to be much fun, but sharing body heat means they probably won’t end up with frostbite. At least, he assumes Hugh would say something if that were the case. And an excuse to snuggle with him is always welcome, even if they can’t really sleep tonight. Except-
Oh.
Tilly has the other blanket still folded, held against her chest like a barrier as Georgiou faces her and manages to give the impression of a snake about to strike.
”Damn,” Hugh’s voice is quiet, just for him, breath warming Paul’s ear, “we can’t leave her like that.”
”One of us’ll have to share with Tilly, then, and-“
”Yeah.”
The other two are having their own staring contest, and Paul closes his own eyes briefly when Hugh’s warm lips brush his cheek. While he’d love to give his partner a real kiss, there’s no way he’s going to do that with the Terran half of their present company.
”I’ll take her,” Hugh murmurs against his temple, “it’ll be fine.”
”Which ‘her’?”
He has a sinking suspicion he knows what Hugh is going to say.
”I don’t want Georgiou touching you. Take Tilly, you two can nerd out over the scans of the planet's core.”
”I don’t want her with you either, Hugh. Not after whatever the hell that was.”
Despite the situation, he’s pleased when Hugh smiles a little at his protective umbrage.
“Well. Think we can fit three under one of these?”
”Probably. Is that going to be awkward?”
”Less awkward than the alternative. Either one, actually.”
Paul gives Hugh’s hip a squeeze before pulling his hand out from the back of his pants. It’s a shame, because his fingers were nice and toasty there.
”Tilly.”
”Sir?”
”Give her the blanket.”
Georgiou raises an eyebrow.
”Any of you have the spine to join me?”
Ignoring her, Hugh extends an arm, both shivering when a blast of cold air enters their pocket of warmth.
”Get over here, Tilly. Bring your pack.”
”I don’t...?”
She casts a dubious glance back at Georgiou, who has the blanket wrapped around her and seems to be polishing a nasty looking knife.
”Come on, Hugh’s letting all the heat out.”
Hugh sets the pack on a ledge to insulate them from the cold stone, sitting down and pulling both of them with him. It’s less awkward than he expected, mostly because they’re both focusing on Tilly shivering against them. Paul takes her hands, folding them between his own, while Hugh tries to find a way to keep the drafts out. Tilly has her shoulders hunched as small as possible, but there doesn’t seem to be quite enough blanket for three even huddled together. A gust of wind whips into the cave, setting his teeth chattering.
”Sorry Tilly.”
”For what?”
Hugh tosses an apologetic smile before handing her the edge of the blanket and maneuvering around until Paul’s in the middle. It leaves half of Tilly outside its shelter, and Paul frowns.
“She’s going to freeze like tha- what?”
The hand on his thigh is tugging in a particular way, and it takes his brain a moment to catch on.
”Now?”
“Now.”
He squirms over, moving until he’s on Hugh’s lap. There’s just enough slack after that to pull Tilly against their sides and bring the edges of the silvery thermal fabric together in one hand.
“Okay, Tilly?”
”What?”
She raises her nose from where it’s pressed to Paul’s shoulder.
”Are you warm enough?”
”I should be asking you guys that.”
Hugh tightens the arm around Paul’s waist, hand splayed under his ribs in a reassuring grip.
”We’re probably better off, but I don’t think you want to trade places with Paul.”
”...umm. Yeah. I mean, no. That’s- right.”
“I wasn’t expecting this when I woke up this morning,” Paul shoots a glance at Georgiou who’s watching them with an unreadable expression, “but it beats someone having to get cozy with...”
”What were you planning to call me?”
Georgiou manages to look predatory even with a blanket over most of her head.
“...a sociopathic Terran.”
She snorts, and Paul decides retreat is the better part of valor, turning until he can hide behind Tilly’s hair.
It’s a long eight hours, chilled to the core despite the shared body heat. Tilly abandons any self-consciousness two and a half hours later, tipping further against him. Paul shifts to let her head rest on his chest, holding her hands against his side beneath his arm (both of his hands and one of Hugh’s are between his thighs just below his groin, and he doesn’t think either of them would survive the awkwardness if he invited Tilly to join). Hugh’s face is tucked against the side of his neck, ostensibly to conserve warmth, and the tiny kisses he keeps sneaking just above his collar go a long way towards mitigating the situation.
For her part, Georgiou passes the time sitting on her own pack on the other side of the cave, leaning on a rock warmed via phaser blast. Hugh had offered an olive branch of his own body heat five hours in, but she’d scoffed and gone back to watching them with narrowed eyes.
The sound of Discovery hailing them is the most welcome thing he’s heard all day, visions of a hot shower and something to eat besides protein cubes propelling him back to his feet. Back aboard, Tracy quickly clears the three of them of any injuries before sending them off with instructions to drink something warm and sleep.
Despite the allure of hot water, he and Hugh don’t linger in the shower and are tucked under the covers together ten minutes after bidding Tilly goodnight. It feels heavenly to snuggle with Hugh, mug of hot chocolate warming his fingers and, most importantly, no Terran staring at them. They share a bowl of oatmeal in comfortable silence, and Paul finally feels thawed by the time they turn off the lights.
“Sleep now, talk in the morning?”
The exhaustion is catching up with him, because Paul mutters a response that makes Hugh chuckle with tired affection. He feels a kiss on his temple, then burrows further under the covers until he’s surrounded in a pocket of Hugh-scented warmth.
They sleep.
Notes:
This started as a simple idea - huddling for warmth when circumstances mean Hugh and Paul will have to split up. Tilly and Georgiou is such a delightfully uncomfortable dynamic that it made sense for it to be them, and then the story sort of spiraled out of control from humorous to Hugh basically calling Georgiou out on every bluff, to a little bit of drama and then trying to be sweet.
Promise I’ve not abandoned the “Terra Firma” MU stories! Thinking about breaking out my MU fics into a separate multi-chapter story, but need to do from a computer instead of my phone.
Chapter 165: Suffocate
Summary:
**** MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR S3E12 ****
Notes:
All dialogue taken straight from the episode.
Warning: Mention of suicidal despair (grief response, not ideation)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“We have to jump back now,” Paul slams a canister into place. “He’s in the nebula and so is Saru-“
”We have to get you off this ship!”
All he can see when he looks at Michael is betrayal.
”They’ll die.”
He shouldn’t have to state the obvious to remind her of it.
”I know.”
He rounds on her, hand shaking violently as he points in accusation.
“I already lost him once, I can’t go through that again. And, Adira, what would I tell them?”
”Adira’s with them.”
Blood pounds in his ears and he can’t breathe.
“No.”
It comes out as a desperate sob. Paul shakes his head as the words sink in, slowly, and then faster and faster. There’s a terrible suffocating sickness twisting around his chest, one he’s only too familiar with.
Loss.
Hugh’s body, lying cold and still under a stasis field.
Part of his heart and soul ripped away.
Watching them lower the casket, Aida’s tears falling on his cheek as he collapses over her lap and cries for them to bury him too so he can lay down to sleep with Hugh for eternity.
He won’t let that happen again.
Michael grabs his arm.
Get off me.
”Hey-“
”Let. Go. Of me,” he grinds out between clenched teeth.
He can see it in her eyes, the belief that she’s right, that her way is the only way and she’s prepared to force it on everyone.
Betrayal.
“I can’t do that.”
”Let me go!”
Michael’s strong, but with his desperation Paul’s stronger. He shrugs her off violently, hands on the spore cube door.
Her hands whirl him around, caging his face in a horrible parody of Hugh’s gentle tenderness.
Never touching Hugh again.
Never kissing him.
Never waking to see his smile.
Betrayal.
”Paul!”
Shut up. Shut up shut up shutupshutUP!
“My WHOLE LIFE is in the nebula!”
Hugh whispering “I love you, sweetheart”.
Adira asleep on their couch after dinner, Paul and Hugh sitting with them at 0309 when they wake from a nightmare of losing Gray.
No.
He shoulders her off, reaches for the door, but she grabs him again. In any other situation Paul would never raise a hand to harm her, but he can’t let her stop him.
He feels fingers on his shoulder, then-
Nothing.
He wakes up with Michael programming an emergency escape field strapped to his chest. Whatever she did left him groggy, and the force field bubbles to life before he can move, restraining him.
”Michael,” he begs, held up only by the field, “they’re my whole life.”
Opening his eyes in the future to see Hugh smiling down at him.
Despair transforming to radiant joy.
Hugh’s lips on his, sweet and soft.
Holding Hugh their first night back together, his heartbeat under Paul’s cheek, Paul made whole again.
Michael is going to take that all from him a second time.
She won’t meet his eyes, focused only on her goal, her way, refusing to see any other.
Betrayal.
“Look at me!”
The phaser hums behind him.
“They’ll die a terrible, painful death! Dammit Michael, LOOK AT ME!”
His throat is raw, eyes burning with tears that refuse to fall. The universe won’t give Hugh back a third time.
Playing the piano with Adira on their cello, Hugh leaning on the doorway with a smile.
Michael the zealot throws out an excuse about the Federation. Always her excuse, her justification, her righteous torch that burns those in her way as she runs roughshod over the people who care for her.
Hugh teasing Adira about Gray getting them into trouble.
The Federation can fall for all he cares, this pale, broken shadow of an ideal.
Making love again for the first time, the love in Hugh’s eyes eclipsing everything else.
She starts backing away.
”No no no, we have time,” he nods frantically, eyes beseeching her to look at him, to listen.
She seals the airlock.
This can’t be happening.
Betrayal.
”No-“ he has just enough room to turn and see the phaser about to overload, “no.”
How dare she?
He made the decision to jump with her, thinking he was leaving any chance with Hugh behind.
The universe gave him and Hugh an impossible third chance, and there’s nothing left of Paul Stamets’ heart without Hugh Culber. Adira coming into their lives gave him the child, the family he never knew was missing.
Betrayal.
”We came to the future for you! We followed you! Hugh followed you-“ he spits, “we gave up EVERYTHING so you wouldn’t have to be here alone! How can you DO this?!”
She has the audacity to have tears in her eyes, shrugging as if there’s no other choice.
”I’m sorry.”
”Michael!”
The phaser explodes.
Notes:
To be clear: I am not a Michael hater. What’s she’s just done to Paul though? I cannot.
Anthony’s raw emotion in these scenes tore my heart out. I feel like an exposed nerve right now.
I understand why Hugh isn’t in this episode, but I hate that his name gets dropped from the credits.
Chapter 166: Subspace
Summary:
One of Paul and Hugh's comms pre-Discovery.
Notes:
Consider this another apology for the angst in the previous chapters. Sexytimes and dirty talk below.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“What’s the first thing you’ll do when you come aboard?”
Hugh feels a smile stretching his lips, propping himself up on one elbow to look into Paul’s eyes. Well, as much as possible given the PADD and hundred light years between them right now.
”You.”
”Oh?”
The single syllable is laden with promise.
”Yes,” Hugh rolls onto his stomach, moving the PADD to his pillow.
"Are you propositioning me, Doctor Culber?"
"Yes, Doctor Stamets, I believe I am."
“Do tell.”
“I- anything. Everything. I just need to touch you.”
”Are you planning to kiss me first, or should I just be face down, ass up on the-“
”When have I ever treated you that way?”
Hugh tries to pretend he’s affronted, but it’s a lost cause and he gives in to a wicked grin.
Onscreen, the covers rustle, shifting over Paul’s chest as he moves to hold his PADD with one hand. He’s a vision from Hugh’s daydreams, static-laden hair unstyled and clinging to the pillowcase, propped up sleepy-eyed and relaxed.
”Every time I’ve asked you to,” comes the honest reply, “and that time last year.”
They've had other reunions driven by lust, reconnecting through sheer physicality to sate desire before turning to softer things. He’s certainly not opposed to getting reacquainted with Paul’s body by way of a filthy, rough fuck, but after this long...
“That doesn’t count, we were using stims and only had three hours. This time, I’m kissing you before we do anything else. I want to hold you, sweetheart. I can’t wait to have you in my arms. To wake up together every day.”
“So much, Hugh,” the covers shift again, Paul’s shoulder twitching, “It was really good sex though. Even with the people in the next room banging on the wall.”
A spark of heat winds its way down Hugh’s spine, settling low in his belly, and he absently rocks his hips against the sheets at the memory.
”I had my hand over your mouth, but babe, you were practically screaming.”
”Not my fault, you had to let go to kiss. Was that the third? Or the fourth one we were working on.”
”Can’t remember. Were we still on the bed?”
Paul licks his lips, eyes gone distant for a moment. When he refocuses, Hugh can see how they’ve gone dark with desire.
“Yeah. I was riding you...” his voice is going rough, the husky murmur traveling straight to where Hugh’s interest is growing, “fuck, you felt so good.”
“I love watching you like that.”
”Like what?”
”When you’re so turned on you can’t speak, you just get this look-“ Hugh grins, “and you just...fuck, the way you look at me and I can feel it.”
”Possibly because your dick is up my ass?”
“That too. But I do love making you feel good.”
”You do.”
He’s distracted by the soft susurrus of sheets sliding over skin. It’s too regular to just be Paul fidgeting, which means-
“You know, if you’re masturbating while we’re talking, the least you can do is let me watch.”
Instead of anything resembling embarrassment at being caught, Paul catches his lower lip between his teeth, biting down. He tips his chin up, eyes falling half-closed as he moans quietly. Hugh can’t look away, simultaneously aroused and frustrated that he can’t reach out and touch his partner, can’t nuzzle his neck and brush his hand aside to take over.
”Wha-“ he swallows hard, “what are you thinking about?”
”Sucking you off.”
“Mmmm. You’re so good at it, sweetheart, love your mouth.”
The view on the screen rolls towards the ceiling, then Paul's palm, until he's got the PADD propped up next to him on the bed and scoots back far enough that his body is visible from head to thighs. His skin is just beginning to flush, throat and cheeks turning pink as he resumes stroking his erection. Paul doesn't seem to be in any hurry, leisurely pulls and lazily rolling his hips up to fuck his curled fingers. Hugh's mouth waters, lips parted and tingling.
"Enjoying the show?"
His impish smile says that Paul knows the answer, but wants to hear it anyway.
"You...have no idea, sweetheart. Want you so much."
"Tell me."
"I want to go down on you, suck you until you come in my mouth. Tease you until you're hard again, rub myself on your ass until I can ride you, take all of that beautiful dick."
Paul's hand stutters, and he turns onto his side to give Hugh a better view of the rosy head peeking out from his fist with every flick of his wrist.
"Yeah?"
Nodding, Hugh humps the bed a little harder. It's too hard, too flat, isn't Paul's body rising up to meet him. He pulls a pillow down under himself, moaning as he ruts into it.
"Want to...suck me too?"
"Mmm. Can-" Paul's eyes close for a moment, "sixty-nine, see who comes first."
Hugh squeezes his knees tighter, imagines it's Paul's waist.
"First to come gets fucked?"
“That’s a non-incentive to hold off.”
Despite the pounding arousal, he can’t help a chuckle at Paul’s faux-serious face.
”Fine. First to come gets fucked first?”
”That’s better. Are you naked over there?”
Instead of answering out loud, he lifts the PADD off the pillow, angling it down over his shoulder so Paul can see where he’s thrusting against the pillow between his thighs.
“...fuck, you’re-“ Paul’s voice catches and he closes his eyes briefly, “you’re wearing...”
Hugh glances at the tiny inset where his side of the comm is visible.
Oh. Right.
”Would you believe, I forgot I was wearing it?”
“...no way did you go on duty with that on.”
”No?”
”Fuck, Hugh...it would show. Ev- everyone in the medbay could see.”
True.
He catches Paul’s eyes again with his best ‘come fuck me’ look - and he’s had years to practice it on this man - and arches his back before slowly rolling onto his side. Then he slides a hand down his chest, pausing to tease a nipple into a hardened peak, and drags his fingers over his hip to snap the dark blue strap hugging his ass cheek. The sound of it slapping back against his skin is drowned out by Paul’s obscene moan.
”Maybe I wanted everyone to know I was planning to come home and have comm sex with my partner.”
”Hugh...”
He doesn’t have to look, can hear the rasp of skin on skin as Paul’s hand speeds up. A few seconds later, he reaches the reason Paul knew he couldn’t have worn this anywhere but the bedroom, rubbing the prominent bulge with his palm. It’s not Paul’s warm, broad hand, but it’s a relief to finally get some proper friction.
“Wanna...see you. Please.”
Paul’s starting to go breathless. Hugh kicks the underwear off, sets the PADD on the headboard and sits back on his heels. Groaning in frustration, he folds the pillow in half and clamps his knees back around it. Paul watches him with half-lidded eyes, eager as Hugh thrusts against the pillowcase. His partner is so small on the screen, but he can picture those gorgeous eyes going dark with desire, lashes matted with sweat.
He snatches a bundle of fabric off one of the other pillows, rubs his cheek against it as his hips rock faster.
”...is that- mmmhhh, my shirt?”
Hugh buries his nose in it, inhaling deeply as he nods. Paul’s scent has faded, barely any left, and he needs a new one soon.
Silence reigns as they work themselves harder. The mewls and hungry moans filtering across subspace make his balls throb.
“Close.”
“Mmmmm, that’s right babe. Gonna come for me?”
Paul’s other hand disappears between his thighs. Whatever he does makes his eyes slam shut as he twists his palm over the tip, panting.
”Come for me, beautiful. Show me what you want-“
With a strangled cry, Paul’s stomach tenses and his climax spills onto the sheets. It’s enough to push Hugh even closer to the edge, until Paul forces his eyes open, gasping out his satisfaction.
”Oh fuck, sweetheart, I-“
Hugh clenches his teeth, the tension in his groin turning to a wave of pleasure as he makes a mess of the pillowcase. He keeps rubbing against it until he’s too sensitive to continue, damp and out of breath.
”Mmmm.”
When he can focus again, Paul is using a discarded piece of clothing to wipe up the worst of the wet spot before tossing it over his shoulder. Hugh strips off the pillowcase and does the same, picking up his PADD and climbing under the covers.
”I miss you.”
”I miss you more.”
Onscreen, Paul flops like a landed fish for a moment, trying to reach the corner of the duvet. It’s a lost cause, and he gives up after another try, pushing himself up to move the six inches necessary to pull the covers up.
”What?”
“You...are adorable.”
”Uh huh.”
They both order the lights off, faces lit by the illumination from their PADDs.
”I think-“ Hugh yawns, “I better go before I fall asleep on you.”
”I wish you were asleep on me.”
There’s no point in repeating what they both know, so he just smiles and kisses his fingers before pressing them to the screen. Paul does the same, lingering as if they could touch each other across the light years.
”I love you.”
”I love you too. Same time tomorrow?”
”Mmhmm.”
“Sleep well, Hugh.”
”You too, sweetheart.”
Notes:
I started this on April 23rd and today is January 1st. I think I was still shying away from going too explicit with Culmets in this collection of stories, and it ended up unfinished. No time like the present, right?
Chapter 167: Sum (Total)
Chapter Text
Hugh Culber loves everything about Paul Stamets.
He loves his pale skin, how it can’t hide a blush or a bite mark.
He loves Paul’s eyes, so blue, a constantly changing kaleidoscope that shines or grows stormy depending on his mood.
He loves how Paul closes his eyes when they kiss, eyelashes fluttering.
He loves watching Paul sleep, propped up on his side and gently smoothing his hair back.
He loves the way Paul’s thighs squeeze his shoulders and his heels drum on Hugh’s back when he’s going down on him.
He loves how grumpy Paul is early in the morning, hair a staticky mess and pillow creases on his cheek.
He loves the little frown Paul gets when he’s trying to figure out if Hugh is up to something.
He loves how passionate Paul is about his science, words nearly stumbling over themselves when he’s excited.
He loves the way Paul talks with his hands, and always feels like he’s missing half the story when they’re on audio only comms.
He loves how Paul is shy and doesn’t like large groups of people, how he stays close to Hugh’s side and lets him lead.
He loves the way Paul looks at him, like Hugh is the only thing he can see.
He loves the way his nieces and nephews and second cousins surround Paul when Hugh brings him home because he’s endlessly patient and takes them all seriously.
He loves how noisy Paul is in bed, uninhibited and loud while Hugh pleasures him.
He loves the way Paul’s stomach creases now when he’s sitting, the extra softness he has for Hugh to kiss and squeeze.
He loves his insistence that he hasn’t adopted Tilly and Adira, even though they both know he’s lying.
He even loves the things about Paul that he doesn’t like, not because he’s trying to be virtuous but because they’re part of the sum total that makes Paul who he is.
Paul Stamets is imperfect, and he’s perfect for Hugh Culber.
Chapter 168: Suggestion
Chapter Text
“I wouldn’t go in there if I was you.”
Tilly’s voice makes Adira pause two meters away from the door of the cultivation bay. They look around before turning, but everyone else seems to be operating as normal.
”Sorry?”
Behind them, Tilly has one hand on the view screen and the other resting on the console in front of her.
“You’re looking for Stamets, right?”
”Yeah?”
”You should wait for him to come out.”
Adira blinks in confusion. Tilly appears to be completely serious.
”Why?”
“Interrupting him now isn’t a good idea.”
”But he’s just working on the irrigation system? And Doctor Culber just went in there to ask him a question.”
Tilly’s lips twitch, and they start to wonder what they’re missing.
”Did he say what he needed?”
“He said he wanted to discuss oxygen saturation levels.”
Next to the spore cube, one of the lieutenants - Harrington? - snorts loudly but doesn’t offer any other commentary.
”What?”
Harrington just shakes her head and goes back to her diagnostic.
”Is this...some kind of inside joke?”
Tilly comes around the console and beckons Adira closer until they’re just a foot or so away.
“Doctor Culber doesn’t actually want to discuss oxygen saturation.”
”Oookay?”
She leans in conspiratorially and they frown as Tilly glances at the bay doors with a smile.
”That’s shorthand for Culber and Stamets making out behind the condenser unit.”
“...what?”
”Trust me, I had to learn the hard way. So unless you want to walk in on them kissing and it’s not urgent, you’re better off waiting out here.”
Adira takes a few moments to let that sink in.
”But why...”
Tilly’s gone back to tapping commands into the display.
”You know they’re together, right?”
Of course they’re aware of Stamets and Culber’s relationship, but isn’t it a bit unprofessional to meet up in the middle of the day and it’s hardly clandestine if everyone else seems to know?
”Obviously.”
”Stamets definitely got lucky last night.”
Both of their heads turn towards Harrington.
”Ummm, that’s weird that you know that.”
Tilly and Harrington share a look that Adira can’t decipher before shrugging.
”Actually, it’s kind of cute. Not that part,” Tilly hastens to add, “I mean, that they’re so into each other.”
“But they’re...old.”
Harrington drops her spanner.
”Yeah,” Tilly laughs, “I guess they are. Old people who have been through a whole hell of a lot more than any two people should have to go through, even with how many crazy things happen on this ship. And I think they’re trying not to waste time now that they have each other back.”
Her voice has softened, and Adira thinks Tilly looks a bit wistful. They don’t have anything else to say to that, and end up wandering back over to the telemetry calculations.
When Stamets and Culber emerge from the bay ten minutes later, Adira wonders if Tilly and Harrington were mistaken because neither of them have a hair out of place. It’s not until an hour later when Stamets climbs out from under a console and pops his collar that they catch sight of what looks suspiciously like a bite mark on the side of his neck. Tilly sees it too and wiggles her eyebrows, and Harrington fake coughs loudly enough that Stamets turns to her with a look of confusion.
”What?”
”Nothing.”
Clearly, Adira still has a lot to learn.
Chapter 169: Sidestep, Part One
Summary:
The computer says it’s not sex pollen.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
At first, it doesn’t seem like anything more than Paul feeling a little extra randy when he drops to his knees and starts sucking Hugh while he’s trying to brush his teeth. Paul’s usually more of an after-dinner sex kind of lover, but Hugh’s not going to complain. They end up with him white-knuckling the edge of the sink, Paul’s head bobbing between his thighs with a contented look in his sleepy eyes. It doesn’t take long until he’s swallowing down Hugh’s release. After one last lick, Paul carefully tucks him back into his pants, then gives his covered dick an affectionate pat before standing and reaching for his own toothbrush.
They’re running a bit behind thanks to the 0815 blowjob, so Hugh doesn’t get to return the favor and they have just enough time to grab a portable breakfast from the mess hall before going their separate ways. Tracy rolls her eyes good-naturedly when Hugh walks in, attuned enough to recognize the afterglow in his slightly vacant smile.
“Paul for breakfast?” she asks with a smirk as he quickly finishes his scrambled egg burrito.
“Not quite,” he manages around a mouthful of tortilla and salsa.
”Suuuure.”
His shift is nothing out of the ordinary, Tracy performing a couple of routine checkups and the usual few crew members coming in with minor burns, headaches, and gastrointestinal complaints. Aisha’s off and Zarrin is recalibrating surgical equipment, so they mostly work quietly, moving around the medbay and occasionally calling the other over for an opinion.
He meets Paul for lunch, kissing him on the cheek as they sit in a secluded corner of the mess hall.
”What’s that for? Not that I’m objecting.”
”Thank you,” Hugh licks his lips, “for this morning.”
Paul just smiles, hooking his ankle around Hugh’s while they eat their sandwiches in comfortable silence. Then he’s off back to Engineering with a quick squeeze of fingers while Hugh goes to review the latest in nine hundred years of burn treatments.
They have a quiet dinner in their quarters, conversation ebbing and flowing. Paul excuses himself to the bathroom, and Hugh starts clearing the dishes. He’s reaching to retrieve Paul’s plate when warm hands land on his waist followed by a kiss to the back of the neck. Hugh smiles, leaning across the table for a stray napkin.
“Just a sec babe, let me- ohh. Hi there.”
As he’s bent over, Paul’s hips fit themselves snugly against his ass. He’s half hard already, humming in delight when Hugh abandons the dishes to brace his hands on the back of the chair and wiggle playfully. Paul thrusts against the cleft of his ass until they’re both ready to go, then he leads Hugh to bed by the waistband of his pajama pants. They end up with Paul on his hands and knees, face-first in the pillows while Hugh takes him apart from behind. The headboard gets involved at some point, although Hugh only notices because Paul’s clutching it while he whispers filthy suggestions in his ear.
They’re both too exhausted after to talk much, propping themselves up to brush their teeth before crawling back to bed where Hugh passes out on the wet spot with Paul spooned up behind him.
”What’s gotten into you?” he teases his partner at breakfast the next morning.
Paul smirks.
”You did, last night.”
Tilly, coming to join them, pretends she didn’t hear that and conversation starts up about programmable matter conduits. Adira yawns their way in and is roped into the discussion with their oatmeal, and Hugh doesn’t get a chance to ask Paul about it again until they’re both in bed that night.
”Did I miss a memo on horny scientists?”
Paul looks up from where he’s nuzzling Hugh’s chest.
”Hmm?”
”Yesterday. That’s twice you jumped me. Have I been neglecting you?”
Casting his memory back over the last couple of weeks, as far as Hugh can tell they’re having a normal amount of sex. There’s been occasions where Paul seemingly out of the blue becomes insatiable, but it’s usually tied to something like a positive breakthrough on a project. He’s not aware of anything out of the ordinary at the moment.
”Do I need an excuse to want to make you come, dear doctor?”
”Of course not love, I was just...ahhh. Mmmm.”
He doesn’t finish the thought because Paul’s got the lube and his hand has snaked down Hugh’s pants and is doing wonderfully obscene things behind his balls. Hugh tries to set it aside in his mind for later, but it’s impossible to think when there are thick fingers opening him up and Paul is kissing him like his life depends on it. By the time Paul tugs him to the edge of the bed, Hugh’s legs slung over his shoulders, all other thoughts are abandoned in lieu of cries for more, harder, faster.
It isn’t until Paul is snoring into the pillow beside him that Hugh realizes that - for the first time in years - his partner managed to successfully dodge a question without him catching on. Frowning, he mentally reviews the last couple of days and carefully reaches for his tricorder on the nightstand. A scan doesn’t show anything out of the ordinary for Paul other than very mild dehydration and slightly lower levels of prolactin than Hugh would expect post-orgasm. It’s nothing to raise any warnings, although he does a quick check of the medical database on his PADD. Nothing conclusive there either, and Hugh turns his equipment off with a sigh.
Maybe it’s sex pollen, he thinks to himself and grins at the absurdity of confirming the classic Academy rumors.
Snuggling closer to Paul, he’s asleep in minutes.
Notes:
To be continued :D
Chapter 170: Sidestep, Part Two
Summary:
No, seriously, the computer says it's not sex pollen.
Chapter Text
The first person Hugh suggests his theory to is Tracy, who promptly chokes on her coffee. When she's done coughing, he smiles apologetically.
"Sorry, Trace."
"Really, Hugh? That's-" she breaks off to actually swallow her coffee this time, "your theory? 'Paul's hornier than usual, do you think sex pollen is actually real?' What's your evidence?"
Well. It does sound only slightly more ridiculous out loud than it did in his head. They move over to the main display, fingers moving on automatic to check charts for the day.
"The last couple of days, he's been...jumping me."
"And that's different from normal how?"
Tracy is impervious to his side-eye.
"Twice two days ago. After dinner, sure, but in the morning? He's never that awake. I tried to talk to him about it last night."
"And?"
"He stuck his finger in-"
She cuts him off with a look.
"Okay, I get it. Your previously workaholic partner who, after the two of you slingshotted nine hundred years into the future together and only then got back together, and you've been having regular sex with, suddenly wants to screw you more often? You have got to be the only person I know who thinks that's something to complain about."
Her smirk softens the words, shaking her head in fond exasperation.
"I'm serious Trace. He's distracted me with sex before, but this feels different."
Picking up her PADD, Tracy taps in a few commands.
"All right. Say we're dealing with some exogenous factor or condition, what are the symptoms?"
"Increased libido, and slightly depressed prolactin levels post-climax. Minor dehydration, but I don't think that was related."
"And it's been what, two days?"
"Yeah."
"And you're not doing anything differently? Eating something weird, prior prolonged period of abstention...?"
"We've been having sex every other day, so no."
Trace snickers.
"Well, based on past experience with the two of you going at it like Risan marmots, is that actually less often than usual?"
Hugh is both relieved he has Tracy to talk to, and wishes he hadn't in terms of fodder for teasing.
"He's been making a point to not work late nights, so it's more than before because we're both at home awake, but not more than we would have if that hadn't been the case."
"I see."
"Anyone else mentioned similar symptoms?"
"You're the only one who tells me about their sex life in this kind of detail."
Tracy's tone says she's not actually bothered by it.
"Sorry."
"Well..." she frowns at the PADD before setting it down, "I do have one preliminary recommendation."
"What's that?"
"Get some more data points."
Notes:
Don't worry, there's more :) I needed a break from the angst-fest I've been writing / we've been watching.
Chapter 171: Sidestep, Part Three
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Three days - two blowjobs, one instance of shower frottage, a handjob interrupted by a comm from Tilly, folding Hugh nearly in half on the couch when they're trying to watch a holonovel, and waking up to Paul riding him the next morning - later, he still isn't any closer to an answer. Hugh's sure he hasn't been this well-fucked since the earlier days of their relationship when they were both in their thirties and came together (pun unintended) for a few days at a time filled with sex, snuggles, deep conversation, and declarations of love.
Any time he tries to address it, Paul either initiates sex or just smiles that sweet smile that makes Hugh's insides melt and makes a comment about his partner being irresistible. And while Hugh knows with a hundred percent surety that Paul would stop if Hugh says no, there's more than something to be said about a partner who knows his body so thoroughly that the physical part is easy and they're able to make love.
Also, Paul is ridiculously hot. But that's absolutely not a factor.
****
Tracy refuses to consider the issue again until he's had at least a week of data.
"Based on frequency that should be what, a dozen times? Fifteen, since you two have a couple of days off?"
"Quit laughing, Trace, my balls are sore."
"Drink more fluids - and not that kind."
"We're close to fifty, how are we both still this horny?"
"Because the two of you delight in making me aware of your sex life?"
"I hate you."
"Do you want my help or not?"
"Sorry."
"Keep track, and talk to me after that."
****
Rhys isn't any help either.
"Wait...Stamets wants to have sex more often and you're worried about it?"
"Concerned," Hugh sets down his weights, "I'm concerned."
Stretching his shoulders before stepping onto the mat, Rhys pops his spine and shrugs expressively.
"Sorry Hugh. Not that I don't sympathize, but if I was getting laid that often I sure as hell wouldn't be in here this much."
They circle each other slowly, feinting and looking for openings to land a hit.
"So what do you think I should do about it?"
Hugh throws a punch, adjusting his balance as Rhys deflects.
"It's good sex, right?"
"Sex with Paul generally is. Yes."
They grapple for a few seconds before breaking apart.
"In that case, find out what's causing it..."
Rhys launches a high kick that Hugh barely dodges.
"And then wha- mmmphhhh."
The next kick to his stomach is pulled, but Hugh still lands flat on his back.
"-and figure out how to keep it happening."
Notes:
Anthony and Wilson are both in their late 40's. I still have a hard time believing it.
Chapter 172: Sidestep, Part Four
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Fifteen years of dealing with the two of you, and I still can't believe I'm asking this," Tracy groans two weeks later. "But is the mode consistent?"
"What?"
Hugh flicks his analysis of the new osteogenic enhancer over to Tracy's screen. She nods a thank you, expanding it and running the proliferation and repair curves next to normal rates. They both frown as the areas beneath the curve start integrating, silent for a few minutes while the numbers scroll.
"...is there a pattern to the type of sexual activity he initiates related to the circumstances?"
"Well...a blowjob every time we’re in the shower together, humping my ass if I bend over near him, if that's what you mean?"
He's not sure if he'd call it a pattern versus practicality. Hugh's careful to keep his voice lower than the hum of equipment. Perretta is doing follow-up on a dislocated hip across the medbay (a nasty gymnastic accident that everyone on the staff cringed over), but otherwise they're alone. Discussing his sex life with Tracy is one thing, but he doesn't think Paul would appreciate anyone else hearing about it.
"Thanks for the visual."
"Sorry."
Tracy splits out the results, sending half back to Hugh for simulations while she runs the others.
"Let me rephrase into two questions. Is it the things that are happening in terms of context are unusual, or is it just the overall frequency? And, frankly, is anything different about the act itself?"
"Nothing’s out of context, I mean we’ve done it all before. He's been asking to receive maybe two thirds of the time when we’re doing that, but it’s not like he’s not being himself.”
”What’s the usual?”
The simulation beeps at him and he scrutinizes the results before altering the growth factor parameters and restarting.
”That might not be a good metric. It...depends on who’s in the mood. Went two months of just Paul on top once.”
”And that didn’t bother you then?”
”Well. It was right after we launched, I think it helped with a sense of control over something. He was being assertive, and that was hot.”
Extremely hot.
”Hmmm. Does it have anything to do with the new body?"
"Huh?"
"Reset refractory period. Granted, that would only be yours."
"It wasn't bad before. Faster than Paul's, but I don't think we've- well, didn't ever have a chance to spend a whole day in bed, before I died. We’re not having a second round till hours later, so I don’t know that it’s a factor.”
She hums thoughtfully. They're interrupted then by an ensign's aching shoulder ("Repetitive stress injury, make sure you adjust your chair to the right working height!"), and don't pick up the conversation again until a couple of hours later.
"Remember telling me that he was showing definite symptoms of an acute anxiety response to Lorca?”
There’s a tickle at the back of his mind where she could be going with this, but he’s still half-focused on tweaking the sims.
"Yeah. We both were to a degree, but it didn’t affect things too badly when we had the time."
"Well, it was about fifty times worse while you were gone in terms of depression and social withdrawal as far as I could tell. He didn’t want to talk to me about it.”
No, Tracy wouldn’t have been at the top of Paul’s list because of the reminder.
"...and it didn't get better until after we came here. Yes.”
A crew member comes in with a maintenance kit, heading for the Jefferies tube access over biobed three. Hugh waves her over to it, then steps into an empty exam room with Tracy to continue.
”He hasn’t been showing any physiological side effects from that though.”
Emotional ones are another story, but Hugh has his own feelings that he’s still wading through too.
Tracy leans on the wall, arms crossed.
"You two didn’t just jump back in bed together right away either.”
Hugh shakes his head.
"No, actually. We talked, and we cuddled for a few nights," he can't help smiling at the memories, "and then I slept over for a week until I moved back in. Paul just...held me."
She’s trying for a neutral expression, but he can see his own happiness reflected in the fondness shining in her eyes.
"So you've resumed being physically intimate what, two months since then?"
“Just about.”
“And you’re sure there’s no new symptoms?"
"Nothing overt."
They’re down to empirical hypotheses, which is both frustrating and a relief, mostly because there’s nothing in the updated database that fits the situation fully. It's not like Hugh could unobtrusively pull out the scanner every time they were post-coital (particularly after the mutual handjobs crammed into the dead end of a Jefferies tube off the cultivation bay).
"All I can do is conjecture. Honestly, what you’re describing sounds...ideal, if you know what I mean. You’re still getting enough sleep, there doesn’t seem to be any emotional issues related to using sex as avoidance, and your partner is invested in making you feel good. He wants you, and there doesn’t have to be some sort of reason besides that.”
Her half-smile is one he's seen often over the years when it came to dealing with Hugh's relationships in general, and with Paul in particular.
”Are you saying I’m somehow extra hot right now?”
Hugh deflects the heat rising in his cheeks with a wry quip.
”Well, you’ve never been my type so I can’t answer that.”
Her delivery is dryer than Vulcan at noon, and he laughs.
”Hugh,” Tracy turns to face him, hand resting on his forearm, “I say this as your friend and a fellow physician: you really should ask him directly.”
”...yeah.”
They get back to work, and Tracy sends him off at the end of his shift with a “good luck”. Squaring his shoulders as if he were headed to something other than a probable orgasm, Hugh heads home.
Notes:
My humorous sexed-up Paul mystery was only supposed to be a two-parter when I dreamed it up. As with most things Culmets, it demanded more detail! The conclusion is next.
Chapter 173: Sidestep, Part Five (Conclusion)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Sweetheart?”
Paul hums a distracted acknowledgement.
"Paul."
His use of his partner's name and a hand gently tugging his hair brings Paul up short halfway through the trail he's kissing down Hugh's torso, hips stilling where he’s been rubbing himself against the sheets.
"Hugh?"
His eyes are wide and blue, lips flushed a deep pink, and the urge to say "never mind" is almost impossible to resist. Instead, he carefully untangles his hand and curves it around Paul's jaw.
"We should talk about something."
A blank look, followed by his eyes flicking sideways that tells him the already-fast Stamets brain is running at 200% speed.
"Did I do something wrong? Did I forget- no..." Paul pushes up on his elbows and snatches his PADD off the nightstand, checking the stardate with a hint of panic, "your birthday isn't for three months, and it isn't our anniversary soon either-"
Hugh hooks two fingers over the top of the PADD and guides it down.
"Babe. No, nothing like that.”
Paul’s shoulders, bunched together tensely, relax as he props his chin on Hugh’s sternum.
”Okay.”
”Have you been feeling all right lately?”
”Yes?”
Oh way to indirectly approach it. Just ask him.
“We’ve been having a lot of sex lately. I'm not complaining,” he hastens to add, “not at all. But I was wondering what prompted it.”
“Umm. I love you and you’re hot? Also your dick is a thing of beauty and it belongs inside me.”
The sincere response makes his lips curve into a smile.
“I meant, because you didn't used to wake up early enough to, well, blow me in the shower every morning. Promise I don’t object at all to it,” Hugh strokes Paul’s cheek with his thumb, "it just started kind of suddenly the last couple of weeks.”
His eyes narrow, clearly considering what Hugh just said. He can almost hear the gears turning.
“Oh. Hmm. About that, I...”
Paul trails off, chewing his lip, fingers gripping the sheet.
That won’t do.
Setting his heel on the mattress, Hugh tips them over onto their sides, rearranging until they're face to face on the pillow.
"Sweetheart, you don't think you...have to, for some reason, right?"
“Why would I...?”
Paul's frown of utter confusion allays Hugh's fears better than any words, and he happily banishes the barely-formed notion that Paul might be doing it as some sort of misguided guilt or atonement. They’d agreed years ago for sex to always be by mutual consensus, a “no” or “I’m not in the mood” respected without more than the occasional disappointment.
“Sorry love, I didn’t say that right. Like I said, it seemed sudden and I wanted to be sure there isn’t something I missed.”
”Not really? I- I like watching you come," Paul mutters, cheeks gone so flaming red that Hugh thinks he can feel the heat on his own skin, "and you just...smell amazing. A lot lately. You know what that does to me.”
He does indeed.
“Okay,” he kisses Paul softly.
”You don’t mind, right?”
A trace of the old insecurity sneaks in, and Hugh can’t let that stand.
“Not at all,” he rubs his half-hard erection on Paul's belly, enjoying the soft give over firm muscle, “you do this to me.”
”Mmm.”
”Keep going?”
Paul nods, licking his lips before stuffing his nose in the crook of Hugh’s neck and shoulder, inhaling deeply. When he surfaces, his eyes have darkened with desire, and Hugh closes his own as they dive back into a kiss.
****
"He says I smell amazing."
"Well," Tracy arches an eyebrow over her coffee, "I wouldn't go that far."
Hugh bats his eyelashes at her sarcastically.
"Could there be something affecting his olfactory receptors?"
"Could be. Or maybe it's you?"
"What, I've suddenly turned into a siren just for him?"
He’s only half joking. This is Discovery, after all.
"Pretty sure you've always been. No, I mean chemically,” Tracy sets down her mug and grabs her PADD to access the medical database, “as in, you know the science of attraction is also psychological, but we should rule out something physiological like pheromone overproduction."
"But if my pheromones are affected, wouldn't, I don't know, other people have noticed?"
”General consensus is that Doctor Culber smells nice already. So maybe not.”
His mouth can’t decide if it wants to smile or fall open in disbelief.
”Consensus? You’ve talked to other people about it?”
”I have my sources.”
”Oookay. Do I smell different to you?”
Tracy leans over and gives him an exaggerated sniff.
"You've showered today, and you have Paul's cologne on your collar. But my receptors are used to whatever they pick up from you already.”
”Paul should be even less affected if that’s the case.”
“Well. Have a seat,” she waves at a stool, “let’s see what this fancy thirty second century mass spec has to say. In the meantime...Pollard to Stamets."
"Stamets here."
Paul sounds politely puzzled.
"Report to the medbay at your earliest convenience."
"...okay? Tilly, are you good- yeah? Umm, on my way."
"Pollard out."
Tracy finishes programming the device, sets it running as Hugh withdraws a blood sample for analysis. He’s still waiting on results when Paul comes through the doors, pulling up short at the sight of him before hurrying over.
“Hugh? Is something wrong?”
They do their best to stay professional on duty within sight of others, but since it’s Tracy, Hugh doesn’t think twice about reaching for his partner’s hands.
”I’m fine. Remember what we talked about last night?”
Paul gives Tracy a side-eye as she flicks through her readings.
”Yeah?”
”You said I smell good.”
”I believe the term he used,” Tracy interjects, “was ‘amazing’.”
Paul leans on a console, brow furrowing.
”Hang on. This has to do with- err, sorry Tracy.”
”Used to it.”
”This has to do with you being worried about why we’re suddenly having a lot of sex?”
”Well,” Tracy looks up from the screen and Hugh internally cringes at her innocent smile, “he did initially ask my opinion on the likelihood that you were exposed to sex pollen.”
Given Paul’s wide eyes, Hugh briefly considers melting through the floor.
”I didn’t- it was just a thought,” he mutters.
”So, hop up.”
Paul’s confused look really shouldn’t be this cute.
”Just going to scan you,” Tracy nudges him towards a biobed, “see if there’s anything physiological to what Hugh’s been going on about.”
“All right. But...sex pollen? The Academy urban legend?”
”I was mostly joking.”
”Uh huh.”
Tracy’s enjoying this far too much.
”It’s also possible,” she adds, “that exposure to the spores or mycelial network has heightened your senses on a subtler level than we checked before, Paul.”
”I have a sense that tells me how sexy Hugh is?”
She pointedly ignores the question and Hugh pinches Paul’s side, receiving a wink that dispels the remaining awkwardness and promises payback later. They wait in silence for the data from all three scans to integrate. When it beeps, Tracy’s mouth forms a perfect O-shape.
”Trace?”
She holds up a staying hand, tapping a few controls before running the analysis again.
"Well.”
”What?”
He and Paul ask the question in unison, and Tracy smirks.
“Turns out you and Paul have really good chemistry. As in, so chemically compatible I had to check the results because I thought it was an error."
She flicks the results over to holoproject between them, Paul leaning over his shoulder to see.
”Huh.”
”There’s also about a five percent increase in olfactory sensitivity.”
”I don’t smell anything differently,” Paul points out, “just Hugh.”
”My guess? The network attuned you somehow, to Hugh in particular. And since you’re focused on him, well...” Tracy shrugs, “you’re extra aware of his pheromones. I know I’ve always given the two of you a hard time about being so into each other, but there’s the science to prove it. ”
”Wait. So if we weren’t...”
”Hugh,” Tracy tilts her head to the side, considering, “even without this, I’m pretty sure you would still be just as disgustingly in love. This just makes your sex life enviable.”
”Enviable?”
”Don’t quote me on that, Stamets.”
Paul’s pout is even cuter than his confused face.
“Anyway, mystery solved, gentlemen?”
”Yeah. Thanks Trace.”
”Does this mean I don’t have to listen to you recount a tally of you two screwing each other’s brains out? And further reinforcing my decision to never use the shower in your quarters.”
“I thought you two talked about that already anyway.”
Hugh is so in for it from Paul later. His partner doesn’t seem miffed at all, but Hugh can tell he’s plotting something. Before sending him back to Engineering though, he has one last question.
"So if the spores enhanced his sensitivity...does that sort of qualify them as sex pollen?”
Tracy’s facepalm and Paul’s laughter are worth every moment.
Notes:
Okay, it got a bit complicated with explanations at the end, but basically: Paul and Hugh are ridiculously pheromone-compatible, Paul’s sense of smell is heightened so the Hugh-smell in particular hits his brain more, and sexytimes ensue.
In short - Culmets is scientifically justified in being hot for each other :D
I’m with Hugh. Totally sex pollen.
Chapter 174: Saved
Summary:
****SPOILERS FOR “That Hope Is You, Part 2”****
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Sometime between when they physically carry him out of Starfleet HQ and onto the heavily-armed cruiser evacuating civilians, Paul goes completely numb.
He stops fighting his escorts who nearly overbalance and topple over where they’re latched onto his arms.
Stops trying to get someone, anyone to hear him.
Stops responding verbally.
”Commander Stamets,” someone says, trying to get his attention, “Commander?”
Their voice filters through as if from underwater, distorted and easily ignored.
All he can see is Hugh.
Sees his beautiful skin covered in radiation burns.
Sees the spark in his eyes gone dim.
Sees him laid in his casket, so still and so cold, and half of Paul heart is buried with him.
Someone puts their hand on his shoulder and he shakes them off convulsively.
Leave me alone.
He catches snippets, knows that Ni’var and the remaining fleet are pursuing Discovery.
Someone tries to get him to eat something, offers water that he refuses.
He hears something about being in shock, a blanket draped around him.
Adira won’t be bursting into their quarters at all hours whenever they have a brilliant idea.
Paul’s bed will be cold and lonely.
There’s nothing left.
****
Paul is dimly aware of someone shaking his arm again, more insistently.
”Commander? We’ve had word from Discovery.”
He sits bolt upright, the blanket falling from his shoulders.
”What?”
”They’re on their way back. From the nebula.”
An iron fist squeezes around his heart.
”Did they...?”
“We don’t know. I’m sorry sir. But we’ll be back at HQ soon.”
He doesn’t dare to hope.
Hope is all he has.
****
Discovery is already there when his ship docks.
”Computer,” he rasps out, “location of Doctor Hugh Culber, USS Discovery?”
“Doctor Hugh Culber is in briefing room beta-six.”
Without a badge, he can’t transport, but he doesn’t care.
His escorts try to stay with him, but he outpaces them both, running hell-bent.
The briefing room doors barely open in time to prevent him colliding with them.
He hears a woman - Tilly? - say his name.
Everyone is a blur of dark blue uniforms, except for one in shining white.
”Sweetheart?”
He crosses the last twenty feet and pulls Hugh into his arms, uncaring of who is seeing him cry.
”You- you’re okay...Hugh...”
Hugh’s lips are soft and gentle and he’s laughing into the kiss.
”We’ve got this one to thank for that.”
Hugh lets go of his waist just long enough to reel someone else in.
”I- it...”
Words fail him, but their bodies shift, him and Hugh, making space for Adira between them.
Paul holds on with all of his strength.
Home.
Notes:
A bit choppy and disjointed, as I’m left feeling generally happy but a little unsatisfied with the finale. We deserved an extended Culmets reunion scene beyond the happy-in-sickbay, after all the writers put Paul through, so I fixed that. I may try it again tomorrow after I’ve gotten some sleep, but I needed to get this out now.
Jury is still out on the new uniforms. They don’t seem to be very well fitted.
Chapter 175: Sever, Part One
Summary:
Contains SPOILERS for the season three finale.
Paul and Hugh, reunited.
Notes:
Can be read as following the previous chapter, or on its own.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul’s joy in holding Hugh again is cut short not long after their reunion. Starfleet sequesters the bridge crew and away team for debriefing, and he’s left with only Hugh’s kiss on his cheek for the next few hours. Tracy sits with him for a little while, until his fidgeting drives them both to distraction. She says nothing, just stands and squeezes his shoulder before leaving, presumably to be sure the medbay really is in one piece.
He returns to their quarters, tidying the things strewn about during the battle and checking that the blown conduits hadn’t done any damage to their belongings. That only takes a half hour, and then it’s back to waiting.
Paul sits on the foot of their bed, hands loosely clasped between his knees. The past day keeps replaying in his mind, no matter how he tries to push away the memories. He’s too exhausted - physically and emotionally - to deal with them right now. All he wants is to curl up with Hugh, stripped to the skin to feel his steady heartbeat against his own chest.
Speaking of, Paul could probably use a shower. His uniform is wrinkled and smells of sweat, and he tosses it in the refresher on the way into the bathroom. The heat and water beating down on his back drive away any thoughts in his head at all, a welcome oblivion. He stays in the shower for a long time, water turned as hot as he can bear until his skin is flushed dark pink. Still no Hugh when he’s done, but he dresses in pajamas and turns down the bed to wait.
There’s no one else around to see him hugging Hugh’s pillow to his chest, breathing in his scent on it. He pulls the covers up around his shoulders, shivering despite the comfortable ambient temperature. Eventually, sleep claims him.
****
Hugh sees Adira back to their quarters, bidding them goodnight with a quick kiss on top of their head that they grumble about, but he can see their eyes lighting up and chuckles as he leaves. He’s tired and his feet ache, but he speeds up because he knows Paul is waiting for him to come home.
Home.
He doesn’t comm ahead in case Paul’s actually resting, and is glad of it when he enters to find lowered lights and Paul asleep on Hugh’s side of the bed. A smile tugs at his tired lips as he kicks off his boots and unzips his jacket before bending over the bed to nuzzle at the messy blond hair at Paul’s temple. His partner doesn’t stir at all, and the smile dissolves when he sees how tightly he’s clutching Hugh’s pillow.
Paul seems to have shrunken in on himself in the hours since he burst into the briefing room, a Stamets-shaped force of nature. He’d felt the storm of emotions in his embrace, knew from his tears how much he must have worried. There hadn’t been time to talk much, and he regrets that more now given the frown still creasing Paul’s brow.
It takes an effort of will to pull himself away, to undress and clean up. Much as he’d love a water shower - or better yet, a soak - he opts for a sonic to save time. While he brushes his teeth, he wonders if he ought to reserve time on one of Discovery’s new holosuites for the two of them with a trip to a spa or hot springs. It would be nice to lay out in the simulated sun without worrying over Paul burning, and he could even plan ahead for a picnic of sorts.
With those much more pleasant thoughts in mind, he pulls on pajamas and sits on the edge of the bed. Paul’s frown hasn’t diminished, and he tries to soothe it away with his thumb. He’s considering climbing in on Paul’s side instead of disturbing his love when he hears a quiet groan and Paul’s eyes flutter open.
”Hi,” Hugh smiles, palm curved along his cheek, “you’re on my side.”
Paul blinks at him for a moment, then mumbles an apology and rolls over to let Hugh in. He barely has time to get under the covers before Paul’s attached himself to Hugh’s side, a squirming octopus seeking affection. Fortunately, Hugh has that in excess and happily snuggles closer.
”Sorry it took so long.”
”Mmm.”
He pitches his voice softly, trying not to jar Paul out of his muzzy half-awake state.
“A lot happened down there, and they wanted everything described in detail since we couldn’t use our tricorders.”
“Mmm?”
”Yeah. It was...the single most awesome, visually complex environment I’ve seen. I wish we could have seen it before it started to break down. And I could have done without the radiation sickness.”
Paul’s been sleepily lipping at the side of Hugh’s neck under his ear, but he freezes on the last two words. Hugh feels a rigid tension, and tries to calm it, stroking Paul’s hair and rubbing his back.
”I’m fine sweetheart.”
The drowsiness has vanished, Paul looking much more awake than he ought to right now. Hugh’s not sure what to do about it, but he does owe Paul an apology.
“I’m sorry for scaring you.”
”...what?”
Paul pushes up on an elbow, wincing as the move seems to strain his neck.
“Shh, come here.”
He props himself up on the headboard, tugging Paul to rest his head on his lap while he digs his fingertips into the tense muscle.
“Was it bad?” Paul’s voice is muffled in his thigh, “the radiation.”
”Well. We weren’t expecting the ship to start disintegrating as fast as it did, which didn’t help. But Adira brought enough meds to keep us going.”
Paul shivers against him.
”I’m sorry I couldn’t jump back for you...”
”It’s okay love. Had to get the ship safe, and it all turned out okay.”
”I should have tried harder. If Adira hadn’t-“ Paul breaks off, voice catching, “you- it...”
Suddenly, Paul is crowding him against the headboard, kissing Hugh with an almost desperate hunger. He’s taken off guard, but his body responds immediately while his brain is still catching up. Hugh kisses back, trying to communicate contrition and relief. Paul’s straddling his lap now, hips rocking as he angles his head to delve deeper. It’s a bit overwhelming, Paul must need it to burn away the stress, and he’s not about to deny either of them some physical comfort. He was going to offer cuddling, but that can wait for later.
You really must have scared him. A few more minutes and you wouldn’t have made it out of there alive.
Hands paw at his shirt, and they break apart just long enough for both of their tops to land on the floor. Paul has both hands holding his head in place as the kiss grows hungrier, and the unexpected assertiveness flips a switch, arousal beginning to pool in his stomach. Moaning, he works a hand between them, flicking at the hard point of a nipple as he tries to match Paul’s desire. It’s easy to lose himself in it, the shift of skin on skin and Paul’s delicious noises of pleasu-
Wait.
The whimpers that he thought were lust are starting to sound more like a wounded animal. He tries to ease back a little, to see if Paul’s even aware, but Paul clings to him fiercely.
"Babe- mmm...hold o- swee...ahhh, sweetheart. Mmm-“
Something hot splashes onto his cheek, and his eyes fly open in alarm.
Paul’s crying.
He shakes, eyes screwed shut, and the desperate edge to his kisses sinks in.
”-hold...time out. Paul.”
Their lips separate with a smack. Paul immediately tries to hide his face against Hugh’s neck, but he uses the hand on his chest to hold him off.
”Sweetheart,” he almost doesn’t recognize his own voice, breathless, “what’s wrong?”
Paul shakes his head.
”N- nothing.”
”You’re crying.”
He thumbs moisture from Paul’s cheek, worry pinning his shoulders back.
”M’fine. Just...glad you’re okay.”
”Love, those don’t look like happy tears.”
Chin ducked, Paul won’t meet his eyes.
”Look at me, please. I’m right here, not going anywhere.”
The words seem to strike a chord. Paul’s face goes completely blank, blood draining out of it. He sways, and Hugh immediately wraps both arms around his waist.
”Whoa- hey, you’re okay. Love?”
”S- sor- fuhh...”
His partner is trying not to hyperventilate on his lap, and of all the unexpected things in the last twelve hours, this wasn’t even on his list. Shoving Hugh out of the way, Dr. Culber takes over.
”Paul. Need you to lay down.”
He rolls them, scrambling to keep his weight off Paul once he’s on top. Hugh tucks two fingers under his jaw, the racing pulse beating a frenzied tattoo.
“Can you breathe for me? Slow...you can do it.”
A shuddering inhale, Paul shaking with the effort. Hugh shoulders the doctor in him aside again, worried partner overriding his professional concern. He fumbles for Paul’s hand, holding it flat to his own chest and exaggerating his own breathing as he does.
”Breathe with me? Just concentrate on that, good. Feel that? That’s right, slow it down.”
Eventually, the gasping turns into more regular respiration, the occasional shudder still passing through Paul’s body. Once he’s sure he’s calmed enough, Hugh gathers him back into his arms.
”Shhh, I’ve got you.”
What the fuck?
Notes:
To be continued.
So Hugh doesn’t know at first exactly what Paul’s been through, because he was locked in a debrief and before that on the trip back, was too preoccupied with treating everyone’s radiation burns to ask. Ergo why he’s a bit less sensitive at first, not realizing what kind of special hell Paul faced.
Chapter 176: Sever, Part Two
Summary:
Paul and Hugh's reunion, continued.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul's not sure how long Hugh holds him like that, curled on their sides with legs entwined and arms around each other so tightly that every breath presses their chests together. He's murmuring soft noises of comfort, Paul's head tucked beneath his chin, hand making soothing circles on the bare skin of his back. For his part, he's latched onto Hugh's waist as if he expects him to be ripped away at any moment if he loosens his grip. Burying his nose in the warm valley between his pectoral muscles, he snuffles against Hugh's sternum and slowly feels his heart slowing its breakneck pace, surrounded by Hugh's touch and scent and the sound of his voice.
Eventually, his face is eased out of its hiding place. Hugh starts to pull away and he reaches out blindly, irrational panic warring with exhaustion.
"Shhh, I'm just going to get some water love. I'll be right back, okay?"
Mollified, he nods once, opening tear-swollen eyes to see Hugh crossing to the new replicator and coming back less than ten seconds later with a glass of water.
"Can you sit up for me?"
Part of Paul is annoyed at being spoken to like a child, but he recognizes it as Dr. Culber's gentle bedside manner and nods again. Hugh eases him off the pillows, piling them at the headboard and sliding back under the covers to lean on them. He holds out his arm and Paul immediately accepts its shelter along with the water, drinking slowly. His nose is plugged up, and he's sure his face is a reddened mess, but only concern fills Hugh's eyes once he finishes and hands the empty glass back.
"...m'sorry."
Sighing, Hugh tugs him until he's in his lap again, pulling the covers up over Paul's shoulders as he does. It's comforting, but it also means he can't look down to avoid his eyes.
"No, don't be sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry for scaring you like that," he murmurs, "and I don't blame you if you're upset with me, I should have given Michael a proper message, everything was so chaotic that I didn't realize until after what it must have sounded like."
He's not sure what Hugh's talking about, and he's fairly certain it isn't just his foggy brain.
"What what sounded like?"
"My- wait. She didn't tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
Beneath him, Hugh inhales sharply.
"When I said I was staying. I told her to tell you that I love you."
Paul laughs, tainted with tears and surprising himself with the amount of bitterness in it.
"Must have been after she knocked me out and before she stuck me in a restraining field and blew me out of Discovery?"
Hugh's jaw drops and his fingers dig into Paul's hips.
"WHAT?"
"Did you really think I would have agreed to...to leave without you?"
From anyone else, Paul would be perturbed by the assumption, but he knows Hugh doesn't mean it like that. The pain from his grip transforms into a fierce sort of possessiveness in Paul's mind, and he doesn't care if there are bruises later. Doesn't mind being marked as Hugh's, his partner alive and well to do so.
"Of course not. But I thought...she said you'd been put under some sort of neural control, and she made sure you were safe to keep Osyraa from using the spore drive, sent you to HQ until Osyraa was dealt with before coming back."
Well, isn't that a nice version of it.
"That's one way to put it."
"Paul?"
Hugh looks even more alarmed by his sharp tone.
"We argued in Engineering. She expected me to just abandon you, and Adira, as if she didn't know exactly how I felt after losing you once."
His hands slip down from Hugh's shoulders to rest on his chest, feeling it rise and fall and his heartbeat through his palms.
Safe. He's safe.
"It kept Osyraa from hurting you."
"Like I give a- Didn't care that you two are my whole life, everything...she knocked me out and I woke up stuffed into an emergency field. Hugh, she fucking wouldn't even look at me. All she could say was 'I know', as if all of that damn guilt she loves to carry made up for her forcing people to do it her way. So no, she didn't bravely rescue poor unconscious Paul Stamets."
Hugh swallows, staring at him with an unreadable look on his face, dark amber eyes wide and disbelieving. He finally loosens his fingers, but he doesn't let go.
"She didn't tell you that part, did she?"
"I...we didn't have a chance to talk a lot once we beamed back up. I fixed her up and I had to get the four of us treated, and half the equipment in the medbay was offline. Su'kal was hiding in the corner and Adira was a mess because of Gray, and I- I didn't even get to see her again until I went to the bridge when we were coming into HQ."
"You-"
Wait.
Paul replays what Hugh just said, concern overriding anger temporarily. Adira had seemed fine, so...
"Did something happen to Gray?"
As ever, Hugh doesn't question him changing the subject.
"He...the holo program, it manifested him with a physical body. We could see him and talk to him and touch him, and he was so scared of losing that when Su'kal shut the program off."
"But he's still with Adira, right? After you beamed back up."
"They said so, yeah. It's a lot to deal with."
He can't imagine the pain of that. The thought of being unseen or heard or touched is horrible, but if, like Gray and Adira, Hugh could still see him? It's selfish, but Paul doesn't honestly think it would be that bad.
Hugh's the only one who's ever truly seen him.
"Sweetheart..."
Distress is clear on Hugh's face and in his voice, but Paul needs to finish. Needs to say it to someone.
"It all turned out okay in the end, and yay, Michael the hero. And Admiral Vance agrees, so Starfleet is probably going to give her a medal. And fine, sure. But what would have happened if they hadn't re-taken Discovery?"
"Paul-"
"I'm not happy with Michael right now and that's a fuck-ton more than I'm upset with you for deciding to stay on the planet. What if Owo hadn't blown the nacelle, and Tilly and Rhys and everyone else suffocated? What if Booker hadn't been able to talk to my spores and jump? You would have all died. Horribly. Slowly. She was gambling with lives, your life, Adira's, Saru's...so no."
Notes:
To be continued, conclusion in part three.
As I continue to say, I'm not a Michael hater. I am, however, invested in Paul's feelings, and after what happened in "There Is A Tide", I can't accept that he and Michael are suddenly copacetic again because she managed to save Hugh. This is his perspective, and we'll see what Hugh has to say in the next chapter.
Chapter 177: Sever, Part Three
Notes:
Promise I'll be getting back to one-shots and shorts! I've been in a serialized writing mood lately. I currently have five multi-chapter stories going all at once, which seemed like a good idea. Oops?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Adira does their best to relax once they're back in their quarters, chest still full of warmth. Gray's wandered off to do whatever it is he does when he's not manifesting (they haven't agreed on the proper verb for it), giving Adira a chaste goodnight kiss that still couldn't have been more different than the paternal one they received from Hugh. Hugh's goodnight tugs at a very, very old memory from...Kasha? Yes, definitely Kasha. It's a memory of her parents carrying her to bed when she'd fallen asleep in the music room, Kasha's father tucking her in and lightly kissing her forehead. The memory fades, but Adira still smiles even as they brush their teeth and climb into bed.
Lying awake and staring out the viewport at the other Starfleet ships surrounding HQ, they think about the past day. It's all too easy to envision what would have happened if they hadn't gotten Reno to give them her badge. Without radiation meds, Hugh and Saru would have died in agony, just like the holo of poor Doctor Issa. Chillingly, they realize that if Discovery hadn't come back before the Khi'eth collapsed, there might not even be bodies left to bury. Saving Hugh (and Saru) wasn't something they thought they were going to have to do, and they're glad they had the courage to do it. Seeing Paul and Hugh's quiet but emotional farewell made Adira's chest tight and Tal shift inside of them in a wave of remembered separations, and they knew then that they couldn't let them be torn apart. Sure, as Gray pointed out, it's for Adira's benefit as well as Paul's, but there are some things that felt right, and them being together is one of them.
When Paul came hurtling into the briefing room, Gray had automatically stepped out of the way for him to throw himself at Hugh. And it had definitely been throwing in all senses of the word. Hugh's solidly built, but he'd rocked with the force of impact. Standing behind them, Adira had seen the way Paul's knuckles turned white, how his arms shook with tension. On the way back to HQ, Hugh had voiced a certain amount of trepidation with regards to what Paul was going to think of him staying on the planet ("He's probably not going to be too happy with me, Adira."), yet Paul's reaction suggested something deeper than that. At least, they think it does.
Love is...complicated.
They should know. It's been Adira and Gray together out of an entire universe for so long, expanding that very exclusive circle of two into three (four) is still something they're getting used to. They'd known that Hugh and Paul would like Gray, but the moment when Hugh turned to Adira and finally understood what they saw in Gray's kind eyes was...validation. And while they're positive that Gray isn't just a mental projection as a result of grief, letting him be seen by others? That's not something they're sure how to recreate. Hugh promised they'd find a way together, somehow, and Adira has to believe that.
Maybe they'll be interested in talking about it now?
They check the chrono - 2200 ship's time isn't even all that late - and decide that if they can't sleep, they'd rather do it in the company of two people who'll listen to them. Adira doesn't remember their parents, but hopes that maybe they were like Paul and Hugh, kind and caring and understanding. Hugh had said Paul might be asleep already, so they don't comm, just get dressed and head out the door. For a moment, they wonder if they should leave Gray a note, because if he gets back and they're not there, he might not know where to find them-
Yep, not going to be a problem when he's, like, attached to me.
They definitely need to clear their head. The walk helps a bit, and in what seems like no time they're inputting the access code to Paul and Hugh's quarters (Hugh had made sure they had it, because he laughingly worried that the system might eventually 'get tired' over their hacking in and overriding the lock). The doors swish shut behind them, and they come to a halt three steps in.
"-fucked up, Paul."
Neither of them is asleep. Instead, Hugh's sitting on the bed with Paul in his lap, the covers pulled up around their bare shoulders and shirts on the floor. For a moment, Adira wonders if they've wandered in in the middle of something they definitely do not want to see (or think about) and briefly considers tapping their badge to make an exit. Tilly's impressed upon them the likelihood of finding Paul and Hugh otherwise engaged, but they've so far been able to avoid any awkward moments besides the occasional kiss that makes them roll their eyes. Thankfully, it's clearly not the case as they both turn towards the door, because despite their position, Paul's face is pink and his eyes puffy with evidence of recent crying.
Adira should know what that looks like. They've done enough of it.
"Umm."
The complex mix of emotions on Paul's face clears, leaving just concern.
"Adira? Is everything okay?"
"Fine! Sorry, I didn't know you two were-" they gesture vaguely at the bed, "doing...something."
"I thought you were going to sleep?"
Hugh taps Paul on the arm, and he climbs off his lap to let him retrieve their shirts. Adira's relieved to see them both wearing pants.
"I'll go-"
"No, stay," Paul's voice is muffled by fabric for a moment, "what do you need?"
"Are you okay?" they blurt out, even though it's probably more polite to pretend they didn't see anything (Adira's never been great with the whole social etiquette thing).
"I'm- it's not something you should worry about. I'm fine."
Adira lets their dubious expression respond with silence until Paul continues.
"I'm just relieved you're both okay. I need to talk to Hugh about a few things, but it's nothing that can't wait."
His voice seems a bit raspy, and Hugh sighs.
"Adira, do you mind getting some water for him? And whatever you want."
They nod and head over to the replicator, hearing a quiet murmur behind them. No matter how badly they want to turn around and look, they manage to resist the urge and stare at the replicator until a glass of water and mug of hot chocolate whir into existence.
Paul starts to wave them at the nightstand, but pauses at a significant look from Hugh (significant, but what does it mean?) and instead holds out his hand to accept the glass with a nod. Left standing awkwardly at the side of the bed, they don't realize that they've been fidgeting until Hugh pats the duvet in the middle of the bed and they stop twisting their fingers together. The mattress feels bouncier than theirs as they climb on and settle cross-legged facing the headboard, hands wrapped around the warm mug. By now, Paul's scrubbed his hand across his face a few times, and he looks a little less distraught as he sits beside Hugh.
"Is Gray here now," Hugh asks them gently, glancing around as if Gray might suddenly appear, "with us?"
"No. But he said he'd be back," Adira laughs nervously, "so he's off doing something. I guess. I'm not really sure where he goes when he's not with me. I mean he's with me, but not with me."
Neither of them give Adira a look of confusion or frustration at the vague response, instead wearing matching expressions of compassion.
"Did something happen with Gray?"
"Not...exactly? I just, Hugh maybe told you, about Gray? Being like real real, in the holoprogram on the ship. And...yeah. I don't think- I don't know what he's feeling right now."
"I haven't had a chance to tell him all of it yet, Adira," Hugh sighs, "why don't you go ahead now?"
"Umm. Sure. So after Reno gave me her commbadge-"
"Hang on. Reno is part of all of this?"
Paul finishes the water and sets the glass aside, making an encouraging gesture before folding his hands in his lap expectantly.
"I- when they were making you go back into the cube, I knew...I'd talked to Gray about it. And it seemed like it would work, so I got Reno to give me her badge and transported to Book's ship and when he got to the planet, I took some radiation pills and beamed down."
"But if the holoenvironment masked everything," Paul frowns, "how did you keep them from...un-manifesting them? The pills."
"I hid them. In my mouth. In a container! Not like in my mouth."
"Got it."
"I beamed down into this forest thing? And it made my clothes look all different, and turned me into a Xahean. So it took a little while to find Hugh, and when I did, that's when Gray showed up. It made him a Vulcan, and that's when Hugh said he could see him."
"It recognized his existence, somehow," Hugh shifts forward to sit closer to Adira, "and made him a body. He was tangible. I wish I'd scanned him, but by the time the program turned off, things got a little chaotic. I promised we'd try to find a way for him to be seen again, not just by Adira."
Paul goes very still, staring off into the space over Adira's shoulder. They're used to that look in Engineering, but seeing it with Paul in his pajamas is just weird, so they cover the awkwardness by chugging half of their chocolate in one go. Hugh smiles reassuringly at them, eyes softening as he takes in Paul's posture.
They're really something.
At last, Paul shakes his head a little and blinks slowly.
"Well. It's a metaphysical question and a practical one. Which one do you want to tackle first?"
"I-" Adira's interrupted by a giant yawn, "which one do you think?"
"I think," Hugh interjects, "you should get some sleep and we can talk about it over breakfast once we've all had a chance to rest."
"No, I'm fuhhiihhh- fine."
"Why don't you just take a nap on the couch then? Half an hour," Paul smiles, "and if that's enough, we can keep talking."
Hugh's already rescuing the almost-empty mug from Adira's fingers before it spills onto the duvet. They're about to protest, but exhaustion seems like it's catching up, and Adira nods in defeat.
"Okay."
There's a throw folded over the arm of the couch, and they wrap themselves in it before settling down. Watching Hugh and Paul from under the blanket, they're not sure but they think their smiles are...different somehow. The two on the bed are trying to keep their voices low, but Adira can pick up snippets - something about Michael - and wonders again what they interrupted. Paul doesn't sound happy, something about his tone sharp and brittle, and Hugh's response seems less comforting or conciliatory than urgent.
It gets harder to hear when Paul and Hugh pull the covers up. They're not sure why Paul and Hugh would be unhappy with Michael, but whatever it is that made Paul cry, it can't be good. The conversation continues, and Adira tries to stay awake (it's not eavesdropping if people know you're there, right?) but it seems like a lost cause. Sighing, they let their heavy eyelids close.
Notes:
The Adira part kept getting longer and longer, and I couldn't bear to cut it. Hoping it doesn't break up the flow of things too much - consider it a bonus chapter? Conclusion next.
Chapter 178: Sever, Part Four (Conclusion)
Chapter Text
"Captain," Hugh smiles pleasantly, "we need to talk."
The ready room is empty save for them, Michael pausing the simulation floating in the air in front of her.
"Of course...?"
She indicates a chair, but he doesn't sit. Instead, he paces towards the viewport and waits for her to join him as he stares out at the stars.
"Such an amazing future we've been brought to."
"It is."
He can see her half-smile reflected in the glass, the blinking lights of the simulation painting both of their skin in shades of glowing blue.
"We came here because of you. We followed you, back to Starfleet and the Federation."
Her smile fades, turning to look at him.
"Hugh?"
Hugh continues looking ahead, keeps his expression calm.
"Paul told me. What you did."
A sharp inhale. Then-
"...I had to get him off the ship. Osyraa-"
"Part of command is perspective on the greater good," he continues mildly, "preserving the most lives and ensuring that the Federation remains intact."
Michael nods slowly, frowning.
"I wish it hadn't come to that."
There's genuine pain reflected on her face, and he doesn't doubt that the decision was a hard one to make. But it could have been made easier.
"You made the right decision."
She freezes, surprise plain in her dropped jaw. He waits for it to pass, watches her blink as it settles in.
"Thank you, Hugh."
Hugh turns his back on the viewport.
"It's one of the things about command that I've always known I wouldn't be able to do, to choose. My oath as a physician grants that every life is precious, so I'm glad you were here to make that call Of course you had to get Paul off the ship, and if it meant my death or Saru's against the whole of the Federation? I wouldn't expect you to choose us first. And you picked the best way to have him retrieved safely."
Some of the tension drains out of her, and part of him thinks what he's about to say next is unwarranted. He carefully focuses on that part of him, and tells it to shut the hell up for a few minutes.
"See, you made the right decision, but you fucked up carrying it out."
Michael physically rocks backwards at his words.
"What-"
He keeps his voice at a conversational volume, even as his tone changes.
"You knew exactly how he felt after I died, Michael. You're supposed to care about him."
"Of course I care. But I couldn't-"
"You broke him, Michael. Did you consider that it would have been a lot easier to have Paul follow you to the airlock and willingly step into that emergency field, instead of knocking him unconscious without his consent and dragging him halfway across the ship?"
She's shaking her head adamantly.
"He wouldn't listen."
Of course he wouldn't have.
Hugh can picture every painful moment.
"Did you tell him that staying was my choice and I knew what it meant?"
"There wasn't time."
"Really," there's enough biting disbelief that he surprises even himself, "because you had time to tell him that Adira was with us."
"He'd just brought them up."
"You could have told him while you were phasering off the restraints. Could have told him you understood exactly what the cost was and that it was hurting you to make it. Instead, you let him think that you'd abandoned Saru and Adira and I without a second thought, knowing it would make him desperate to do anything to save us. To save me."
Michael's blinking rapidly, and he can see her internal conviction struggling with defensiveness.
"Hugh...I didn't want to. You have to understand. It was the only way."
"I understand. That doesn't mean it's okay. Command is about making those hard calls even when it's your friends that suffer. But you know what else it is, from every good captain I've met? It's also about having a heart. It's about understanding exactly what the consequences of your actions are, not just for you and the ideal of the Federation, but the lives of everyone placed in your charge. And it's about choosing a path that does the least harm."
"I didn't have another choice. We were running out of time, I barely got him off the ship."
"You didn't have to make a different choice. But you didn't have to do it that way either. Did you even bother to tell him that I loved him?"
She looks stricken, and he has to fight the urge to back down.
"I- it wouldn't have made a difference."
She needs to hear this.
"Couldn't you have given him that little piece of comfort instead of making it only about the bigger picture? How telling him you were saving the Federation wouldn't matter nearly as much as the thought that you were willing to let the people he loves die?"
All she can do is shake her head, and Hugh knows he needs to give her time to think. There's just one more thing he has to say.
"I want you to succeed as a captain. And there are going to be times you'll have to make terrible decisions that I can't pretend to understand. But you need to remember that there is always time for a moment of compassion, of empathy instead of sympathy. You need the crew to respect you. I'm your friend Michael, and there's going to be times that my life will be in your hands again. And I'll trust you with it, because you're the Captain. But I'm not going to forget what you did to Paul. And I don't think he's going to trust you again for a long time. Maybe ever."
He leaves her standing there in silence, and goes home to Paul.
Notes:
Of course as Michael's friend, Hugh is going to be happy for her attaining the captaincy (since he's smiling when she walks onto the bridge), but there's part of him that's absolutely furious with her. It's never, ever a good idea to find out where the limits are on kind, gentle people.
Chapter 179: Sour
Summary:
Set post-Season Three, and after the events of "Sever" in the previous four chapters.
Notes:
Chapter title on the list of S-words suggested by the lovely LadyRiona :)
Chapter Text
Hugh's working on charting when the doors to the medbay open, looking up with a smile.
"Hi Tilly."
"Hi Doctor Culber. Is Doctor Pollard here?"
He glances around the bay, but it's just him for the moment, Zarrin and Aisha busy in one of the private exam suites.
"She's off today. Do you need her?"
Tilly looks strangely relieved, although she's shifting her weight nervously back and forth between her feet. It's something he recognizes from her cadet days, but it hasn't been much in evidence in a while.
"Uhh, no. Actually, I came here to talk to you."
"To me?"
"Yeah. Could we-" her eyes dart around the empty bay, "maybe talk somewhere private?"
Frowning, he stands and gestures her over to the desk and erects a privacy screen.
"Is everything okay?"
She fidgets, chewing her lip.
"Oh, I'm fine. This isn't about me."
"No?"
"It's about Stamets."
Hugh's focus sharpens immediately, heart skipping a beat.
"Did something-"
Tilly shakes her head, waving a hand between them.
"No, no, he's fine. I think. But I saw something weird and I needed to talk to someone, and I couldn't exactly talk to him, because, well...yeah."
He sits on the edge of the desk, trying to project calm receptiveness.
"Go ahead."
"So, Stamets and Adira and I were working on some of the new power flows. And Michael came down because we were getting lunch, and it's good for a captain to be seen around the ship, right?"
Nodding, Hugh thinks he knows where this is going, but just gestures for her to keep talking.
"Anyway. She came in and said hi, and when she was talking, you know that frown he has when he's really frustrated? Yeah. He had that, but it wasn't that exactly. I don't know. Then when we were leaving, I realized I left my PADD. I went back for it, and Stamets was just...looking at her with this face like he'd eaten something really sour. So uhh, I wanted to ask, is he mad at Michael for some reason?"
Oh Tilly, you don't know the half of it.
"No, he's not mad. It's...complicated."
"What do you mean, complicated?"
Hugh closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
"Let's just say that it has to do with how Michael got him off the ship when Osyraa hijacked it."
"...okay."
Tilly's expression is skeptical, and he doesn't blame her.
"It's something they're going to have to work out," he sighs, "I'm sorry you got stuck in the middle."
"Oh. No, it wasn't like that, I don't think? I just- I mean, he seemed so...off. And I was worried."
He gives her a tired smile.
"Me too. But that's not something any of the rest of us can help with."
"Not even you?"
"I've done my part," Hugh shakes his head, "the rest is really up to Michael."
Tilly stares at him for a few breaths before nodding slowly.
"Okay. I get it? I don't, but I do. I need to get back to Engineering, but...thank you, Hugh."
Patting her shoulder, Hugh drops the privacy screen and sees her off with a wave.
Sour.
That would be an understatement.
Chapter 180: Shattered
Chapter Text
Not for the first time this week, Hugh wakes up to the feeling of Paul’s arms around him and his tears hot on his neck. He’s trying to stay quiet and still, but the way his body is shaking means the mattress is practically vibrating.
Also not for the first time this week, Paul inhales sharply as soon as he stirs and cuts off the whimpers by pressing his face into Hugh’s shoulder. He’s halfway between sprawled out on his stomach and curled on his side, Paul practically blanketing his torso. Even his knees are locked tight around Hugh’s thigh, hard enough that it’s probably going to be sore in the morning.
“Sweetheart.”
It’s not a question, just an acknowledgement that he’s awake.
Paul loosens his limbs enough that Hugh can roll over to face him, shedding his pajama top. He doesn’t need to turn on the lights to know that his love is red in the face, eyes squeezed shut and jaw clenched. Instead, he simply pulls Paul back against his chest and holds on as tightly as he can.
There’s nothing to be said, just Hugh’s soft murmurs of comfort and his kisses on Paul’s temple. Paul’s cheek is hot on his bare skin as Hugh lets him cry himself out until the sobs quiet into shivers.
He frees a hand to reach for the glass of water he’d left on his nightstand, sitting up for Paul to drink it without ever letting go. When he’s finished, Hugh shifts to lay on his back, Paul curling against his side and head pillowed on Hugh’s shoulder. Sighing, he straightens the covers, tugging the duvet up to their chins.
”...s- sorry.”
Paul’s voice is so small, and Hugh’s heart breaks for him.
”Shhh. It was just a horrible dream. I’m here and I promise I will never leave you again.”
”C- can’t promise.”
It’s true, much as he hates it, but he knows Paul understands.
”Can you go back to sleep? Or do you want me to turn on the lights.”
Hugh’s on alpha in four hours, but he’ll stay awake as long as Paul needs him.
A negative head shake.
”Sleep.”
”Okay.”
He tilts Paul’s chin up for a gentle kiss, then begins running his fingers through sweaty blond hair, smoothing it down. Eventually, Paul’s breathing evens out in sleep.
Not for the first time this week, Hugh stares up towards the ceiling in the dark and wonders how long Paul will have to pay the price for Michael Burnham’s actions.
In the morning, he’ll send a message to Aisha asking her if she’ll trade shifts so he can stay in bed with Paul until he wakes up from his exhausted sleep. They won’t talk about it in the artificial light of day, but he’ll make sure that Paul eats something and that Lieutenant Commander Stamets is ready to go on duty before he kisses him goodbye and heads to the medbay.
For now, he wipes away the last of Paul’s tears and closes his eyes.
Too long.
Notes:
I couldn’t get this out of my head, so here I am at 1 am writing.
Oh, Paul.
Chapter 181: Scalpel
Summary:
Season One - Paul gets his augments installed.
Chapter Text
They've already been intimate on so many levels, but watching Hugh’s head bowed over the exposed wiring of his augment with tender attention is new.
He's sitting on a biobed in a private exam suite, arm propped on a cart with Hugh perched on a stool on the other side. Hugh's using both hands to work, and he's enjoying the rare opportunity to really watch his partner show off the delicate surgical skills normally consigned to repair of injuries. His face is relaxed save for a slight frown, breathing so even and regular that Paul wonders if it's something he was taught in medical school or developed from time spent learning Vulcan meditation. Interestingly, although there's a three-dimensional holo of the blood vessels, nerves, and ligaments floating in the air between them, Hugh keeps his eyes firmly on Paul's arm as he manipulates the augment into place tucked against his brachioradialis muscle.
Seeing Hugh use a laser scalpel to open his forearm hadn't been Paul's favorite part, particularly when he couldn't feel anything. Paul's arm has a neural block on it so everything below his elbow is numb, although he can still move his hand (which is both creepy and really fascinating) to make sure that everything is still working properly. Hugh had offered to opaque the sterile field on Paul's side, but he's managed to get a handle on the unexpected squeamishness by focusing on Hugh grafting individual connections into place. They'd agreed that the ports shouldn't be mechanically activated to avoid accidentally triggering them in the course of a normal day, but it's going to take some time to retrain his brain to recognize the sense of "other" in order to have conscious control.
Hugh switches tools, this time reaching for a regen to coax Paul's skin to seal itself over most of the augment. It looks unnaturally rigid as Hugh carefully palpates the new skin, but the outer casing snapped into place a moment later conceals the attachment point and protects the sensitive technology. They're going to have to keep an eye on the site to be sure that his body won't reject the implant; despite its biocompatibility, there's no guarantee that his immune system might not decide it doesn't like the intruder.
Gloved fingers slide down to his wrist in a way that, despite the numbness, feels a little less clinical than the other touches have been.
"Wiggle your fingers for me?"
Paul does, although without sensory feedback it's the weirdest thing he's ever seen to see a part of his body functioning without apparent connection.
"Good. I'm going to leave the neural block in place, it'll wear off over the next hour. That'll give your body time to acclimate."
"Can I have my PADD?" he nods at the item sitting just out of reach on another cart.
"No. You can practice getting them to activate, but I don't want you moving too much until the block is gone."
"Lorca won't-"
Hugh's lips press together, grip tightening perceptibly as his fingers dent the skin even though Paul can't feel it.
"I don't give a damn what he wants. You're my patient, and I want to keep you for observation until I'm satisfied that the integration is complete."
They're both technically still on duty, but they're also alone and the door is closed for privacy, so he doesn't think twice about leaning forward until he can rest their foreheads together.
"I know I'm being an ass to you, and you still..." he uses the fingers of his left hand to gesture at his right forearm until Hugh catches his other wrist to hold it still, "made these for me."
"We both know you wouldn't, given a choice. Well, I hope you wouldn't."
He's always been a bit of a workaholic, but the war has taken it to a whole new extreme.
"Not on purpose. Can you-" Paul clears his throat, voice quiet, "could you stay? Just for a little while longer."
Nodding, Hugh comes around to sit beside him on the biobed, thighs touching. Paul sags sideways, stealing a few precious moments to lean on his partner and let Hugh's strength hold him up.
He's been doing that a lot lately.
"Thank you."
A kiss on his temple.
"You're welcome. You know I can't stand seeing you get hurt."
That's an understatement if ever there was one.
Hugh's arm comes up to wrap around his shoulders, and Paul closes his eyes, inhaling the smell of medical disinfectant and Hugh before exhaling slowly.
"Rest for a little while, love."
For once, Paul does as he's told.
Chapter 182: Stuffed
Notes:
Can be read as a companion piece to the sex pollen mystery in Chapters 169-173 (“Sidestep”) or independently.
Chapter Text
Paul can’t stop touching Hugh now that he has permission again. He’s well aware of the desire, the need to be close to him, to feel him solid and real under his hands and against his body and inside his mouth. Even still, he surprises himself with how often he finds himself making contact simply because he can.
Nudging their shoulders together when standing at the bathroom sink brushing their teeth.
Their knuckles grazing each other as they walk down the corridor together.
Coming up behind Hugh and wrapping his arms around his waist while he’s waiting at the synthesizer for a cup of coffee.
Fingers resting high on Hugh’s inner thigh while they’re sitting beside each other during lunch with Tilly.
Waking up earlier just to share a shower, washing each other with sleepy smiles.
Solving the problem of a crowded couch on Game Night by inviting Hugh to sit on his lap instead.
All of these and more, but he notices most of all when they’re tucked in bed together getting ready to sleep. There’s no longer times when they retire to their respective sides of the bed after a goodnight kiss, handholding not enough. They’ve always enjoyed snuggling, but there’s more to it when Paul forgoes pajamas altogether every night so that there’s no barriers between their skin, when he can’t even fall asleep at all now with clothes on.
Paul wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he’s somehow even more turned on by Hugh’s scent and taste, affection becoming arousal and lust on a daily basis. Before - before Hugh’s death and resurrection and their reckoning with who they both are - they both had respectable libidos and a satisfying sex life. Now, it just takes Hugh’s eyes crinkling in laughter or his chest flexing when he reaches for his PADD for Paul to suddenly feel the all-consuming need to be together. He can’t get enough of Hugh, gorges himself on his presence and his touch and the pleasures of his body.
Opening his eyes in the morning with the desire to suck Hugh off even before his brain makes him aware of things like hunger or thirst.
Pressing Hugh up against the condenser unit in the cultivation bay and devouring his mouth.
Eye fucking in the turbolift behind Tracy’s back until she turns around and gives them an epic eyeroll.
Needing to cut lunch short to drag him into a supply closet and shove his hand down Hugh’s pants.
Thinking ahead and hiding a bottle of lube under the couch cushions so that he doesn’t have to cross the room to get it when he feels the urge to impale himself on Hugh’s cock in the middle of reading reports.
Synthesizing a half dozen new toys and trying them out on him, cataloguing every gasp and moan to determine which one gets his partner off the hardest.
He knows Hugh notices, responds to his teasing comments about sex pollen with a grin. It’s not something he can really explain, not in any rational way, and he’s just glad that Hugh accepts it without judgment or complaint when love spills over into desire, into bridging the physical distance to bring their bodies as close as their hearts. Their lovemaking is playful and joyful and they’re both so present in each moment.
Paul can’t stop loving Hugh now that he has permission again. Hugh is the air Paul needed to remember how to breathe, how to be alive. There’s not a moment to waste.
Chapter 183: Silly
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
They’re watching an action-filled holonovel that’s extremely popular amongst the crew at present, Paul slouched on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table and Hugh’s head pillowed on his thigh. Hugh’s been sneaking glances up at Paul every now and then just to watch his partner’s reactions, his expressions far more entertaining than the cliched plot and stilted dialogue (“It’s supposed to be a little silly, it’s entertainment babe.” “It’s trashy, Hugh.”). The campiness is a huge selling point as far as he’s concerned, a holo that doesn’t take the material seriously and invites the audience to laugh along at just how bad the genre can be.
”Is this over yet?”
”Shhh.”
The hero has just escaped an ambush by an alien species of indeterminate origin, ripping most of their clothing in the process as they scramble to safety with nothing but a strategically placed phaser rifle to conceal what’s bouncing as they run. Paul groans and Hugh smirks, bringing a hand up under Paul’s knee to scratch his pajama-clad thigh. Another explosion, the hero and their companion leaping for cover with exaggerated cries of alarm, finally declaring themselves temporarily safe as they board their ship and go to warp. The background music changes to something with less dramatic crescendos, slowing to a suggestive thump.
”...ooookay?”
Hugh doesn’t reply, too busy grinning as the hero’s companion - with whom there’s been unsubtly growing sexual tension - declares their intent to clean up but discovers that power failures mean the shower door won’t close. The hero makes a big show of looking away as they strip in extreme slow motion before soaping themselves up. After valiantly attempting to keep their eyes on the console, however, they tear off what remains of their own clothes and join them for a passionate kiss that quickly devolves into something closely resembling softcore porn.
Paul literally facepalms.
”Seriously? You said Tilly let Adira watch this?”
Actually, he’s pretty sure Adira shared it with Tilly and they spent the whole time laughing themselves silly, but telling Paul that would spoil the fun.
“They’re sixteen, I’m sure they’ve seen worse.”
”I’m not talking about that-“ Paul flaps a hand at the bodies now undulating under a sheet, “I mean the fact that there’s zero production value!”
Hugh rolls onto his back, watching Paul gesture and sputter with increasing amusement.
”It’s supposed to be bad. It’s got four and a half stars from the crew precisely because of how campy it is.”
The overwrought moaning and breathy declarations of undying love come to a crescendo, and Hugh glances over to see the hero’s face frozen in open-mouthed ecstasy just as the credits start rolling. Paul covers his eyes with his hand again and groans.
“You’re sure they’re watching the same holo?”
”Mmhmm.”
Paul’s thigh shifts under his head and Hugh slides a little further up his lap, stopping when he feels something prod his ear. Licking his lips, Hugh grins.
”Are you complaining this much because it’s that terrible, or because you’re turned on by it?”
The hand comes off Paul’s eyes and he gives him an indignant glare.
”...what? Of course not, I-“
His profession of innocence is cut short as Hugh reaches up and fondles his half-hard erection through the thin fabric.
“What’s this then?”
Paul’s mouth falls open when Hugh’s fingers deftly squeeze the tip, eyes fluttering closed before he forces them back open.
”You- your head...is right there.”
“Really? I’ve been laying here for an hour and a half and your dick was fine with it.”
Hugh rolls over the rest of the way and adopts a wide-eyed innocent expression, taking on the companion's dramatic delivery.
”Do you think I should run a manual diagnostic, Captain? Find out why the controls are so stiff?”
”Oh my god, that was a terrible scene, please don’t bring it back up.”
“But if they penetrate our defenses, we’ll be destroyed!”
Paul stares at him for the span of about three seconds before the mock outrage dissolves and he giggle-snorts.
”If you’re trying to get laid, this holo is not the way to go.”
“Are you sure?”
He punctuates the question with a tug.
”Positive.”
”So you’re not hard right now. At all.”
The evidence twitches in his grip.
”Nope.”
”Well that’s a pity then, because I thought I might take you to bed and fuck myself silly on it. I suppose I’ll just have to go to sleep since you’re depriving me of your- mmmmmphhh.”
With a smirk, Paul deftly unbuttons the front of his pants and effectively silences Hugh’s complaints. His amused hum draws a quiet moan, and he sets about seeing how much he can make them increase in volume.
Although...
He pulls on Paul's arm insistently until he tips sideways, blinking in confusion and whining as Hugh releases him long enough to arrange them more comfortably on their sides.
”Wha-?”
Hugh licks his inner thigh, biting at the creamy skin.
"Since you're down there..."
He shoves his own pajama pants down around his hips, gives Paul’s hair a tug to propel him forward, and waits for his partner’s lust-fogged brain to catch on. The slick heat of Paul’s mouth surrounds him a moment later, world narrowing to the caress of a tongue and clever fingers. Forgotten behind them, the holo’s ending credits fade, and for a few minutes the only sounds are gasps and moans and the obscenely wet noises of their mutual pleasuring.
His mindless focus breaks when Paul lets him slip from between his lips, heeding the hand pushing at his chest.
”...mmmmuhhh?”
Hugh pouts as the object of his affection bobs just out of reach from his outstretched tongue. The pout turns into a frown as Paul stands, dislodging him and pulling him to his feet. Paul's lips are reddened, cheeks flushed and hair sticking up in all directions, but he still manages a wink that makes Hugh’s balls tighten.
”Come on.”
He’s too distracted by Paul tossing his pajamas on the floor to form a coherent response.
"Huh?"
”Naked. Bed. Lube.”
”What?”
Stepping closer, Paul peels him out of his shirt.
”Someone said he was going to fuck himself silly on me.”
Hugh did say that, didn’t he?
While he stands there thinking, Paul falls backwards onto the bed, bouncing a few times as he moves towards the pillows and stretches for the nightstand.
"Well? Or are you just going to stare?"
"You," Hugh kicks off his pants and follows, "are the hottest piece of ass I've ever seen. Worth staring at."
Even aroused, Paul still blushes.
"Flattery will get you everywhere, dear doctor," he purrs, patting his lap, "so get up here."
Laughing in delight, Hugh goes.
Notes:
The hero and their companion's genders are deliberately not specified.
Chapter 184: Sibling
Chapter Text
"You," Adira looks up as Tilly drops down to sit on the steps beside them, "are amazing."
"What?"
At the foot of the stairs with his knees tucked up out of the way (despite the fact that no one will actually bump into him), Gray's attention shifts from the forest in the cultivation bay back up to them.
Tilly jerks a thumb back over her shoulder towards the doors into the spore drive bay.
"You figured all of that out in a few minutes, upgraded the interface so that Stamets could get those ports out of his arms, and you saved Hugh. That's amazing, and it makes you pretty special."
She's smiling, no hint of condescension or envy on her face. Adira had been worried that their presence might be felt as an intrusion, seeing how close Tilly was with Stamets, but she’s never been anything but kind other than their initial meeting (and they really can’t blame her for that).
“I guess? I mean...I wanted to help. Paul I mean, with the drive, it wasn’t super complicated.”
”You still suck at accepting compliments,” Gray adds.
They start a little when Tilly opens her arms, leaning in for a hug.
”Is this okay?”
Adira nods.
”Thank you.”
”For what?”
”For going down to the planet with the radiation pills. For coming up with a plan on your own in the middle of all of that.”
Oh.
”I needed to do something. Umm. Sorry for not asking?”
Their voice trails up, and Tilly reaches over and squeezes their fingers.
”Nah. I was freaking out with the whole being acting Captain thing. You were thinking ahead.”
Shaking their head, Adira’s lips curve in a half smile.
”I was thinking about Gray, actually.”
Two pairs of eyes blink at her in surprise.
”Me?”
”What?”
”They have something really special.”
Tilly follows their glance across the bay, eyebrows rising. It’s past 2100 and the dimmed lights make it harder to see two gray uniforms, the blue stripe on one almost obscured by a dense patch of stella. Paul and Hugh are leaning on a small hillock, curled together with their PADDs abandoned at their feet. Hugh’s jacket is unzipped, Paul’s hand beneath it wrapped around his waist, and from the looks of it they’re both dozing.
”When Hugh said goodbye to Paul before he beamed down...I don’t know. I just thought about what it felt like when-“ Adira closes their eyes, and when they open them again Gray is sitting on their other side, “when Gray died. And I had to do something. That doesn’t make sense, does it?”
”It does.”
They fall silent for a couple of minutes, just watching the spores shimmering in the air.
”You know,” Tilly’s voice is quiet, “you’re very special to them too.”
Adira glances down at their knees, face heating.
”I'm glad they have you looking out for them too,” she continues, “you’re good for each other.”
Across the bay, an alarm goes off on one of their PADDs and Hugh stirs. Tilly lets go of their hand to wave at him with an exaggerated motion, and Adira nods as Gray blows them a kiss and wanders off.
”What’s that for?”
“To make sure they know we’re here so they don’t start making out or something.”
They’re just close enough to see the soft smile on Hugh’s face as he kisses Paul’s cheek and gently shakes him awake. Adira’s grateful for the distraction, unsure how to process the warm, squirmy feeling inside that has nothing to do with Tal in response to what Tilly was saying before Hugh woke up.
”They just woke up.”
”Let me tell you, any of those ideas you’ve got about old people and relationships? Thinking it’s safe to go in unannounced and stuff? Toss ‘em out, or you’re going to walk in on something you don’t want to see. Believe me.”
“Errr. Okay. I mean, it can’t be that bad? And Hugh gave me their door code to use.”
She turns to look at Adira again.
”It’s safer to let them know you’re coming, unless you want to see Stamets without his shirt.”
”Ummm. I have. It was...”
”Weird?”
”Uhh huh.”
Whatever Tilly is about to say next is cut off as Paul and Hugh make their way over. Glancing between them, Paul’s eyes narrow.
”I’m not sure which of you is the bad influence.”
Tilly smiles brightly.
“That’s probably me. Older and wiser and all.”
“You’re not actually that much older than me.”
”Technically, no, but it’s fun to finally not be the youngest one around here.”
Hugh laughs, and Adira sees the way Paul’s eyes light up at the sound.
”What are you two up to?”
“Came to find you. Umm. Dinner, right?”
Yawning, Paul nods.
”Coming with us, Tilly?”
Tilly gives Adira a look they can’t quite decipher, but smiles a moment later, nudging their shoulders together.
”Sure.”
Chapter 185: Starved
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The healing power of touch is something well-documented over the course of history, from studies on infant wellbeing through to psychological analysis of contact with other beings. Basic levels of common contact vary - Vulcans being a prime example - yet almost every known species of sentient life seeks out connections, whether through others of their own or through bonding with other life forms as pets.
It's part of the standard Starfleet Medical curriculum, bundled together with professional etiquette and cultural sensitivity, but it's something Hugh has always found intuitive. His bedside manner is made up of calm patience and respect together with reassuring touches (a hand on the arm when giving a difficult diagnosis), and physical affection is an integral part of his personal life (friends and family receive hugs and kisses on the cheek without reservation, a head on the shoulder or squeeze of the knee during conversation). No one though, more than Paul.
At first, he'd wondered if Paul was psi-sensitive or had some sort of touch telepathy based on his body language. Paul stood still or leaned away, shoulders rising in a 'don't get too close' signal that most everyone human could pick up on in social situations. He held PADDs in front of his chest or stepped around consoles to put a barrier between himself and others, offered his hand to shake instead of greeting even his friends with hugs.
For all that he was standoffish and sharp at their first meeting, Hugh was struck with the gradual change. His crossed arms and frown eventually relaxed, and he went from leaning back in his seat to resting his elbows on the table, gesturing animatedly as he argued with Hugh about the merits of opera as a musical genre. He'd been prepared to respect his space on their first real date after weeks of comms, mentally kicking himself when he instinctively rested his hand on Paul's bare forearm over dinner and Paul stopped mid-sentence to stare at it. Before he could pull back and apologize though, Paul gave him the tiniest shy smile, turning his arm over to expose his wrist in a gesture that made Hugh's heart gallop. Their fingers laced together not long after, and he'd held Hugh's hand all through their meal, releasing it only to pay the bill.
He'd hugged Paul goodnight at the end of that date, murmuring how much he'd enjoyed the evening. They let their arms fall but neither of them stepped back, faces inches apart and the air gone electric between them. Paul's body had swayed towards him, and Hugh remembers not being able to breathe as he slowly reached up to cradle Paul's cheek in his hand, eyes falling closed when their lips met.
Paul's bubble of personal space vanished with that kiss, as far as Hugh was concerned. It was nearly fifteen years ago when he'd learned that the public Paul and private Paul were two very different people, that away from the eyes of others, Paul was just as - if not more - affectionate than Hugh. He was overjoyed to find that the same man that didn't like to be bumped into in a crowd and complained about close quarters on public transports was on Hugh's lap back in his apartment, casual touches and kisses to be had in abundance.
In Hugh's absence, he realizes, Paul hadn't reached out to anyone else. Hadn't let himself be touched. He understands now that part of the smothering, overwhelming feeling of being caged in by Paul clinging to him came from touch-starved desperation. Every time they spoke after, he'd seen the way Paul's body had yearned towards him, shoulders turning to open himself and hands kept busy or clasped to avoid reaching out. At the time, it felt like a demand he didn't know how to respond to, wasn't sure he was even still capable of that level of giving.
He's apologized since - they both have - and he's only too happy to snuggle and hold hands every chance they get. Their bodies have a secret language that they speak in the brush of fingertips and lips, in skin on skin. Before, it was kept out of sight, hidden away for just the two of them. Hugh wonders what dam burst that made Paul comfortable standing too close to him in front of others, to accepting kisses in the middle of Engineering when there's more than Tilly in the room. It stays professional, but the message is plain for others to see and he's not going to silence it when actions speak just as loudly as words.
That secret language is love.
Notes:
Started as a lighthearted short about Hugh's bedside manner, then took a turn for the serious. Reading after, I feel like it's sort of two stories shoehorned into one, but I couldn't find a good spot to break it apart.
Chapter 186: Stars
Chapter Text
“I expected the stars to be different, somehow.”
Paul’s contemplative murmur rouses Hugh from where he’s been drowsing half on top of his partner. It’s hard to focus on anything when there’s a steady heartbeat under his cheek and he’s being held close. He doesn’t raise his head from Paul’s chest, but gives an interrogative hum to let him know he’s listening.
“For some reason,” he sighs into the hair on the top of Hugh’s head, “I thought there’d be some evidence in the universe of time passing. Because even though I know it doesn’t make sense, everything out there hasn’t changed that much.”
He’s obviously not talking about technology or the collapse of the Federation, and Hugh understands. Nine hundred years is barely a moment in the life of the universe where time is measured in millennia, in billions of years.
”I thought it would feel different, that I’d be different. And I am, but...”
Paul trails off, and Hugh opens his eyes when he hasn’t continued the thought a full minute later. As expected, he’s staring up at the stars visible from the viewports over the bed, and Hugh thinks he can almost see their light reflected in his eyes.
“But what?”
”So you are awake.”
It’s said with a smile, Paul’s eyes flicking down towards him. The hand on Hugh’s shoulder shifts, delving beneath the collar of his shirt to rub absently at the short hairs on the back of his neck.
“Yeah.”
He punctuates it with a kiss to the underside of Paul’s chin.
”Mmm. I thought you might have fallen asleep.”
”Getting there,” Hugh flexes his fingers on Paul’s ribs, “but still listening. What were you going to say?”
Above him, Paul works his jaw as he seems to be searching for the right words. Hugh doesn’t rush him, content to wait until he’s ready. It’s cozy under the covers, and he probably will fall asleep if Paul takes longer than a few minutes to answer, but he doesn’t think he’ll need it. That assumption is borne out thirty seconds later when Paul licks his lips, sighing again.
”I’m- we’re all different now. I think I expected it to be different if things hadn’t turned out the way they did. If you...if we hadn’t.”
Hugh nods, but stays silent.
”Because you’re here with me, it’s like the universe isn’t different at all. I’m not...I don’t mean we haven’t changed, and haven’t grown. But that and everything out there,” he tips his chin up at the stars, “could actually be different, but how I feel about you won’t ever change.”
Even as he smiles at the declaration, Hugh’s eyes sting a little. He squirms up until they’re comfortably face to face, sees Paul wrinkling his nose as he’s likely managing a similar response. Paul looks sleepy but satisfied with his conclusion, arms tightening around Hugh.
There’s really only one thing he can say to that.
“You’re my home, sweetheart. Wherever, whenever. We’re here together.”
Chapter 187: Starved, Part Two
Summary:
Follows on from Chapter 185 ("Starved") about the importance of touch between Paul and Hugh. Post-Season Three.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Hugh?"
"Hmm."
Tracy props a hip against the console he's working at.
"Something I've been wondering about for years."
"Oh?"
"You've always kissed him like that."
He blinks, studying her expression. There's no hint of teasing, just a sincerely inquisitive look, and he frowns.
"Like what?"
Paul had stopped in over his lunch to see Hugh, stepping into the empty corridor leading to the private exam suites together. As far as Tracy knew from accidentally disturbing them, they weren't doing anything more risqué than hugging each other, and the dry comment on the tip of her tongue had vanished at the complete lack of any of the expected playful touching. She'd left them to it, and when they emerged a few minutes later, it was to share a quick kiss and Paul was on his way again. Tracy's been witness to more than her fair share of Hugh and his partner kissing - and doing other things - but most of them when their hands aren't otherwise occupied seem to share one thing in common.
"Touching his face."
He opens his mouth, closes it again. Kissing Paul is so much an instinctive thing that he hasn't really stopped to think about it, not in a very long time.
"...habit?"
"Mmm."
"Did I ever tell you about our first kiss?" he asks even though they both know the answer.
"In excruciating detail, yes," she huffs a long-suffering but fond laugh, "in the park across the street from the restaurant you took him to for dinner, after hugging him goodnight. You said he tasted like chocolate from dessert and smelled like joy."
"All of that. You know how he seemed so surprised when I touched his arm?"
She nods, remembering the dreamy look on Hugh's face when he recounted the date to her.
"I was so shaky that I thought I might pass out. Honestly, I think I was so nervous I was worried I'd miss, and I wanted to give him time to stop me if he didn't want it."
It's hard for her to imagine Paul ever rejecting affection from Hugh, to remember the early days when they didn't know each other completely.
"And I wanted to touch him," Hugh continues, eyes faraway, "he was so, so beautiful and...vulnerable. He let me in, and I wanted him to know that I understood. After that, I think it was because we were always saying hello and goodbye too often, it always meant something. You know how emotional I get."
Dr. Culber is the picture of calm, but Tracy's friend Hugh feels things deeply. Hugh's gentle touch is very much in keeping with who he is, especially with Paul.
"Just a little."
"It just stuck, really. I don't- I'm not sure I can explain the why."
Tracy smiles at him, thinks of the wealth of kisses she's seen between them, that piece of the puzzle finally slotting into place.
"You just did."
Notes:
I've gotten out of the habit of writing dual perspectives, but this one felt right to do so.
All of your lovely comments inspired me to keep going with this thought, so thank you :) Culmets kisses (and non-kisses) almost always involve one of them touching the other's face, and I wanted to explore why and what Anthony and Wilson's body language suggests when they bring these two to life.
Chapter 188: Scars
Notes:
Post-Season Three.
Chapter Text
Hugh smiles as the door opens behind him with a draft of cold air moments before he feels warm hands on his hips and a kiss on the back of his neck.
"Morning babe."
Paul gives a sleepy grumble into Hugh's shoulder, seemingly unbothered by the traces of shampoo he's still rinsing out of his hair.
"What's that?"
"The bed was cold without you," he yawns, barely audible over the shower itself.
It doesn't sound like more than a standard complaint, but he reaches over and taps the controls, adjusting it to a gentle rainfall, and turns to face the man cuddled against him. Paul leans into the hand caressing his cheek, no trace of any deeper fears than usual, and Hugh lets out the breath he's been holding in relief. They've gone almost a week without Paul's nightmares - he'd made him promise to wake Hugh no matter the time - but he's still vigilant for any signs of distress.
"Well, let me warm you up now?"
"Are you offering a shower, or sex?"
The tiny smile curving his lips eases more of the tension from Hugh's stomach, and he chuckles, playfully licking away the droplets of water beading on a freckled shoulder. His body is always available for Paul's pleasure, but he suspects it's more a tease than a request.
"Either. Both."
"Mmm," Paul squirms, "shower. Too early."
"All right."
Keeping an arm around his waist, Hugh slicks back the hair clinging to Paul's forehead and reaches behind him for the soap. Paul tips his chin up for a kiss, the minty taste of toothpaste on his lips and eyes half open. He hums in contentment as Hugh lathers his hands up and begins to wash him with languid, unhurried motions, smoothing suds over his chest and back. Hugh drops to his knees briefly, thumbs tucked in the groove of Paul's hipbones, the iridescent sheen of a thousand tiny soap bubbles caught on the thick hair covering Paul's thighs. He stands to direct him back under the flow of water, rinsing them both in the process.
Paul holds out his hand for the soap, but Hugh shakes his head.
"Already did before you got in."
"Hmph. Still want to touch you though."
"You're in luck then," he lets Paul crowd him gently against the wall, "I'm yours for the taking."
That earns him another kiss, then Paul takes a half step back and switches the shower to steam, wreathing them in mist. His fingers leave damp trails to mark their passage over Hugh's skin, feathering over his ears and down the sides of his neck to dance across his collarbone. He flattens his palms and presses them to Hugh's chest, smiling as he feels the muscles flex underneath, does the same with his stomach and hips before moving back up again.
Hugh tugs him closer and Paul molds their bodies together from chest to thighs, rubbing against him in a way that's completely sensual without any sexual hunger. Their damp skin slides back and forth, eyes closed and cheeks touching, the sound of their sighs filling the cubicle. Eventually, Paul initiates another kiss, this one deeper but still unrushed. When they break apart, he nuzzles into the palm Hugh has curved around his jaw, kissing his wrist and fingertips.
"Warm now?"
"Mmmhmm."
His laces their fingers together, squeezing and loosing them and letting his own roam down to Hugh's elbow and back.
"This is new," Paul traces Hugh's knuckles, fingers pausing over a slight ridge in the skin, a blemish between the veins and tendons on its otherwise smooth surface.
"What? Oh. Yeah, it is."
Frowning, Paul pulls Hugh's hand in front of his face, examining the triangular borders of raised tissue.
"Where di- " he pauses, mouth a perfect O of realization before snapping shut again, "oh."
Hugh hugs him, kissing Paul's temple.
"I wanted to keep it. To remind me."
"...of almost dying?"
He shakes his head.
"No, not that."
"I don't...why would you?"
It's difficult to explain, but so simple at the same time.
"To remind me of the wonder I felt seeing the holo. The pride in Adira coming to save us, and the joy of finally seeing Gray. And knowing I was coming back home to you."
Paul stills, tugging his hand back up.
"Not all of our new memories are going to be easy, are they?"
His thumb traces the shape of the scar, over and over, emotions flickering in his eyes. Remembered pain, fear, and relief settle into quiet understanding and Paul presses a gentle kiss to it.
"I suppose not," Hugh murmurs.
"Okay."
Hugh tilts his head, uncertain.
"I can get rid of it if you don't-"
"No," Paul's voice is firm, "it's part of you. I'm not going to make you erase it unless you want to. I was just...I wasn't expecting it."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
He nods and kisses Paul again, sweet and slow.
"Do you want to get out?"
"Please?"
Dipping his head for another kiss, he reaches over and shuts off the shower, opening the door the bare minimum necessary to retrieve their towels. When they're more or less dry, Paul takes his hand and leads him back to bed. He doesn't let go even as they snuggle together under the sheets, legs tangled and sharing the pillow. His thumb rubs over the new scar as if committing it to memory, and Hugh knows that soon enough it will be as familiar to Paul as all of the marks on his body are to Hugh.
Their story is writing new and sometimes painful chapters, but they're together and that's what matters.
Chapter 189: Superfluous
Summary:
Shore leave back home in Puerto Rico, early on in their relationship.
Notes:
Title suggested by the wonderful Finnegancat <3 Merci mille fois pour le soutien!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"What," Hugh's voice is low and full of affectionate amusement, "are you doing?"
The grip on his hand tightens almost imperceptibly.
"What are you talking about?"
Guiding them around a group of shaded tables beside a restaurant, Hugh pulls them off the path and to a halt beside the trunk of a towering palm. The bustle of activity and conversation fills the background, a steady stream of people leisurely strolling along and enjoying the sunshine. He lifts their joined hands between their chests, lips quirked into a smile.
"You're holding on for dear life. We're not lost, and no one is going to bite you. Besides me," he adds with a wink, watching Paul squirm.
"Umm."
"I'm surprised you haven't wandered off to go scan the flora."
Hugh's tease draws a huff of laughter and Paul wrinkles his nose at just how well his partner knows him.
"I'm fine."
"Babe, you've been glued to my side like a limpet. The crowd isn't too much, is it?"
"What? No...no, it's fine."
He raises an eyebrow, tugging off his sunglasses to be able to look Paul in the eyes directly.
"Now I know something's wrong. Is it too much sun? We can leave if you're not comfortable."
"No! I-" Paul's shoulders slump, "I like it here."
Ducking his chin, the brim of his hat effectively hides his face, but Hugh waits patiently until he raises his head again.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?"
"It's stupid. I know it is, but I can't stop... ugh."
"Guessing it's not stupid if it's bothering you."
Paul chews his lip and scowls, the expression seemingly more for whatever thoughts are inside his head than anything external. The silence drags on, and Hugh shifts to cant his hip against the tree trunk, settling in to wait until whatever it is that's going on inside that brilliant Stamets brain coalesces into something he can make sense of verbally. His partner is gorgeous in the late morning sunshine, the light sheen of sweat on his skin only making him more appealing. At last, Paul heaves a sigh and opens his mouth again.
"You brought me home, to see your favorite beach. And I know how much you love me and I don't doubt anything about it at all-" he squeezes Hugh's hand again, "but I just look around and..."
Hugh blinks, not sure where this is going.
"And?"
"And I just think, of all of this," Paul's gesture takes in the entirety of their surroundings, then himself, "you're with me, and I guess I'm just...feeling possessive. And insecure. Everyone else is enjoying themselves, and I'm like this. I told you, it's stupid."
Oh sweetheart.
His chest tightens at the sentiment, but also a little bit of sadness. Hugh looks around again, at the tanned bodies on display laying out in the sand and jogging by, at his own shirtless figure in shorts barely longer than swimming trunks. Paul is also in shorts, but by contrast they're almost knee length and he's protecting his pale skin with a loose shirt and a copious amount of sunblock
"It's not stupid. Unnecessary, but not stupid."
"Hugh-"
"Listen to me, sweetheart. You. Are. Beautiful. And you're mine, and I'm not going to...I don't know, decide you're not as interesting because you're making a medically responsible decision to not give yourself second degree burns just because everyone else is wearing less clothing. I grew up with all of this, so I'm used to it, but I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."
Paul shuffles his feet, staring at Hugh's shoulder before he nods, slowly.
"How do you make 'medically responsible' sound like a compliment?"
"Because it is?"
Tilting his head to the side, Hugh considers the way Paul is still holding his hand tightly. A half-formed hypothesis springs to mind.
"Is this about running into my cousins earlier?"
The flush on Paul's cheeks confirms it.
"...sort of. I just- they're your cousins, and I'm being stupid about it."
He thinks about the unexpected pleasure of seeing more family, the hugs and kisses and automatically switching to Spanish to catch up, and it occurs to him how he thoughtlessly excluded Paul from the conversation until his uncertain smile reminded Hugh that both of their badges with the universal translator technology are back in Hugh's room at his grandmother's house.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, genuinely regretful, "I didn't even think about that. We were just catching up."
"It's not-" Paul laughs quietly, uncomfortably, "I need to learn at some point anyway. Just, you all were so comfortable touching each other, and I'm not and seeing you like that...yeah."
It's not envy, that he's sure of. Instead, it plays right into Paul's remaining insecurities that Hugh's worked hard on but they both know are still very much present. He considers and discards a half-dozen things to say that might come off as trite platitudes, and settles on the truth at the heart of it all.
"Paul Stamets, I love you just the way you are."
He follows the statement up with a gentle kiss, hoping Paul understands.
"You are essential to my happiness," he nuzzles Paul's temple before switching to a lighter tone, "even if you have horrible taste in shirts."
He pulls back to enjoy Paul's face trying to decide between frowning and laughter as he stares down at the loud tropical print.
"Shut up, your grandmother gave me this to wear."
Hugh wrinkles his nose.
"So?"
"She said you'd like it."
A grin breaks free, knowing the tease is about to be turned back on him.
"What?"
"I do. It's mine."
Paul sputters for a few seconds before giving up trying to speak and crowds Hugh into the tree behind him, kissing him hard. When they separate, all traces of the frown are gone, Paul's eyes bright and mischievous.
"I love you too."
"You better believe it."
"Come on. You promised to show me this beach, right?"
Hugh shakes his head fondly and leads them back onto the path, fingers laced together and another brick in the wall against Paul's self-doubt.
Notes:
Writing spree because I can't concentrate at work. Trying to do background reading on quantum computing :P
I keep portraying Paul with a lot of self-criticism because that's sometimes what's behind someone who pushes themselves to excel at their work. I do hope I'm not making him one-note with constant references to feeling insecure, because that's something we don't really see on screen given how long they've been together at that point.
Chapter 190: Significant
Chapter Text
They’re much younger when Paul asks the question, curled against Hugh’s side in the afterglow.
”What’s it like?”
”Mmm?”
The languid, pleased noise sends a flush of pleasure over his sweaty skin, and he burrows closer in response.
“To be able to- I mean...never mind.”
Hugh peels one eye open, his sated smile fading in concern.
”What were you going to say?”
”Nothing. It’s not important.”
Paul closes his eyes and stuffs his face against Hugh’s chest, but his lover doesn’t let him hide for long.
”Sweetheart, you know you can ask me anything.”
”I know,” he mutters, “it just seems...rude.”
”You don’t have to, if you really don’t want to, but I can’t imagine you asking anything I’d take offense to.”
He busies himself with cleaning them both, careful swipes with the damp towel left on the nightstand, and Hugh lets him take the time to think before they’re tucked under the duvet together.
”I was going to ask. What it’s like to have sex.”
A bemused chuckle.
”I’m pretty sure that’s what we were just doing?”
Paul pokes his side.
”I mean, I just- I’ve never enjoyed it.”
That gets Hugh’s attention, and he sits up abruptly, turning to face Paul with an unreadable look.
”What- you don’t, but we...”
”No! No, no no,” Paul sits up too, face flushing, “I’m not explaining...ugh.”
Very slowly, Hugh folds his hands in his lap and shifts back until they’re no longer touching. Paul catches on immediately and nearly tackles him onto the bed.
”I wasn’t talking about us! This, you...you’re amazing.”
Hugh swallows, wetting his lips but staying silent. From someone who always knew what to say, Paul nearly facepalms at putting his foot in his mouth up to the knee.
“Fuck, I’m really screwing this up. What I meant to ask, is what’s it like to have sex that isn’t like this. Where there’s not...” he groans, searching for the right words, “any way I think about saying it, it’s going to sound insulting.”
”I won’t be insulted.”
It’s quiet, but sincere.
”You’ve had sex with people you weren’t in a relationship with.”
The statement isn’t quite a question, but Hugh nods anyway.
”Sure.”
”And it was good?”
”Well,” Hugh raises an eyebrow, “no, it wasn’t always as good as I’d hoped.”
”But you...enjoyed it?”
”That’s usually the idea with sex, isn’t it?”
Paul pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows Hugh’s had casual sex, isn’t bothered by him having done so in itself, but something is itching at him.
“You know I haven’t been in a lot of relationships.”
”It’s relative.”
Hugh seems to be having a bit of trouble breathing with Paul wrapped around him like an octopus, so he rolls them onto their sides.
“I mean, I’ve never really been able to let go. To feel comfortable with- fuck, even in a relationship.”
”Do you feel comfortable with me?”
”I told you, we’re different. You’re different. It’s never just sex even when it is, and that probably doesn’t make sense.”
”Actually, it does.”
Some of the worry drains from Hugh’s face, and he sighs.
”What I think you’re asking, no, it’s not the same. It can be a lot of fun, I won’t lie, but it’s physical. Even with a friend, it doesn’t have to be more than satisfying lust or some mutual kink. It feels good, and we both got what we were looking for, usually. It’s not like that for you though, is it?”
Paul chews his lip, comparing it against his own experiences and coming up short.
“It’s been...awkward. And it’s not like people are usually interested if I don’t know them anyway.”
”Sweetheart, they probably are. Not that I’m planning to share.”
“Do you ever...miss it?”
The response is immediate and surprisingly lacking in defensiveness.
”No.”
“Are you sure I’m not making an ass of myself asking?”
”You're not.”
”I didn’t mean-“
”I know.”
Hugh’s smile means he does, but Paul still needs to finish explaining.
”It’s just never been easy with anyone else. And it never felt- even when it was with someone I thought loved me? It didn’t feel like it mattered the same way. It never felt special. I wanted it to, but it didn’t.”
A warm hand curves along his jaw, thumb smoothing over his cheek.
”I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“Doesn’t matter now.”
“I’ve never, ever had the kind of...making love that we do before. So to answer your question? You’re not really missing anything. It can be fun, but I don’t think I could even be with anyone besides you, Paul. Ever. You’re beyond special, and I hope I never fail to show you that.”
There’s no words he can find to answer that, not with Hugh’s patience and understanding. Doesn’t need to, with Hugh’s love.
And that’s what makes it different, isn’t it?
Chapter 191: Sudden
Summary:
Pre-Discovery. Paul comes to visit Hugh on duty at Starfleet Medical.
Chapter Text
"Hugh, your interpretation of these readings would be most welcome. I find there is not a logical pattern to-"
Paul's eyes snap open in horrified chagrin as the doors of the office slide open to admit T'Vala, the PADD she's focused on delaying her keen observation skills just a little too long. His hands scramble to cover himself, but considering Hugh's head buried in his lap, he really needn't have worried.
"Ummm."
He's aware of his face, previously heated with arousal, now burning with embarrassment. Of all of Hugh's colleagues to discover them, did it have to be the Vulcan? Tracy he could live with, since it would be yet another instance to add to her litany of dramatic complaint, but, well...Vulcan.
One delicately arched eyebrow rises, her momentary surprise shown only in the tips of her ears flushing a slight emerald.
"Ahh. I see your mate has arrived ahead of schedule. Greetings, Paul."
Glancing down, he makes panicked eye contact with Hugh, whose mouth is rather too full to respond. He hums something, which probably has the opposite effect of its intention, and his eyelashes flutter for a moment while he forces down the urge to thrust up.
"...hello, T'Vala."
"My apologies for interrupting your reunion," T'Vala's voice is as calm as ever, but he could swear there's the tiniest hint of amusement in her sharp gaze, "had I known, I would not have intruded."
There's a slight note of reproach, and Hugh very carefully straightens, angling his body to block her view of Paul's rapidly wilting erection. He wipes a hand across his mouth as he does, other hand fisted over his own lap to hide the tent in his uniform pants. Were the situation not quite so mortifying, Paul would be amused at his partner's attempt to pull Dr. Culber's professional manner back on in that state.
"T- ahem. T'Vala."
"Indeed, that is my name."
"I, we...what do you need?"
The eyebrow moves even higher.
"I had hoped to request your consultation, but as you are otherwise occupied, I shall seek Tracy instead."
"I'm sorry. We- shouldn't..."
He trails off, and Paul swears he can feel the heat of Hugh's embarrassment where his knees bracket his white-clad shoulders.
T'Vala's eyebrow drops, and she finally lowers the PADD to fold her hands behind her back.
"Indeed. There is no shame in reaffirming one's bond with one's mate after so long a separation. However, I would recommend that if you are to carry out such activities, you remember to engage the locking mechanism on the door of the room you have chosen."
With that, she inclines her head to them both, stepping back to allow the doors to close again. Hugh slumps against Paul's leg, face buried in his thigh as he groans.
"Fuck."
Chapter 192: Sudden, Part Two
Summary:
T'Vala fills Tracy in on the events of the previous chapter.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Tracy, may I request your assistance?"
"Hmm? Sure, what is it?"
"These readings are somewhat anomalous, mainly consistent with Andorian measles, but there is a genetic mutation that suggests a developmental detriment to the patient which I cannot find reference to elsewhere in the literature."
"Well...xenobiology isn't my specialty, but let me take a look. Although, you'd probably be better off asking Hugh."
"Indeed. I attempted to, but found him...indisposed."
"What?"
"You are aware that Paul was scheduled to arrive at thirteen forty-five?"
"He won't shut up about it, so yeah."
"Ahh. Apparently he found a means by which to shorten the duration of the journey."
"...do I want to know?"
"I predict there is an eighty-three percent likelihood you would be interested in being made aware of it, for the purpose of, as you say, 'leverage'."
"All right."
"I entered the office to share these findings with Hugh, and discovered them engaged in an act of oral copulation, as they neglected to activate the lock."
"They were what?"
"Engaged in oral copulation, which I believe humans colloquially refer to as a 'blowj-' "
"Yeah, yeah, no I know what it is. I just wasn't expecting you to...anyway. Well. Sorry you had to see that."
"Their stage of undress was minor. You'll recall, you and I both were unintended witnesses to their reunion approximately ten months ago."
"Ohhh yeah. Sorry, I was trying not to remember what Paul's ass looks like. Anyway."
"It was indeed far more pale than might be expected."
"...mmmphh. All right, think we can get this figured out before they zip back up and join us?"
"Based on prior knowledge, I estimate we have an additional six point four minutes at minimum before they will return if they complete the activity I interrupted, and eleven point three minutes if Paul chooses to reciprocate."
"T'Vala?"
"Yes?"
"Never mind."
Notes:
And they say Vulcans don't have a sense of humor.
Chapter 193: Sentiment
Summary:
Paul finally lets Hugh go on another away mission. It's not easy.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul's inside a Jefferies Tube, manually checking a set of circuits powering up the drive matrix. It's something easily done remotely - he could have sent a crew member if he felt so inclined to worry about the physical hardware - as a diagnostic, but he needs the distraction.
****
You're worried," Reno points out far too reasonably, "it's okay to admit that. You won't break out in hives or something."
"I'm fine."
"Are you? Because I'm pretty sure that stylus never did anything to you-"
Paul glances down to find a pronounced bend in the smooth metal casing, courtesy of his tense grip, and hastily stuffs it up his sleeve for lack of a better hiding spot. These new uniforms have a distinct lack of pockets.
"-actually, I don't want to know what it might have done. Anyway. Go...commune with your mushrooms or something."
"Don't you have actual work to do?" Paul snaps, but his heart isn't in it.
"It's my life's mission to make your life miserable."
"Mmm."
Reno takes her hands off her hips, steps closer until she's just at the edge of Paul's personal space. The exaggerated exasperation fades into an expression even more disturbing: compassion.
"Paul. It's a medical mission, he's got Pollard and everyone else with him. No wars, no environmental hazards, just him being a doctor. Go find something to take your mind off it, I'll make sure the kids don't blow anything up."
Her voice raises at the end, loud enough that Adira, who's been very unsubtly trying to eavesdrop, flushes and sticks their head under a floor panel pretending to work on something.
"...fine."
His shoulders drop, and he scoops up a PADD and heads for the ladder.
"I'm going to..." he waves a hand vaguely towards the Jefferies Tube, "that."
Reno takes a seat on the stairs, waving her hand at him as if shooing off a fly.
Paul goes.
****
When he accidentally shocks himself for the fourth time re-wiring connections that he'd mastered half-asleep in his final year at the Academy, he closes his eyes, curses quietly, and bangs his head on the paneling. It doesn't do anything other than leave him with a slightly sore forehead, but he closes up the relay and climbs to a different section that's out of the way of any but the most obscure maintenance.
He itches to make contact. Just one tap of the commbadge and he can talk to Hugh, hear his voice soothing Paul's worry as he did before beaming down. It would be easy, but he shouldn't. He should be able to handle this just fine all by himself.
****
"Sweetheart, you're going to have to let go of my hand."
Hugh's smile is gentle, teasing, but there's a hint of concern to it. On the other side of the medbay, Tracy, Aisha, and Zarrin are doing their best to look like they aren't waiting on Hugh with varying degrees of success. The thing is, Paul knows he's being ridiculous, but he can't stop the panicked feeling at the thought of Hugh being off the ship on a strange planet. It's a simple mission, really, just bringing medical aid to a colony cut off for too long from the Federation in need of the most basic supplies and possibly a bit of healing. They've scanned the planet, which together with being remarkably Earth-like, doesn't even boast animal predators, much less deteriorating starships with radiation leaks and accidentally homicidal Kelpiens.
He's clinging to Hugh's hand in lieu of the lack of decorum found in bodily wrapping himself around his partner. It's not like they're going to the transporter room, all Hugh really has to do is detach Paul's hand and he can beam down immediately. His face softens still further, and he tugs Paul into the corner.
"It's just for a few hours. We'll be in comms range the entire time, okay?"
Paul closes his eyes and exhales, bringing his free hand up to grip Hugh's waist.
"I know."
The bristles of Hugh's beard tickle his temple as he presses a kiss there.
"I know you do."
They'd talked about it the night before, Paul had even professed his sincere happiness that Hugh was going to be able to tend to others in the way that his fundamental healer’s nature required. Everything was fine, he'd assured Hugh at breakfast. He was only planning to come by and see him off, but his façade of calm snapped when he saw Hugh packing the anti-radiation meds in his emergency kit. Paul's almost fifty, for goodness sakes, he shouldn't be reacting to his partner leaving the ship for a short mission this way.
Slowly, he opens his stubbornly resisting hand and untangles their fingers.
"Sorry."
Tracy and the others won't mind, so he has no reason to feel embarrassed when Hugh catches his hand again and raises it to his lips for another kiss.
"I'll be back in time for dinner."
"Don't be late," Paul mutters, lips quirked in a half smile.
Hugh flashes him one of his trademark grins, then nods at Tracy and taps his badge. As soon as the sparkles fade, Paul turns on his heel and marches down to Engineering. He's off shift, but surely there's something that needs doing?
****
Three hours later, there's the clank of a double set of boots on duranium. Paul's too busy staring at the wall to realize that there's no reason any other crew member would come this way until two heads, one dark and one flame-haired, pop around the corner.
"What?"
Tilly and Adira share an indecipherable look, then the next thing he knows he's being sandwiched between them in his alcove really only meant for one person. They end up a bit squished, but neither of them seem inclined to let him leave, Adira's legs stretched casually over his knees and Tilly effectively blocking the exit. He's sure they can feel the tension in him like a coiled spring.
"So," Tilly rests her heels on the grating, "we had an idea for improving the energy-matter conversion ratio by point-eight percent."
Their voices are familiar and soothing as they exchange comments, and he should be paying attention but mostly he's focused on the way Adira's leaning their head on his shoulder and trying not to let the knot in his stomach expand into anything else.
"...re-align the couplers. Nilsson says she can help, and it should only take half a day at most."
Paul tunes back in when he realizes they're looking at him with expectant faces and he's probably let the pause for a response drag on awkwardly. He gives a short noncommittal hum, and that seems to be enough because they're off again. Sighing, he picks at a hangnail until it bleeds, then pops the injured finger in his mouth. Eventually, he zones back in on the conversation, and promptly wishes he hadn't.
"Rhys said he could teach me some of the self-defense stuff he does with Hugh."
He controls the flinch, ignoring their worried looks.
"Really?" Tilly's voice rises with what he recognizes as genuine excitement, "can he teach you how to flip people over your head?"
"I don't know. Gray says it'll be fun, and Rhys promised he wouldn't let me get hurt."
"He's good like that. He's been kickboxing with Owo too. Can't seem to get Stamets here into the gym though."
The poke to his ribs barely registers, and he makes another neutral noise.
"Can we get started on the conversion project this week?"
"Sure," he mumbles absently, not really listening even though he knows he ought to.
"What about doing martial arts stuff with Rhys? He said I should ask you if it's okay."
"Sure."
"Reno has twelve toes."
"Mmm."
"I think I'm allergic to paprika. My arm got all itchy after dinner last night."
"Ahh."
"I'm pregnant with twins, and I think I'm having kittens. With tails. And big fuzzy ears. Hugh's going to be their secular non-religious spiritual parent."
"That's nic- wait, what?!"
He blinks back to Tilly and Adira giving him identical 'really?' looks.
"Gray said to give you space, but we were worried," Adira nudges him with a bony elbow, "like, seriously worried."
"I'm fine."
Tilly raises her eyebrow in an incredulous stare that she must have picked up as Saru's first officer. Maybe from Micha-
Nope.
Paul stops that train of thought before the shuttle can depart the station.
"Did Reno send you?"
"Hugh did."
He blinks at Tilly.
"What? Why?"
Paul swipes open his badge, but there aren't any messages waiting. The little blue dot tracking Hugh's position on the planet's surface hasn't moved either.
"Well, technically it was Doctor Pollard," Adira points out, "she said Hugh wanted her to pass on a message because he was in surgery."
"He's going to be late for dinner," Tilly picks up the thread of explanation, "apparently some of the kids are really malnourished, and a few of them were hooked up to machines for organ failure because the colony couldn't get help."
"Why not just beam them up to Discovery?"
"Something about a local custom where the parents have to give permission. But umm. Their parents all died in a mining accident."
"Oh."
"Doctor Pollard said they have to treat them there, it's just going to take longer. They're beaming equipment down, but she said none of them would probably be back for another eight hours."
Eight hours. Looks like you're going to bed alone.
Paul hates his current neediness, apologizes on a regular basis for the insecurity, but Hugh's love is generous and understanding. Hugh hasn't let him go to sleep alone at all since the...Osyraa incident. The few occasions an emergency call came in and he had to leave for the medbay in the middle of the night, he'd carefully shaken Paul awake to let him know. He's even shifted his morning run a half hour later so Paul doesn't have to wake up to find the bed empty.
When he focuses on them again, they're both waiting expectantly.
"Thank you for passing on the message. I'll just go-"
"Nope."
"You can't."
One hand on each forearm keeps him from rising to leave. Tilly and Adira look at each other again, and Paul really should find out if they're learning telepathy without telling anyone.
"I'm fine," he mutters again, trying to shake free.
They release him immediately, but Adira shifts their weight until they're actually sitting on Paul's shin and effectively keeping him in place.
"No," Tilly's voice is gentle, "Paul, you're not."
He's still not used to her using his first name, but the unease doesn't come from indignation but rather the fact that Tilly's come so far since she was too terrified to address him by anything but his full rank and title and thinking about it makes his chest tight. For so long the only ones onboard who called him Paul were Hugh and Tracy, more Tracy than Hugh actually, given the endearments used in its place. It was fine with him - under Lorca's command, he'd rather be just Stamets or Lieutenant in the middle of a war, to keep the lines clear and remind him that he's not tucked away in his lab with Straal and their team. Now Adira and Tilly have been added to that very exclusive group, and he's still in the process of rearranging his feelings.
"You're going to keep working to try and distract yourself, and then get exhausted, and Hugh won't like that."
Adira manages to sound both confident and unsure at the same time, probably wondering if they've overstepped. How can he explain to them though, the fear eating him alive of having to climb into an empty bed, of waking to find Hugh not beside him?
"I-"
"You're coming to dinner with us, and then we're watching holonovels until Hugh gets back."
Tilly's statement brooks no opposition, for all that it's delivered gently. Hamstrung by their care, his shoulders slump, and he squeezes the bridge of his nose briefly to will back the prickling in his eyes.
"Please?"
Adira picks up his hand carefully, their entire hand seemingly engulfed by his palm.
"Hugh told you to do that?"
"Well, he said dinner. The second part, we thought you might like company?"
I'm supposed to be looking after them.
"...okay."
"Really?" Tilly blinks, "I thought we'd have to argue another three minutes at least."
That draws the first genuine smile since Hugh beamed down to the planet.
"We can, but I think I'm hungry."
As if to illustrate his point, his stomach growls loudly, and Adira snickers before shuffling backwards off his leg.
"Come on. Food."
"Okay."
"So I found this great holo to watch. It's a little trashy, but-"
Both of them give him bemused looks when he starts laughing without explanation, tinged with relief. The laughter seems to have uncoiled the tension wound tight in his stomach, replacing it with something much warmer as they climb down and head out down the corridor. Tilly and Adira are half a step ahead of him, one on each side, clearly pleased with themselves that they succeeded in their mission.
Family, he thinks, my family.
Notes:
I apologize for being behind on replying to comments - please know that I appreciate every single one!
This was supposed to be a lighthearted, silly tale about Hugh beaming back up from an away mission with a minor condition, the treatment of which leaves him rather...excitable, and Paul having to deal with it. Umm. Then I wrote the first flashback scene and two thousand words of this happened instead.
I'm not 100% sure on the new uniforms lacking pockets - there is a suspicious diagonal crease at the left waist/hip, but I can't get a good enough glimpse to tell if that's a tailoring artifact or a hidden pocket.
Chapter 194: Succor
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh wonders, as Paul lays asleep in his arms, whether his love would feel the same (unnecessary) guilt at his lingering fears were he to know how close Hugh’s own night terrors still lurked. The process of taming them had been far from easy, although they’d mostly passed with a healthy dose of self-treatment by researching the means to cope with trauma, and more than a few nights spent huddled on Tracy’s couch listening to her steady breathing. Because although he’d distanced himself from Paul during that rocky time after his return, he still craved connection and his oldest friend was happy to oblige. Many was the morning Tracy woke to find him still staring blearily out the viewport, silent save for a quiet “good morning”. She never treated him any different than usual after her initial bout of tears, and he doesn’t know that he can ever thank her enough for helping him find his footing again.
Even as he felt like a stranger in his own body, at one remove from reality, he knew there were edges he couldn’t smooth on his own. Knew that even Tracy’s signature sarcasm and fond teasing couldn’t fill the void in his chest that he continued to deny. Knew that returning to duty and assuming the mantle of Dr. Culber was a thin veneer over his loneliness.
He and Paul had talked about their time apart in fits and bursts, hours spent holding each other as they worked through it together, then days where it never reared its head. Hugh hadn’t felt right burdening Paul with the fallout of his own choice, but honesty compels him to admit it. It never seems like the right time though, especially not with Paul needing his steadiness to anchor his own healing.
His love is strong, resilient. Too many traumas piled up - losing Hugh the first time to death, a second time to resurrection, a supposed third to time travel, and nearly a fourth to radiation poisoning - are finally coming home to roost. Any single one of those could break a lesser person completely, and yet Paul is judging himself harshly for needing reassurance in simple touch and smiles, for craving kisses and sweet intimacy.
Paul’s ashamed of his reactions, as though all of the trauma could simply be swept aside were he simply to will it away. Even the formidable Stamets resolve is no match, and Hugh knows that the failure frustrates him all the more. He apologizes, as if Hugh weren’t deriving just as much comfort from holding him close, as if he’s somehow weak because of it. Nothing could be further from the truth.
He murmurs in his sleep, shifting under the covers to burrow further into Hugh’s chest. Hugh kisses his forehead and smooths his hair back, breathes Paul in and tightens his arms. Paul makes a noise of contentment, then falls still again.
They need each other right now, and Hugh knows the only true remedy is time and love. Both are now theirs in abundance, to shape as they will, stitching each other back together till the tapestry of their lives is mended.
Tomorrow, he’ll tell him again how his nightmares are held at bay with Paul beside him, tell him until he believes that his love is not and will never be a burden. For now... Hugh pulls the covers higher and finally closes his own eyes, letting Paul’s presence soothe him into sleep.
Notes:
Lest it seem I’m piling too much onto Paul (blame canon), Hugh still has his own demons to wrestle with. They truly make each other stronger - despite the old adage of want being more important than need in a relationship, they’re too much a part of the other’s heart to be apart.
Chapter 195: Sadness
Summary:
Tracy talks to Paul while he's lost in the network.
Chapter Text
Tracy steps through the privacy field and crosses the medbay to where Paul is restrained, head moving in small motions of agitation.
He's muttering something, but she can't hear it clearly until she gets closer.
"...safe. Keep you safe. Keep you safe."
"Paul?"
No response.
She carefully touches his temple, where she's seen Hugh stroke the back of his fingers and kiss dozens of times over the years.
"Paul? It's Tracy."
Nothing.
Tracy takes Hugh's jacket from under her arm and shakes it out, laying it over him gently. The white fabric of the collar catches on his cheek, and he stops, inhaling, before falling still. Above the biobed, the readout indicates a slight change in his neural activity, but she can't tell if that's due to whatever is going on inside his head or response to external stimulus.
Tucking the edges of the jacket around his shoulders, Tracy locks down her emotions.
She has an autopsy to perform.
Notes:
Read Tracy’s autopsy report in Chapter 18 of When Sorrow Turns To Joy.
Chapter 196: Silver (Screen)
Summary:
Movie night!
Notes:
Chapter title suggested by the wonderful LadyRiona.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul wakes with a crick in his neck and a foot in the middle of his back. He tries to think how Hugh's foot could be there when it's most definitely his armpit that Paul's nose is buried in, shifting on the strangely lumpy mattress.
A distinctly feminine groan sounds behind him, and that foot moves.
"Oooph," he grumbles as the heel digs in before it retracts.
Wait.
Opening his eyes, he lets them adjust to the dark lighting. It must still be night cycle, but there's enough light coming in from the stars to see that one, he and Hugh are not in bed, and two, they're also not alone. Also, someone is snoring, and it's not Hugh's cute snuffly ones either.
Glancing down, Adira seems to be using Hugh's thigh as a pillow, arms wrapped around his knee and drooling slightly. However, they also don't appear to be close enough to have a foot in his back, so...
Paul inhales a mouthful of hair when he rolls over.
Ahh.
Tilly's curled up into a ball behind him, hair everywhere and feet definitely in range. Scooting closer to Hugh's side, he tries to remember how the four of them ended up asleep on the floor together.
Tilly looks like she wants to agree with Adira that a pile of cushions on the floor is better for watching holonovels, but her eyes skate sideways at their hosts on the couch. Before Paul can do more than open his mouth, Hugh is already on his feet, grinning and nodding. He cheerfully ejects Paul from the couch with an unsubtle pinch to his backside, then collects pillows from the bed and retrieves extra from the closet along with blankets.
By the time the three of them are done stacking and fluffing, Paul's lost the battle against doing anything but smiling, feigned annoyance falling away. Tilly and Adira are already digging into the popcorn, and Hugh holds out his arm for Paul to snuggle in.
Halfway through the third holonovel in the epic trilogy, he notices that Hugh's nodded off when the hand scratching the back of his neck falls still. As the credits roll, Tilly and Adira are still discussing the plot points and complaining about the action sequences when Paul decides it's time to close his eyes too.
His bladder has decided he can't continue to ignore it, so he untangles himself from Hugh and slowly stands. Stepping over Tilly, he shuffles to the bathroom to take care of things. On the way back, he stubs his toe on the overturned popcorn bowl, grimacing as a sharp kernel digs into the bottom of his foot.
Ouch.
Too tired to deal with it now, he grumbles and reaches for the blankets tangled around Adira's feet at the far end of their giant franken-pillow. Tilly doesn't move when he covers her, but Adira wrinkles their nose and shifts, mumbling into Hugh's leg. Paul wonders if it's just wishful thinking when his brain translates the mumbles as, "thanks Dad".
Laying down again, he wraps the last blanket around himself, covering Hugh's leg (the one not claimed by Adira) and chest. His partner won't be cold, but there's no reason not to share the covers when it means more snuggling, and he's rewarded with a quiet groan and an arm wrapping itself around him. Humming in contentment, Paul buries his face in the crook of Hugh's neck and shoulder and goes back to sleep.
In the morning, he wakes up to the sound of Tilly cursing when she trips over the popcorn bowl.
Notes:
Had to make up for the last chapter with some fluffity fluff.
Chapter 197: Scratch
Summary:
Paul's thoughts on kissing Hugh
Notes:
Chapter title once again from the list of prompts from LadyRiona :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"...mmmphhh."
"What's that, love?"
Paul's eyes drift open lazily to find Hugh watching him with a tiny frown of curiosity wrinkling his brow and lips still parted. They're wet and and swollen from kissing, and he manages a distracted response as the tip of Hugh's pink tongue darts out to lick at the corner of his mouth. His hand comes up to rub across his chin absently, snuggling closer to Hugh on the swing.
"Nothing."
Behind them, he can hear Hugh's grandmother giving directions in the kitchen, and based on the delicious smells wafting through the open door, they'll soon be summoned in for dinner. With that in mind, he leans in and fastens their mouths together again, gently tugging Hugh's lower lip with his teeth and moaning quietly when the hand on his back slides underneath the hem of his shirt.
They've kept it to kissing and cuddling while outside Hugh's room, hands politely above the waist and over clothing as the swing rocks back and forth. It's been far from easy, but the knowledge that Hugh's entire family is a few meters away keeps them from trying to sneak in a discreet grope. Having to explain why he likes kissing Hugh was bad enough, and Paul thinks he might die of embarrassment if Hugh's niece Nella rushed out to ask her tíos a question and found his hand down his partner's pants. Aida's knowing smile last night had also stopped Hugh's wandering fingers in their tracks, even under cover of the blanket they shared, tucked into a corner of the couch together while everyone sat in front of the fireplace to chat.
Still, kissing Hugh is far from a consolation prize. He likes swallowing Hugh's tiny gasps and sighs, heads tipped at just the right angle to prevent their noses from colliding, and enjoys the slick slide of lips and tongues, Paul's hand curved around a strong jaw. More than that, he loves the almost intoxicated looks he gets when they break for air, filled with desire and no little tenderness. Hugh's bedroom eyes leave no room for anything other than believing in the depth of their love.
He does wince as Hugh kisses a bit more aggressively, pressing their faces even closer together. Much as likes the look and feel of Hugh's beard rubbing his skin in other places, his chin and upper lip are getting a bit raw and he can't ignore the sting.
"-ugh."
"Hmmm?"
Hugh nuzzles his cheek.
"Ummm."
The thumb tracing over his lips unfortunately makes him wince again, and it's too obvious for even a very distracted Hugh to miss. His gaze sharpens, eyes narrowing slightly.
"What's wrong? I didn't- I wasn't too rough, was I?"
Considering that Paul's the one who keeps nipping at Hugh's mouth, he's not sure how that could possibly be the case.
"No, of course not. It's just..."
"Sweetheart?"
"I don't suppose you have a regen in your pocket?"
A smirk.
"That's a terrible line."
"Seriously. Umm. It's a little-" he waves his fingers in a vague gesture at his own chin, "yeah."
Hugh stares at him with blank incomprehension for the space of about five seconds before his look of concern turns to a self-deprecating smile.
"Ohh. You are a little pink."
"Yeah."
"Why didn't you say something sooner?"
"I was enjoying it."
He gets a chuckle and a headshake, then Hugh plants a very careful kiss on his chin.
"I'm sorry, love."
"It's fine, I just don't want your grandmother to think I have some kind of allergy."
Hugh snorts.
"Come on," he eases Paul off his lap with one more kiss, then draws them both to their feet, "there's a regen in the upstairs bathroom."
They pass through the kitchen, and Paul feels his cheeks heating as Aida glances up from where's she's supervising Nella and her brother chopping vegetables and winks.
Upstairs, he boosts himself to sit on the bathroom counter as Hugh digs through one of the drawers and checks the settings on the small silver device.
"How does she do that?"
Hugh gently takes his chin in one hand, the hum of the regen making his skin tingle.
"Do what?"
"Know exactly what we've been doing."
The regen pauses.
"Sweetheart, what are we usually doing when we go sit on the swing and no one else is there?"
"...true."
"Also," Hugh gives him a mischievous look, "my grandfather had a beard."
Notes:
Thirty minute writing spree!
Chapter 198: Specific
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul Stamets is an aggressive cuddler.
Okay, Hugh thinks, maybe aggressive isn’t quite the right word.
’Aggressive’ brings to mind overbearing force, something that makes others retreat as it takes what it wants, inconsiderate of others. Paul is none of those in their relationship, for the most part. While he can be inconsiderate, it’s never deliberately so, and he’s always apologetic when Hugh points it out. Hugh’s never felt the need to draw back either, only ever overwhelmed in the best possible ways.
’Needy’ describes him sometimes, when he’s suddenly desperate for Hugh’s skin on his, twining their limbs together and generally turning into a very bony-kneed octopus. That’s not quite it either though.
Hugh’s still searching for the right word fifteen years in, one that encompasses the way Paul uses his whole body to cuddle. Everything angles towards Hugh, body language shouting I’m yours and mine. Paul burrows into his side, making soft sounds of disquiet until, at last, he sighs in satisfaction. He radiates contentment then, cheek pillowed on Hugh’s shoulder and hand splayed over his heart.
It’s possible that he’ll never find a term that fits completely, but that’s very on-brand for Paul. There’s no neatly labeling him, impossible to reduce him to a simple description. He’s just...Paul, and that’s more than enough for as many lives as Hugh has to share with him.
Paul Stamets is Hugh’s.
Notes:
So I’m trying to catch up on three stories at once which all have vastly different tones. The gear shift between the tense menace of Survival, playful smut for Seven Days on Risa, and profound love after angst in When Sorrow Turns To Joy is proving to be more of a challenge than I thought it would. It’s hard to keep all the Pauls and Hughs separate where they’re running around in my head, especially when all six of them like to get into trouble. Sigh.
Thank you for your support and patience!
Chapter 199: Stain
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Tilly?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you all right? You seem a bit...jumpy."
"What? I mean, no, Commander, not at all. Nothing's wrong, why would there be?"
"...okaaay."
Paul frowns as she darts up a ladder into a Jefferies Tube, but there's not much else he can do.
Tilly seems twitchier than usual this afternoon, he thinks, haven't seen her like this in a while.
She spends most of the next hour after emerging from the Jefferies Tube alternately paying attention to the calculations on her console and stealing furtive glances but avoiding making eye contact with him when she looks up. He's really not sure what it could be; Tilly was fine this morning as far as he could tell, but he had been under the condenser in the cultivation bay for most of the day and might have missed something. Whatever it is is affecting Harrington too, a smirk playing about her lips. It all started after lunch, which leads him to wonder if he missed some sort of inside joke. Paul of a year ago certainly wouldn't have unbent enough to wonder, but he finds himself feeling a little left out if that's the case.
Just in case, he surreptitiously checks his reflection in the transparent wall as he passes the spore cube - his hair is in order, he hasn't suddenly broken out in hives - yet nothing seems amiss visually other than a few crumbs that he dusts off. Shaking his head, he writes it off when Adira arrives and acts normally as they ever do when they arrive, chattering to Gray about a phase discriminator.
It isn't until Hugh stops in during a break to say hi that Paul finally gets a clue.
"I enjoyed lunch," Hugh smiles, "see you later."
Hugh sees himself out with an absolutely-not-unprofessional squeeze to Paul's bicep and a wave to everyone else. He doesn't say anything, but his raised eyebrow speaks volumes when Paul turns back to his console and realizes all three people still in the room are staring at him.
"Okay, what?"
Adira's eyes skate sideways at Tilly, who suddenly finds her PADD super engrossing as she steps over Harrington who's sitting on the floor adjusting the drive safeguards and snickering audibly. Sighing, Paul picks the person most likely to give him a direct answer because they've had the least amount of life experience dissembling.
"Adira."
"...yes?"
"Is there something you want to tell me?"
"No?"
"That's about as believable as you telling Hugh you only 'sort of' sprained your wrist last week with Rhys."
Their head jerks sideways a little, a sign he's come to recognize as Gray getting their attention, and he impatiently waits for them to finish. Adira squirms for a few seconds, then ultimately throws Tilly under the transport.
"...nope. I'm not- this so isn't my fault. Tilly," they make a complex gesture that resembles a squirrel dashing up a tree, "you can...yeah."
"Hmm? What?"
Paul doesn't buy Tilly's innocent look either.
"Tilly-"
"Oh, I think Reno wanted me to- I'll just be..."
She jerks a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the door, but Paul dusts off his best withering glare and she freezes. Harrington, immune to the Stamets stare since Deneva, sets down her coupler and gives up any pretense of working to watch the free entertainment.
"Tilly."
"It's nothing, Commander."
Her eyes keep darting somewhere under his chin. Paul resists the urge to bring a hand up to the side of his neck, where Hugh's teethmarks are hidden under his collar (Hugh's been possessive lately, and he's not complaining). That's the only thing he can think of, but he'd checked this morning and they shouldn't be visible at all.
"Harrington," he lets loose some of the annoyance on the one person who won't take it personally, "is there something I should be worried about?"
"There's always something you're worried about, Stamets," Harrington hits the metaphorical tennis ball back over the net neatly, "nothing new."
"What's with the staring when Hugh was here?"
'Doctor Culber' wasn't even anywhere near the tip of his tongue, and he makes a mental note to pay attention to how often he uses Hugh's name in conversation. Then again, it feels faintly ridiculous to try to pretend some sort of professional distance when these three know better.
Time to try a different tactic.
"I didn't think he was your type."
Harrington seems even more amused, Adira is smiling too widely to be natural, and Tilly coughs.
"Did he put you all up to something?"
"No."
"That would be weird."
Paul sighs, tempted to just go back to work and wait for someone to explain.
"We weren't doing anything, so...?"
Two expressions of disbelief, and Adira is suddenly engrossed in the nearest console. Harrington glances at them, who in turn looks at Tilly again, apparently electing her to...well, Paul's not sure, but he'd really like to know.
"Err, it's great that you're getting- wait, that didn't come out right...I mean, we're happy that you're ummm happy. Yeah! We are, really."
Tilly sounds sincere, if rushed.
"...but?" Paul prompts.
She points a finger vaguely at her own collarbone. When no additional explanation seems forthcoming, Paul sighs again.
"Computer, mirror."
His own reflection springs to life, peering back at him with a look of annoyance. Nothing seems out of place other than his frown, except-
Huh.
There's a whitish stain on the right side of his collar beneath his chin. He remembers Hugh laughing as the tomato tumbled off his fork, smearing dressing over his chin, then quickly reaching out and swiping his thumb over the mess and licking it clean. The playful gesture made him smile, but he hadn't thought twice about it after using his napkin to clean up the rest.
"Computer, cancel mirror."
"Lunch must have been good," Harrington smirks.
He blinks, one hand on his hip and the other paused halfway raised to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"Why does everyone always assume that Hugh and I are having a quickie at lunch?"
"...I don't know why we'd think that," Harrington mutters just a tad too loud to be under her breath, "no idea at all."
"In the middle of the afternoon sometimes too," Tilly adds.
"Ewww."
He's choosing to take Adira's grossed out face as the usual adolescent disinterest in adults having sex than anything personal.
Probably.
"It's salad dressing."
His declaration is met with relief (Adira), skepticism (Harrington), and confusion (Tilly).
"Suuure."
Generally, Paul doesn't regret bringing his team from Deneva with him, but in this particular instance he could do without the knowing smile.
"It is."
Harrington shrugs in a way that says she's unconvinced, but picks up her coupler again and turns back to the drive control panel. Tilly says something about checking the humidity levels in the cultivation bay, and Adira makes a hasty exit.
Paul facepalms, then picks up his PADD to message Hugh.
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] So.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Hmm?
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Why didn't you tell me I missed some of the dressing on my collar?
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] I thought you got it all. Why?
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGER] Everyone's head is in the gutter today.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] ??
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Oh. **laughing emoji**
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Did you tell them what happened after that?
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Of course not.
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] It's a good thing your uniform is white.
Notes:
Just in time for Valentine's Day :)
I can't believe chapter 200 is next! There are a few partially finished stories waiting - any type in particular you'd like to see?
Chapter 200: Starved, Part Three (Conclusion)
Summary:
Follows on Chapters 185 & 187 ("Starved") - Paul's perspective.
Notes:
Hurt and comfort as requested from folks - hoping this fits the bill.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh always gives Paul his full attention, love and affection and desire in his eyes as they kiss. When Hugh cradles his face between his palms, the entire universe around them shrinks down to the beautiful, gentle, kind man he’s so lucky to have as his partner. He’s safe, protected from everything including his own insecurities with Hugh’s arms around him.
One of Paul’s less-than-loved former collaborators had once sneeringly commented after witnessing a farewell that Hugh’s habit of using both hands as well as his lips was a dominating attempt to control him. After he’d responded to that comment with an icy glare, Paul had locked himself in his private lab and fumed. Hugh had only been able to spend thirty two minutes while his ship was in orbit for a supply transfer, and he’d wondered if he should even burden his partner with the complaint or simply deal with it himself. In the end it hadn’t mattered, as he was back in Hugh’s arms an hour later while the ship spent three days in orbit repairing a faulty warp plasma system. He'd been incensed enough that, with minimal explanation, Hugh let Paul take him right up against the door in his lab, their pleasure loud enough to be heard in the main bay with no doubt as to who was being "dominated" (knowing what Hugh's return would mean, Straal had wisely dragged the others out for a long lunch, leaving just one person present to overhear).
That had been a very good three days.
The first time Hugh lays his hand on Paul’s arm during their first real date, eyes sparkling in the candlelight and lips curved into a sweet smile, he loses the ability to speak. There's no desire to cringe away, to recoil as he occasionally does with others whose touch felt wrong. Just the weight of his hand, fingers warm, setting the bare skin under them on fire.
It scares him at first, the need burning under his skin, the drive to be as close to Hugh as physically possible, to rub their bodies together in a non-erotic fashion just to feel him. Hugh’s touch makes him feel desired. Makes him feel seen. His hand is steady and strong under Paul’s fingers, his skin warm. When he’s with Hugh, Paul feels right.
There’s also a definite sense of sexual hunger, but that’s even stronger because of how he feels about Hugh. Sex and intimacy never seemed to live up to their hype before; it was awkward and messy, and he was extremely self-conscious about his tendency to be noisy while also wondering if he was doing things right. He'd never been completely comfortable, never allowed himself to let go and trust that his bed partner would take care of him. It was just easier to avoid the situation altogether than be disappointed yet again. Hugh makes it all different. He touches Paul’s body with reverent desire, worshipping him with kisses and caresses as he stimulates every point to bring him pleasure. His touch is so much more than carnal.
Hugh never calls him high maintenance, never barely contains annoyance or pulls away when Paul touches him, never makes him feel like he’s anything but delighted by his lover’s newly-understood need for physical affection. Never does any of those things that had told Paul well enough in past relationships that he wasn't really what the other person desired. Now, he feels wanted, loved, cherished, protected. Hugh's touch is water to a part of him that he hadn't realized was withering away of thirst until he was given this boundless libation.
After Hugh dies, Paul simply shuts down in his grief. He can't feel, refuses to feel, without him by his side to share it with. The emptiness of their bed consumes him in cold isolation, unable to be warm again under three extra blankets as he clutches Hugh’s pillow and weeps at its fading scent. He wakes and dresses and carries out his duties, but emotion is a muted thing at best. Small bits of pride and affection for Tilly, annoyance and satisfaction verbally sparring with Reno. Touching anyone else feels completely wrong, lacking in depth, and he finds himself carefully avoiding the reminder that the other half of his heart is gone by returning to physically distancing himself from everyone (except Tilly, who steamrolls his attempts to be distant and lets him cry on her shoulder).
So alone.
When he finds Hugh alive in the network, the first moment their fingers touch cracks open the wall around his heart. He won't - can't - let go even as Tracy orders them beamed to the medbay, cradling him in his arms and kissing Hugh's cheek and temple because he still seems too shocked to properly return a kiss on the lips. The laughter and tears come, and he revels in their intensity. Hugh is alive, warm under his hands, thawing the ice flowing in his veins. He's going to bring him home, take him to bed and wrap himself around this miracle, this second chance.
Losing him a second time feels worse than the first, to see him alive and seemingly well. Without Paul. Once Hugh returns to duty, he bitterly envies the patients who receive his professional touch, his hand on their arm and his smile. There's no ice this time, just a complete emptiness inside. He aches to reach out, has to clench his fingers together the few occasions they do talk because his body still refuses to understand that Hugh is no longer his to touch.
He expects to take that loss to the future, to be left with only memories of love. Paul tells himself that it's fourteen years more than many other people ever get, but it's hollow comfort.
Hugh’s hand on his temple as he wakes in the medbay sets his nerves alight. His smile and sarcasm wash over Paul like sunshine, like emerging from darkness. His kiss makes Paul’s entire body sing.
He’s too joyful to be embarrassed when he starts to cry the first time he holds Hugh properly after he's dragged out of the Jefferies Tube and endures a lecture before being stuffed back into the cellular regeneration chamber. Hugh pulls up a chair and sits by his side for hours, stroking his hair as they speak quietly. His lips are soft and sweet, Hugh filling his senses.
They take things slow, but re-establishing contact feels like Paul is suddenly alive again, the gray haze he’s wandered through lifted and the world once more in color. Holding hands, hugging, all of the things he'd taken for granted are now precious and priceless. Even feeling the heat of Hugh's knee pressed to his as they sit side by side in the mess hall becomes something to be celebrated.
Waking up beside him is indescribably wonderful, Hugh sharing the pillow and half on top of him. Paul thinks he could drown in it, the sense of rightness anchoring him to his own body just as much as the weight of Hugh's leg thrown over his hips. He lacks the words to express the overwhelming sense of need, of love consuming him, so he lets his actions speak. Still, they're not enough. Hugh doesn't question him though, doesn't once raise an objection, just opens his arms or puts down his PADD and lets Paul snuggle as often as he wants. He pets his hair, rubs his back, gives him kiss after kiss.
Making love again for the first time, their bodies joined intimately, is overwhelming. He needs to feel Hugh everywhere on him, inside of him so deeply he never wants him to leave again. The preparation is tender as ever it was, but he almost wants the discomfort, the burning stretch to sear into his senses that this is real. He’s held down against the sheets, safe under his weight and his lips and hands and love. Safe to be himself.
Paul knows he’s being clingy, but Hugh doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he holds Paul closer, strokes his hair and nuzzles his cheek. He doesn’t complain when Paul climbs into his lap while they’re reading on the couch, when he pulls him to bed and strips them both naked to wind their limbs together. When he doesn’t initiate sex, but can’t stop kissing and nuzzling and running his hands over Hugh’s body, using his cheek and nose to re-map familiar peaks and valleys.
Prior Paul wanted to spend time with Hugh, but it wasn't the all-consuming need he has now. Hugh is his balm against the raw, barely-healed wounds as he pieces himself back together. He says he needs Paul just as much as Paul needs him, that he isn't taking anything that's not freely given. After everything, he's slowly learning to believe it.
Paul's heart is so full now as their fingertips brush over the table during dinner, the tiny bit of contact speaking more than words ever could between them.
Speaking of love.
Notes:
This one has a different flavor than the first and second, which I'm attributing to the switch in perspectives. Hugh comes from a place of deep calm, of understanding care versus Paul's brain where thoughts are constantly flying and only coming to realize things about himself once he has Hugh in his life.
Happy Valentine's Day!
Chapter 201: Somnolent
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It's 0400 and Paul would much rather be asleep, but his bladder has other ideas. Grumbling, he climbs over Hugh (because why get out of bed on his side only to walk around it?), who twitches and makes a vaguely displeased noise, and opens his eyes just enough to not trip over anything on his way to the bathroom.
On the way back, he notices Adira's jacket tossed carelessly on the floor.
Must have forgotten it when they left last night.
He wonders if he or Hugh ought to talk to them about keeping their teenage clutter to their own quarters? At least Paul is used to Hugh's mess and can navigate around his piles of laundry and boots automatically.
You're going to sound like their parent at this rate.
Well.
Isn't it Hugh's turn?
With a groan, he picks up the garment and sets it on a chair, then gets back into bed. Hugh's sprawled in the middle of the sheets, and after a couple of failed attempts to move his rather solid unconscious body, Paul gives in and just settles down on top of him.
Morning is on its way too soon, and he's not in the mood to deal with it without at least four more hours of sleep than he's going to get or a lot of caffeine.
Coffee. Definitely coffee.
Hugh's not very squishy, but he's definitely warm and comfortable, and Paul's snoring less than a minute later.
Notes:
Just a little domestic / Space Dad fluff :)
Chapter 202: Standpoint
Chapter Text
Paul feels safe beneath Hugh.
His body is as much a shield between Paul and the universe as it’s working to bring him pleasure.
He knows that Hugh derives immense satisfaction from fulfilling Paul’s desires, delight tangible in the slippery grasp of his fingers in Paul’s hair as Hugh’s love overwhelms him.
****
Hugh feels safe with Paul beneath him.
His embrace wraps Hugh in so much more than just his arms, a gift of shelter offered and entrusted to Hugh alone.
He knows that Paul’s vulnerability is something he wishes that he had so profound a thing to give in return, tries to show him with every touch that the love shining in Paul’s eyes is precious beyond measure in his heart.
Chapter 203: Switch
Chapter Text
"Hugh?"
"Mmm?"
"I'd like my arm back, please."
"Nah. It's mine now."
"Are you planning to lay on it all day?"
"Mmhmm."
"You know, as a doctor I'd think you'd be worried about the complications from loss of circulation on the continued welfare of said arm?"
"Hmm."
"...are you getting hard?"
"Looks like it."
"Okaaaay..."
"You're really hot when you get all huffy and try to science your way out of things."
"I am not huffy- what's that look?"
"Are you going to keep pretending to be mad about it, or are you going to take your clothes off and do something about it?"
"I don't know, that sounds like a lot of work."
"Well. It's either that or you don't get to complain about having to change your pants."
"You drive a hard bargain."
"Oh, we're getting there."
"If you want me to get undressed, I need my arm back."
"Are we back to that again?"
"Yes."
"If I let you up, are you going to try and escape?"
"Hugh, we're too old to be having sex on the couch."
"No we're not."
"Wouldn't you rather use the bed?"
"...yeah. All right. First one undressed gets to bottom?"
"Mmm- wait, that's not fair! My arm is numb, that's cheating...Hugh!"
"You're really cute when you pout."
"Hmph."
"C'mon babe, don't you want some of this?"
"Stop being so hot, I'm trying to be annoyed."
"Please?"
"...argh."
"Tell you what. You get undressed and fuck me, and if you can last five minutes we can switch?"
"Are you really trying to make a deal for sex?"
"If you're not interested, you can just stay there and watch me...pleasure myself."
"What- no, no I'm interested, see?"
"Mmm. Bring that over here then."
"That's not fair though, you know I can't when you..."
"Paul Stamets backing down from a challenge?"
"Of course not."
"Well, you could- ohhhh. Mmmm."
"Like that?"
"I- unnhhh. Yes. Compu- computer. Set a tuh...timer. Five minutes."
Acknowledged.
"Seriously?"
"It's - hnnghhh - a win-win, babe."
"Fuck."
"Ideally, yes."
"Are you...mmmm...still talking?"
"Four minutes ahh...and thirty seh- seconds. Oh! Ohhh...I- right there..."
"More?"
"...fuck me."
"That's what. I'm. Doing."
"Shut up and uhhh shut u- ohh. Kiss me."
"With pleasure."
"...oh sweetheart, the pleas- ahhh, pleasure's all mine."
"We'll see about that."
Notes:
The first eight lines demanded more.
Chapter 204: Silk
Summary:
Hugh's pajama shirt goes missing.
Chapter Text
Hugh doesn't linger in the shower, although he does spend a couple of minutes with the water turned up as hot as possible beating down on his back to take care of the tension from a day of surgeries. He's eager to finish getting ready for bed and curl up next to Paul for some snuggles before falling asleep, only mildly disappointed that his partner had already showered because he's not the best company when he can't raise his arms above shoulder height.
Wrapping a towel around his waist, he sighs and brushes his teeth, going about the usual motions of his bedtime routine. It's only when he reaches for the pajamas he left on the counter that he realizes the shirt is missing, and Hugh frowns.
"Babe?"
"...hmmm?"
Hugh leans past the doorway, Paul's distracted hum drawing a smile from him when he sees where his shirt has gotten off to. The midnight blue silk is such a gorgeous contrast to Paul's complexion, the long sleeves pushed up his forearms and the unbuttoned front offering tantalizing glimpses of freckled skin.
"Never mind."
"Mmm."
Paul's frowning at something on his PADD, and Hugh shakes his head at himself for not noticing what he was wearing when he came home, chalking it up to exhaustion. Hugh steps into the pants, haphazardly tosses the towel across the bar - Paul can't complain when it's not on the floor - and pads out across the room. The cooler air chills his still-damp skin, and he slides under the duvet with a content sigh when he makes contact with the body-warmed sheets, settling on his side. A hand lands on his head, smoothing back his hair before scratching gently at the back of his neck and shoulders. Paul's attention is still on the PADD, but his fingers move on automatic to seek out all of the usual points of tension and soothe them with caresses as Hugh's eyes drop half-closed.
Ten minutes later, Hugh is drifting on the edge of consciousness when he feels Paul shift to set the PADD down on his nightstand. He doesn't order the lights off though, just leans over to kiss Hugh's cheek and stretches before picking up his personal PADD and thumbing it on. Hugh decides he's perfectly happy to fall asleep like this, listening to Paul breathe and occasionally remembering to rub Hugh's shoulder.
Something wakes him an indeterminate amount of time later, possibly Paul retrieving his hand.
Mmm.
The PADD is angled towards him, and Hugh idly glances at the contents, expecting to find his partner reading some scientific paper or other. Instead, he sees the header of a personal communication at the top of the screen. Curiosity wars with respect, and as usual, respect wins out as Hugh closes his eyes and doesn't try to read its contents. He's about to give in to sleep again when he notices a change in Paul's breathing and he shifts against the mattress, scooting further under the covers. A few moments later, he shifts again, and Hugh wrinkles his nose.
Trying to sleep here, hmph.
His grumpy affection squeaks to a halt when he hears a soft moan.
...what?
Opening his eyes again, he's treated to the sight of Paul in profile, lips parted as he stares at the screen. It's hard to tell in the low lighting, but his cheeks look a little flushed as he squirms. A rustle of fabric gets Hugh's attention, drawing his eyes down to where the covers are moving in a distinctive rhythm.
Ahh.
They both still enjoy the company of their own hand on occasion, usually when the other has a mismatched shift or isn't in the mood. It's certainly not something Hugh begrudges his love, although he would have expected Paul to proposition him when he got into bed. Then again, he'd made it clear how tired he was, and Paul was nothing if not considerate when it came to anything related to sex.
Hugh's not above enjoying the free show though, even if arousal is slow to ignite in his own stomach. Intrigued, he watches the way Paul's eyelashes flutter as his breathing speeds up, and can't help but notice his own name attached to the message when the PADD sags still further towards Paul's chin. Propriety satisfied since it's clearly nothing he hasn't seen before, Hugh squints to make out the header information - a transcript of an audio message sometime before Discovery launched - and tries to remember what he might have sent to elicit this kind of reaction.
Granted, you've found Paul masturbating when you were on comms talking about nothing in particular because he said the sound of your voice made him horny, he thinks with amusement, could just be me complaining about osteoregenerators.
Another moan, this one a little louder.
Although I can’t imagine a transcript of that being ideal jerk-off material.
Moving slowly, Hugh rolls his face out of the pillow just enough to see the screen with both eyes. Paul seems to have a section on loop, and he waits for the scrolling text to come into proper focus.
miss you, sweetheart.
Soon, right? Ugh. It feels like we've been doing this forever. I'd rather be doing you forever. Preferably uninterrupted for the rest of, oh, say the next five years? Yeah, that sounds good. Just you, me, and a bed. I'll even skip the bed if we have to.
Fuck. Just thinking about that makes me hard. I'm lying here with your shirt on the pillow next to me, it smells so good sweetheart, mmm... Love the way you smell right out of the shower, when you're all clean and I can't wait to get you dirty again.
I wish you could see it, I'm leaking everywhere, and it's all your fault. Playing with myself, wishing it was your hand. Or your mouth, fuck, the way you look at me when you're sucking me... you know what that does to me when you try to look so innocent with a mouth full of my cock and humping the sheets.
Feel so empty, love. Want you bouncing on my cock, but want to be fucked more. Mmm... yeah. I'm fingering myself now, can you hear that? Wish it was your hands, love your hands, love everything about you. Fuck, I can't get deep enough, need you.
You took my vibrator, you know? I can't find it anywhere, and you're in for it when I get my hands on you again. Of course you know, I bet you did- ahh, did it on purpose just to make me even hotter for you. Gonna- fuck...gonna tie you to the bed and ride you until you're begging me to come. Jerk myself off in front of you, until you get that look, when you're starving for me...I love that. I love that. No one ever makes me feel as wanted as you do when you're looking at me like that.
The lazy arousal in his hips sharpens, and he checks that Paul is still pre-occupied with the text while his fingers creep across the sheet. He pauses when he can feel the heat of Paul's body on the backs of his fingers, a hairsbreadth from making contact.
Ready or not, here I come.
You do seem awfully ready though.
Grinning, he pushes up on his elbow at the same time as his hand catches Paul's wrist.
Gotcha.
"Am I invited to this party?"
Paul nearly drops the PADD on his own nose in surprise, but recovers quickly enough.
"I thought you were asleep."
His voice is languorous, husky, and Hugh waits for him to set the PADD down before moving forward to claim a kiss.
"Mmm. I was."
"Sorry."
Paul sounds genuinely apologetic, and Hugh dismisses it with another kiss to the end of his nose.
"Don't be. Did you want to continue, or can I help?"
His head turns on the pillow, static forming a blond halo of his tangled hair. Paul's lips are smiling, but more than that, his eyes are sleepy with lustful love.
"Oh definitely help, if you don't mind."
"Mmm."
Hugh releases Paul's wrist, nudging his hand out of the way to take over. Paul was most of the way there already, and he doesn't see any point in drawing it out too much further as his erection throbs against Hugh's palm when he speeds up his strokes.
"Were you enjoying my old message?" he murmurs into Paul's ear.
"...mmhmm."
"I ended up getting frustrated and synthesized a new toy in the middle of it, didn't I?"
Paul licks his lips, nodding with a whimper. Hugh adds a twist over the tip on every upstroke, thumb working the sensitive spot under the head.
"How many times have you gotten off listening to me talk about fucking myself?"
”I-“
Whatever Paul's reply is going to be vanishes as he kicks down the covers just enough to avoid spilling on them as he comes with a cry. Hugh smiles in satisfaction, working him through it with slow caresses until Paul shivers and he stills his hand. Then he glances down and chuckles.
"...huh?"
"You're not wearing any pants."
"Ahh. You've caught on to my evil plan," Paul gives him a sated wink, "oops."
Hugh laughs again, carefully wiping up the mess with his hand before climbing out of bed and heading into the bathroom to rinse off.
"Were you planning a seduction," he asks as he's slipping back under the sheets, "or something else?"
Paul's still wearing the unbuttoned pajama shirt, which he somehow miraculously managed to avoid getting dirty, and he tugs Hugh closer by the waist.
"No more than usual, dear doctor."
A few slow, soft kisses. Paul's probably going to fall asleep soon, and Hugh nuzzles at his cheek.
"I like seeing you wearing my clothes."
"I know."
Yawning, Paul gropes over Hugh's hip, but he stops him with a gentle hand.
"You can return the favor in the morning, sweetheart."
Paul orders the lights off, and leans over to give Hugh a proper goodnight kiss before nudging him to roll over and fitting himself against his back.
“You sure?”
Hugh nods, enjoying the contrast between the smooth silk and Paul's slightly sweaty skin.
"Mmhmm. Love you."
"Love you too."
More kisses scattered over the back of his neck and shoulders as they settle in comfortably.
I still owe him payback for the vibrator, Hugh muses sleepily, have to think up something appropriate.
"Goodnight, Hugh."
"Night sweetheart."
Chapter 205: Surmise
Notes:
May be read as a companion piece to Chapters 191 and 192 ("Sudden" and "Sudden, Part Two") or a standalone.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
T'Vala is most certainly not intending to, as humans say, eavesdrop. Her Vulcan hearing is more acute, yes, but she's principled enough to only use it for purposes which are blameless of assigned impropriety. It does not, however, operate well through duranium, otherwise she would not have accidentally intruded on any number of "private" moments throughout the years - arguments between colleagues, personal conversations, and more than a statistically probable number of occasions of witnessing her friend Hugh and Paul...coupling.
There's nothing distasteful in the act itself, a logical means of affirming the bond between mates, and they're quite aesthetically pleasing in contrasting complexions. T'Vala would be fascinated to observe more, but - as with many strange human customs - they appear to be more unsettled by her presence than she is in discovering them engaged in such matters. She would rather save her friend the embarrassment, and so politely averts her eyes from areas that most bipedal species consider worthy of a privacy taboo and sees herself out.
One would think, she muses, that were they so averse to being discovered while indisposed, they might remember to engage the door locks.
Humans are indeed strange.
She's seen all manner of relationships between humans, but Hugh and Paul appear to be far more tactile than others. For a species of touch-telepaths, Vulcan physical contact is generally governed by principles of ritual or the slightest contact of fingers between committed individuals. Hugh and Paul, however, seem to use it as both a means of silent communication as well as a need she senses that they be close together. T'Vala suspects it has something to do with prolonged physical separations, having witnessed Hugh request hugs from Tracy on occasions when he seems to be particularly bereft. Had he consulted her, she would have offered her opinion that touch between friends, while offered with understanding, would not have the same effect as with one's mate. Tracy attempts to explain it to her, but that too seems insufficient.
Regardless of her thoughts on human behavior as a whole and for her friends in particular, T'Vala is most displeased to overhear a conversation held by two ensigns three tables down while in the cafeteria, attempting to compose a communication to her parents after Paul and Hugh have departed from their afternoon meal with her. As a general rule, she's able to ignore most distractions, but hearing one of the ensigns say "Hugh Culber" in a peculiar tone of voice immediately attracts her attention. She mentally searches through her list matching emotional states to tone and expression for various species, and comes to the conclusion that it has elements of both "lust" and "envy". Setting down her PADD, she stares into her tea and narrows in on the conversation.
"...he's so hot."
"Yeah. Have you seen his ass when he bends over? I think he wears his uniforms a size too small just to show off."
"Forgot his ass," one of them scoffs while gesturing with a fork, "that chest. Those arms!"
"He's so nice all the time too. I bet he's a freak in bed."
The conclusion follows no logical argument, and T'Vala wonders how they graduated the Academy with such a failure to understand logical fallacies.
"Mmm."
"Yeah."
"We're not likely to find out though."
"Oh?"
"Did you see that guy he was with?"
"What, the science geek? The blond?"
"Uh huh. His boyfriend."
"Seriously? He spent the whole time on his PADD though, you sure about that?"
"Yeah, but they were eye-fucking at breakfast."
"Ehhh. What's he see in that guy? He's so skinny and boring. Even the Vulcan seems more interesting."
One eyebrow rises as she considers making them aware of the fact that she can hear them, but decides there's nothing illogical about collecting as much information as possible while they're speaking so loudly.
"No idea. Can't be much fun in the sack either, not sure what Culber's getting out of it."
"Maybe he'll be willing to play once that guy leaves? Could give him what he's been missing out on."
"Oh, now there's an idea. Think he would though?"
"Hah, someone that pretty? He's probably spreading it around, can't imagine he's got a shortage of offers."
"Fifty credits if you fuck him first?"
"A hundred."
"I-"
T'Vala's heard enough and stands abruptly, pushing her chair back and tucking her PADD under her arm. She brings her tray back to the synthesizer for recycling, then approaches the table and stops a polite two feet away.
"Ensigns."
"...uhh, hi Doctor?"
They both appear to be quite young, and while youth is an excuse for vulgar behavior in many species, it's generally not something that those in Starfleet descend to.
"You are expressing sexual interest in my colleague, Doctor Culber."
They exchange a look, blinking at each other with blank expressions.
"Furthermore," she continues, "while it is most inappropriate to speak of a fellow officer such, particularly in a public setting, I would strongly dissuade you from attempting to separate him from his partner."
"Sorry?"
She folds her hands behind her back and stares until he looks down at the table.
"I am merely attempting to make you aware of the fact that your intentions to intrude upon a bonded relationship have less than a point-three percent chance of success, and that Doctor Pollard would not take kindly to your actions."
"Umm. Is that a threat, Doctor? Planning to tell Culber?"
"Indeed it is not. It is a statement of fact, one which I would not recommend you test."
Warning delivered, T'Vala nods at them and continues on her way out of the cafeteria. Across the commons, she catches sight of Hugh with his arm around Paul's waist as they wander amidst the landscaped garden. They stop at the foot of a tree, Paul leaning over to point at what is most likely fungal growth around the roots, and there's no mistaking the way Hugh is looking at him.
Perhaps point-three percent is an incorrect prediction which is too optimistically weighted towards success of any third party.
It may be close enough in terms of significant figures to approximate as zero.
Notes:
Writing T'Vala is way too much fun.
Chapter 206: Surreptitious
Summary:
A quiet moment with just one witness.
Notes:
Chapter title prompt by the amazing Finnegancat.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Side by side they lie, propped up amidst the pillows at the headboard, each reading in silence.
No words are spoken, save an occasional thoughtful hum or muttered comment.
No words are needed as their fingers twine together loosely on the covers between them, content in companionship.
A hand lifts the other, a kiss pressed to the knuckles before being set down gently again, thumb hooked over pinky.
Two smiles alike in soft joy flit across their lips, though neither looks up from his text.
The cycle repeats, over and over, a nuzzle to the wrist, a fingertip idly stroking an open palm.
Quiet certainty fills the air between them with warmth, surrounds them in its peace.
This, Adira thinks while watching from their place curled up under a blanket on the couch, is love.
Notes:
Alternate title - “Joy in 135 Words”
Chapter 207: Stupidly (In Love)
Summary:
Hugh and Tracy have a little chat.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“That, without a doubt, is the stupidest smile I’ve ever seen.”
”Oh?”
”Yes.”
“Well. I am stupidly in love, Trace.”
”So it seems.”
”...what, no lecture on jumping in too fast or his irredeemable qualities?”
“As if I’ve ever been able to stop you from falling in love.”
”Trace?”
”Hugh.”
”I don’t know that I’ve ever really been in love before. Not like this.”
”No, I don’t think so either.”
”But?”
”There isn’t one this time.”
”...what?”
”Your Paul has plenty of irredeemable qualities, but he’s got one in particular that makes up for all of them, from what I can see.”
”Trace?”
”He loves you just as much.”
Notes:
I promise I haven’t abandoned my other stories...just having a lull in my editing groove right now. Trying to climb out of it with snippets here until I feel up to tackling the rest.
Chapter 208: Sartorial
Summary:
Paul and Hugh change uniforms.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“I’m going to miss this.”
The quiet statement is nearly lost under the sound of Paul's boots on the deck. Hugh pauses with his hands unfastening his collar, turning to look at his partner.
“What’s that, love?”
He’s not expecting the wistful sadness on Paul’s face as he looks Hugh up and down. There’s no hint of playfulness or desire, but he can almost feel his eyes traveling over the contours of his body. Paul crosses the short distance between them, hands settling on his waist.
”I always loved how you look in uniform.”
Hugh runs his palms over Paul’s chest, feeling the rough braid and tracing each seam.
”I’ll still be in uniform,” he reminds him gently.
”Not the same.”
He glances over at their new uniforms laid out on the bed, freshly replicated and waiting.
“Well, it’s not like they weren’t upgrading uniforms back then either.”
”Those were colorful at least. These are so...” Paul wrinkles his nose as he searches for the right word, “bland.”
It’s true; the garments lack a certain aesthetic appeal in comparison to ones of the past. Their mostly muted color scheme fits this new future though, the clean gleaming white and grey of HQ on his mind, fading into the background the same way programmable matter appeared and vanished at will. The colors aren't the only difference though, and he catalogues them in his mind. Gone is the asymmetric collar point, replaced with a simple band and gorget plaque. The sleek, tight fitting jacket is now a tunic, loosely tailored and longer with division color a wide stripe down the front, and bio-sensors are synthesized as part of the fabric itself along with their commbadges, the array of tiny Starfleet deltas on their twenty-third century uniforms now superfluous design rather than useful.
Paul gives him a lopsided smile but doesn't say anything else, just gently brushes Hugh's hands away where they've returned to the zipper and grips it between his own fingers, lowering it slowly. He shivers as Paul's palms slide over his skin when he eases the jacket from Hugh's shoulders. They linger there for a few breaths, warm and heavy, then fall away. Hugh returns the favor, unsnapping Paul's collar and drawing down the zipper. It reminds him for a moment of times he's found Paul working late, jacket open and sleeves pushed up his forearms. He glances at the smooth skin as it's revealed, blue-green veins visible and unmarred by the augments.
The new uniforms wouldn't have suited them anyway, no zip at the cuffs.
Pants are next, Paul dropping to crouch in front of Hugh and peel the fabric from his thighs. It could have been seductive, yet he's struck with the solemnity in his partner's expression. He and Paul enjoyed the ritual of undressing each other at the end of the day when they had the time, but this is different, almost reverent in a way as he guides Hugh to step out of the puddle of fabric and stands to let Hugh perform the same service for him. Hugh pauses, fingers smoothing over the hem of Paul's long-sleeved undershirt as a slight twitch of his wrists suggests he's reluctant to continue.
"Changing this?"
A sigh.
"...not for now," Paul eventually answers, shrugging a little, "no one's going to see it anyway."
There's no need for one under the new jackets, the fabric much better at thermoregulation and bypassing the need to decide whether to dress in layers.
"Okay."
He drops his hands for Paul to skim his own undershirt off, leaving him standing in just his socks and the tight grey briefs he favors while in uniform.
Underwear hasn't changed in the future, thankfully.
They turn their heads to look at the garments on the bed again, Paul looking thoughtful. He bends to kiss each of Hugh's hipbones, a sweet and very Paul-like gesture, then reaches for Hugh's pants.
"Yeah?"
"Mmm."
Hugh sets his hand on Paul's shoulder, not needing it for balance but simply enjoying his closeness. He does have to let go to get Paul into his own pants, and he laughs quietly as he does up the fly.
“What?”
”Nine hundred years,” he chuckles again, “and we’re still using zippers.”
Paul's brows draw together.
”Good design that’s functional doesn’t need to be improved on very often. Programmable matter or not, a mechanical zipper is still practical.”
”Thank you, Doctor Stamets.”
The rest of the process is repeated in reverse, and they don't speak again until Paul snaps the gorget plaque into place at Hugh's throat.
”What’s that face for?”
He doesn't try to deny Hugh's question, frown readily apparent even as his voice is level.
”Collars are lower.”
”I thought you never liked them high anyway.”
"Got used to it."
"But?"
”Well...” Paul trails off, pointing at his own neck where the fading remains of a love bite sit, "pretty sure you can see this now."
Hugh smiles ruefully.
"Yeah. I suppose that means we'll have to remember to use the regen, is all. What?"
Paul's face falls.
"I like keeping them."
It's a simple statement, one of the countless that his love has made over the years and that never fail to tuck themselves away in his heart.
"I know."
He brushes a thumb over the love bite, humming in thought.
"Going to be a hard habit to break after this long," Hugh murmurs, wondering if his body in the throes of passion will remember to leave marks an inch lower to conceal them from view, "I might need to practice a little."
"Mmhmm. I suppose we'll manage. Not that Tilly and Harrington haven't been corrupting Adira about it, I swear they stare at my neck every time you and I have lunch together."
Hugh snorts, then takes a step back.
"Well. How does it look?"
He holds his arms out to the side, turning around slowly. Neither of them have activated the mirror, and he really does want Paul's opinion.
”It hides your ass,” Paul mutters, the seemingly lighthearted complaint nonetheless serious, "and it's harder to recognize medical now.”
Hugh raises an eyebrow, running his hand down the wide stripe of white.
"This is still pretty obvious."
“I looked up the uniform history, I can’t believe they kept doctors wearing blue. Seeing you all in white, it seemed...right.”
”As a doctor, or some sort of purity that I most definitely don’t have?”
It’s meant as a tease and accompanied with a roguish wink, but Paul shakes his head.
”You are though. And the white matched, all clean and bright and fair. You’re such a good person, Hugh, it felt like the uniform was just making it easier for everyone else to see it.”
Hugh ducks his head at Paul's matter-of-fact declaration, as if it's something universal that can't be denied, the same tone as Dr. Stamets reciting the basic laws of physics. What should have been a simple task of changing clothes has stumbled into something more profound, and he searches for the right words to respond. Paul's watching him, eyes full of conviction and tenderness, as he considers and discards things.
Eventually, he settles on the one thing that they've always both understood.
"I love you."
The kiss that follows is gentle, close-mouthed and chaste.
"I love you too."
He smooths his palm down Paul's front, easing away nonexistent wrinkles in the blue stripe.
"Ready, Commander?"
Paul bends down to retrieve their new boots, passing Hugh's over silently. A few final tugs, commbadges set in place, and Paul nods at him before they leave their quarters. He doesn't reply until they're in the turbolift, hand-in-hand.
"As I'll ever be, dear doctor."
Notes:
I've wanted to write this since the finale, because what are those uniforms even? I really hope they're tailored just a little better for Season Four, because if they manage to make Wilson and Patrick Kwok-Choon look stocky, it's not a flattering cut for anyone. It looks a bit better on women because their busts break up the line and make the front hang differently, but...yeah. (I'm a costumer by hobby, and as someone who's sewed for the last thirty years...argh!)
Chapter 209: Skeptical
Chapter Text
Hugh's old room is cozy and neat, but the narrow bed leaves much to be desired by way of two full grown men trying to share it. Paul's sweaty knees keep slipping on the edge, and he's tired of having to slow down to make sure he doesn't fall and injure them both (either sensitive parts or the remaining shreds of his dignity if they have to explain it to anyone). Groaning, he gives up trying to balance and sets one foot on the floor, the change in angle and leverage making both of their hips stutter.
"Oh god, harder," Hugh gasps, "right there sweetheart, I-"
A bite to his shoulder, soothed with a hot tongue.
"Me too," Paul pants into the back of his neck, pushing Hugh's face further into the pillows to muffle his cries.
Most of Hugh's family are out enjoying a trip to the beach, which is the only reason why Paul and Hugh even considered indulging in some recreation of their own. When Aida had shooed them off the swing and herded her great-grandchildren out to the back deck to play and "let your tíos take a nap", Paul wasn't sure if he was more embarrassed by her knowing smile or grateful at the opportunity. He'd settled firmly on grateful though, as Hugh practically dragged him upstairs by the hand before the patio door even closed. They've been limited to sweet lovemaking at night after everyone's gone to sleep for the last week, and mutual handjobs and sucking each other off are wonderful but the allure of Hugh's body and more intimate pleasures are too much to resist any longer.
Still, it wouldn't do to have them overheard through the open window.
Why didn't we close it?
Even the thought of withdrawing long enough to do so seems impossible, so Paul just concentrates on keeping his own noises under minimal control. It's difficult when Hugh's writhing and moaning beneath him, the sight of his sweaty back and tense shoulders only adding to his arousal. The mattress is squeaking under them, and it joins with the pounding of Paul's pulse in his ears as he drives them both closer to the edge. When one hand detaches itself from where Hugh's gripping the sheet and disappears under his body, Paul has to close his eyes and bite his own tongue to hold back his impending orgasm.
It's a lost cause, because Hugh stiffens seconds later with a triumphant shout and Paul is helpless to do anything but follow. His hips are still twitching involuntarily when Hugh's limbs seem to turn to jelly and they collapse in an undignified heap on the hopelessly tangled sheet.
"Mmphhhh."
Paul raises his head from Hugh's shoulder just far enough to make an inquisitive noise, wondering if he's too heavy.
"...s'fine," Hugh's voice is languid, sated and breathless, "stay."
"M'kay."
Desires satisfied, he rearranges them more or less straight on the bed rather than hanging off the edge, arms wrapped around Hugh's waist and very pleased that he hasn't softened enough to slip out yet. Hugh's hot and slick inside, small shivers running through him that cause Paul to answer with his own as they snuggle and enjoy the afterglow. All in all, it's a very satisfactory state of affairs, particularly since Hugh has his own bathroom and they won't have to cover themselves and sneak down the hall to clean up.
They must have finished just in time, because he can hear the thud of the patio door downstairs and the sound of voices in the kitchen below. He's about to suggest they at least find a towel when there's the patter of feet on the staircase and an insistent knocking on the door.
"Tío Paul? Are you okay?"
Paul groans quietly. He adores Hugh's niece Nella, who seems to feel the same in return, but her timing could really use some work. Hugh seems to still be remembering how to operate his limbs when Paul rises and collects the blanket to toss over his naked sprawl, pulling on a robe as he crosses the room. He opens the door just enough to see Nella's face peering up at him, using his body to block the view beyond him.
"I'm awake."
He feigns a yawn for good measure, hearing Hugh slowly shifting on the bed.
"What were you doing?"
Nella's innocent question makes his cheeks burn, and he shuffles through possible responses in a panic.
"Umm..."
"You were yelling, and Abuela said not to bother you, but I thought you might be hurt?"
So much for keeping it down.
While he's sputtering, a hand lands on his shoulder and it nearly collides with Hugh's nose when he jumps in startlement.
"Nellita."
Hugh's managed to pull on a pair of shorts and a shirt, hands miraculously clean, although Paul doesn't want to think about what the bed looks like right now.
"Tío Hugh?"
She's still watching them, a tiny frown forming.
"Sorry. Tío Paul and I were...wrestling. He tickled me and we fell, but we're fine."
He really, really hopes Nella doesn't pick up on the scratchiness of Hugh's voice. After what feels like an interminable amount of staring that's probably only a few seconds, she finally nods.
"...okay," she narrows her eyes at them both, "but Abuela said we're not supposed to do that in the house, because we could break something."
"Ahh. Umm, maybe we won't tell her then?"
Hugh's side-eye clearly shouts do something! at Paul.
"Nella," Paul clears his throat, "how about you head downstairs and put your shoes on, and then we can go for a walk and see if we can dig up any more mycelia to take a look?"
She bounces on her toes, face lighting up.
"Oh! Yes, please?"
Paul keeps a smile on his face as she turns for the stairs, but pauses at the top.
"Why are you wearing a robe in the middle of the afternoon?"
Fuck.
"Err, I was going to umm, take a shower? Give me a few minutes, and I'll be right down."
Nella's expression doesn't change as she tilts her head to the side, considering. He can feel Hugh behind him, face pressed into his shoulder and shaking with laughter.
"Okay."
He waits until her footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs before closing the door and slumping against it.
"Fuck."
"Yeah."
"Hugh?"
"Hmm?"
Hugh looks up from where he's nuzzling the side of Paul's neck.
"Why are all of the women in your family so...intimidating?"
They both burst into giggles at Hugh's helpless shrug.
"Shower?"
"Shower."
Chapter 210: Snuggle
Summary:
Fifteen years in, and insecurity can still rear its head. The solution? Communication.
Notes:
A somewhat flimsy plot, but I wrote this one straight through.
Chapter title from the wonderful LadyRiona, I can't believe I haven't used it before!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Are we getting...routine?"
It's only when he hears Paul's question that Hugh surfaces from the delightfully meditative calm to be found in pleasuring his partner with his mouth. There's an inexplicable satisfaction in knowing that nibbling just under the head makes Paul whimper so prettily, or just how much pressure to use when sucking to keep him from coming too soon, and Hugh enjoys it all.
Pushing up on an elbow, he lets Paul slip from between his lips.
"What's that?"
Paul's slumped against the headboard, legs splayed around Hugh's shoulders and one knee bent. The slight frown on his face belies the comfortable sprawl, and Hugh stops fondling his balls to fumble across the sheet for his hand.
"Umm."
The half-smile he gets is full of self-deprecation.
"Sweetheart?"
"Ignore me," he shakes his head, "it's nothing."
"It's not nothing if it distracted you in the middle of getting a blowjob," Hugh raises an eyebrow, "so spill."
The unintentional pun draws a chuckle, breaking the tension.
"Just, I was thinking. And I have absolutely no complaints whatsoever, but..."
"What?"
"We've only had sex here for the last two months."
Now it's Hugh's turn to frown.
"I distinctly remember riding you on the couch a few days ago, and I'm pretty sure I had my hand down your pants while we were brushing our teeth last night. So, it hasn't been just the bed."
Paul groans.
"Not explaining myself very well, am I? I meant, we've just been in our quarters, and it hasn't been any- that is...ugh."
Concern rising, Hugh climbs out from between his thighs and sits beside his love.
"Am I missing something?"
"...I thought you might be?"
"Sweetheart, I really have no idea what you're talking about."
Paul's chewing his lip, and he reaches over to gently wiggle it free, smoothing his thumb over the abused skin. He heaves a sigh, staring down at his knees and avoiding Hugh's glance. Though he itches to demand a response, Hugh knows he won't receive one if he pushes, and so he waits. Eventually, Paul stirs.
"I know you're disappointed I said no."
Hugh stares at him blankly, casting his mind back over the last few days and trying to recall any instance that could possibly have this effect. Paul had declined a third cup of coffee this morning, hadn't wanted pasta for lunch two days ago, turned down joining him and Detmer for a few rounds of Velocity, none of which ought to be serious. What could he-
Oh.
He doesn't mean to, but the relief comes out as a laugh, and Paul recoils.
"Love," he catches Paul's cheek to keep him from turning his face away, "you thought I was mad about that?"
A nod.
"Because you said no to something I wanted to try, not in this bed?"
"Yeah."
"Sweetheart," Hugh's mirth settles, "it's a fantasy for a reason. They generally don't work out so well when they're not in your head."
"You always do mine, though. And they're even better, and I...I keep saying no to things you want to do."
It's true that Paul has yet to suggest (or be coaxed into sharing) anything that Hugh hasn't been up for once any concerns have been assuaged. Asking Hugh to 'doctor' him, rough and dominating games, experimenting with a new toy, all of it has been fun and occasionally silly. It's easiest to gift them to Paul for a special occasion (their tenth anniversary comes to mind, fucking Paul until he came untouched) because he doesn't like to ask, and Hugh's never minded that his lover isn't comfortable doing some of the things he's requested.
"It's not a balance sheet, you know. I'd much rather we both enjoyed ourselves than you doing something just because I think it could be exciting."
He's aiming for soothing, but Paul looks unconvinced.
"Still."
Deep down, he knows Paul knows this, but something has to be eating at him for him to fixate on that.
"Want to tell me what's actually bothering you?"
Paul frowns again, wrinkling his nose.
"I'm going to be fifty this year."
"...yes, and?"
"I want to keep you interested."
"I am interested. Have been, since the day I met you, and I don't think that's going to go away no matter how old either of us is. I'm not...bored, or feeling like we're in a rut or whatever else that brain of yours is coming up with. I can't imagine things in this bed ever cooling down, at least until there's physical reason."
"That's it though," Paul grumbles, "what if I'm not keeping you...satisfied? I turned you down twice in the last week, what if-"
"You were exhausted last week, I don't expect you to stay awake just because I was in the mood. Last I checked, I still have two perfectly good hands and a drawer full of things to entertain myself with if you don't want to play."
"Hugh..."
"Paul," his use of his love's name gets his attention, "we could never have sex again - which I know isn't going to happen - and I'd still be happy with you. Remember what I told you when we started? That I'll love whatever it is you want to give? I still mean that."
Blue eyes study him for a few long moments, and Hugh waits.
"Sorry for being...weird about it."
"It bothered you, and we talked about it. I don't think that's weird."
"You're sure?"
"Yes. Now, if you ever stop wanting to cuddle, that might be a problem."
That draws the laugh he hoped it would, and he feels a relieved smile curve his lips. It's part and parcel of Paul's love to manifest as concern with Hugh's happiness, but he wishes it would pick something less sensitive to settle on. Not that either of them have any control over it.
"Never. Even when we're a hundred and ten and have more artificial joints and organs than real ones."
Hugh leans forward, rubbing their noses together and stealing a kiss, then another, and a dozen more.
"Now," he glances downward, Paul's interest gone soft during their conversation, "should I...?"
Paul untangles their twined fingers, tucking himself back into his pajama pants.
"I think I just want those snuggles."
Grinning, Hugh settles down under the covers and draws Paul to him.
"Always."
Notes:
Read more about their tenth anniversary at Seven Days on Risa. Playful, loving smut abounds :)
Chapter 211: Stuck
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"What are we doing?"
Gray's voice is loud and Adira jumps, immediately regretting it when their head bangs into the condenser.
"Oww- shhhhhh!"
He raises both eyebrows and holds up his hands in placation, crawling in next to them in the small space.
"Well?"
"Shh. I'm...hiding."
The eyeroll is just as predictable as Gray's smirk.
"Obviously. Why?"
"Aren't you in my head? Can't you, I dunno, figure it out?"
"It doesn't work that way," Gray snickers, "I don't think anyone except you knows how your brain works anyway."
"Hmph."
"Adiraaaaaa..."
Tucking their knees against their chest, Adira makes a face but gestures towards the environmental control console a few meters away. On it, Hugh's lifted Paul to perch on the edge and is holding both of his hands while Paul's legs swing at his sides. It's horribly domestic, and something they're still not quite sure how it's real while at the same time feeling completely right. Paul and Hugh are affectionate as easily as breathing - easier, even, it seems - and while Tilly had whispered that they usually tried to be more professional in the presence of others, Adira is fascinated that after this long they're still drawn to each other so strongly.
"Oh. Huh."
"Yeah."
"Why are we watching them?"
"Because I told Paul I was going to get dinner an hour ago, but I got distracted because I was working on stuff. And then I heard Hugh, and I'd told Paul for like the fifth time I was leaving, and...yeah."
Gray sits back cross-legged and scratches the side of his neck. Adira used to joke that one particular patch of his spots had to be itchy whenever he was thinking, and for a moment they miss touching him so much that it aches.
"Why didn't you just leave?"
"Because," Adira can just hear snippets of their conversation about dinner plans, "they're standing between me and the door. And I didn't want to interrupt them."
"Ahh."
Falling silent, they watch Hugh say something that makes Paul chuckle. Then he kisses the tip of Paul's nose and wraps his arms around Paul's waist to set him back on the ground. It's not that far, but Hugh turns it into a hug before pecking him once on the lips and leaving.
Adira huffs a sigh of relief as Paul picks up his scanner, clipping it back onto his belt and closing his toolkit. Once he leaves, they should be able to get across the bay to the other door and into the corridor before he emerges from Engineering. If they take a shortcut through Jefferies Tube 7A, they should be able to order food and eat enough of it that when Paul gets there he won't realize-
"You know," Paul's voice is louder, turning around to head towards them, "you don't have to hide when Hugh comes in here."
Gray's face mirrors their surprise.
"Busted."
Sighing, Adira crawls out from under the condenser and accepts his hand to stand.
"I wasn't...hiding."
"Okaaaaay. Inspecting the structural integrity of the underside of the equipment?"
Adira scowls.
"I was trying to give you two...privacy. Or something."
"And plotting how to get to the Mess Hall ahead of me, so that I didn't know you kept working when I told you to leave?"
They know crossing their arms is a defensive posture, but it's too much of an ingrained reaction.
"Maybe."
Shaking his head, Paul uses his elbow to nudge Adira's shoulder.
"Come on. Let me drop this off with Tilly, and we can walk to the Mess Hall. Hugh's just finishing something up and he'll meet us there."
"Umm. If you two want to have dinner together, I can..."
"They don't need a matchmaker!" Gray laughs, and Adira can feel their cheeks heating.
"Adira."
He stops halfway to the door, turning to face them again.
"Yeah?"
"I have...all the time in the universe to spend with him now."
"But I don't want to take too much-"
Paul's amused smile turns softer, although there's still a hint of mischief in his eyes. He starts walking again, stepping into the spore drive bay and handing off his readings to Tilly who looks up from the panel just long enough to accept the PADD.
"You're not interrupting. We like spending time with you, both of us. Besides, didn't I tell you? Package deal. There's no backing out now."
There's not much Adira can say to that, so they duck their head and stare at their boots.
"You're stuck with them," Tilly adds helpfully, punching figures into her console, "trust me."
"C'mon kiddo," Paul starts towards the door, "dinner."
"I'm not a kid."
"Pssst," Tilly stage whispers after Paul's crossed the threshold, "it means he likes you!"
"Come on, 'Dira," Gray calls from halfway down the corridor, "I want to see you order that fish thing you said you were going to eat."
Tilly smiles encouragingly, and Adira waves at her before leaving.
"Yeah, okay."
Notes:
Half-hour writing spree because I'm avoiding my overflowing work inbox. Ugh. I need to pull an Adira and hide somewhere.
Chapter 212: Solitude
Chapter Text
Gray watches Paul sitting with Adira as they discuss quantum theory, PADDs scattered all around and a holographic model floating in the air between them. He sees the way Adira's eyes light up when Paul gives them an approving look or says something about just how insightful or brilliant they are. Adira's besetting demon has long been self-effacement and deprecation to the point of ridiculous attempts to work their way out of compliments. It hadn't been something he'd been able to banish for them, and he thinks he might have been jealous that someone else is able to make progress if that someone was anyone besides Paul Stamets.
He listens when they're all having dinner, Paul and Hugh exchanging rapid-fire verbal pokes and what could be construed as insults if one didn't know any better. Gray recognizes the pattern in the back and forth, hears what isn't being said and realizes just how grounded each of them is in his own self and the solid foundation of their love. And when they extend that teasing to Adira, who sputters into their soup but eventually joins in, he thinks he might start crying.
Hugh promised they would find a way for him to be seen, and Gray believes him as strongly as he's ever believed anything. Neither Hugh nor Paul are people who balk at challenges or consider a problem unsolvable, which means he couldn't be in better hands. More importantly, his Adira couldn't have found a better set of quasi-parents if they'd sat down and tried to design them from scratch.
Chapter 213: Skin (Deep)
Chapter Text
Paul delights in Hugh’s body not least because it’s gorgeous - it most certainly is - but even still in wonder for the feeling it evokes in himself. Kissing him is devotion, and his smile is sunshine. His skin is warm and smooth, so much power contained beneath, a quiet strength and sureness. There’s a spark of connection that hasn’t faded since the first time he laid his hand on Paul’s arm, a magnetic pull that itches in his fingertips, never stilling until he can touch.
Hugh loses himself Paul’s body not simply because it’s beautiful, but most especially because it belongs to Paul. His eyes shine with that impossibly blue sparkle, and he hums with contentment in Hugh’s arms. The invisible hair over freckled skin tickles his senses, every line and scar and imperfection a perfect thing. It’s never possible to be close enough, to try and communicate how he feels about him through worship of his physical form, to use it to give him pleasure as an expression of love.
Even in slumber, they reach for each other. Palm to palm they lie, fingers clasped. Anchored.
They belong to each other.
Chapter 214: Smooches
Chapter Text
Hugh and Paul kiss an awful lot, Adira notices.
A quick peck goodbye before the turbolift doors open and they go their separate ways on shift.
A greeting when Paul gets back to their quarters, Adira in tow with Tilly following behind for a movie night.
Hugh’s lips pressed to Paul’s temple when they’re watching said holonovel, arm casually draped over his shoulders as they all squeeze onto the couch.
An apology when Paul’s gesturing animatedly as he critiques the plot and accidentally elbows Hugh in the ribs.
Paul’s lips pressed to Hugh’s shoulder when he embraces him from behind after Hugh finishes spreading a blanket over a snoring Tilly and mostly-asleep Adira.
An extended goodnight kiss once the lights are out and they’re in bed, which-
Eww.
Anyway.
Chapter 215: Speech
Notes:
Title suggested by the awesome Snorlax_on_USS_Discovery :)
Can be read as a follow up to Chapter 107 ("Shovel Talk"), or on its own.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first time Hugh brings Paul home to his family for Christmas is, frankly, terrifying.
He'd held up as well as possible to the flurry of introductions, all of Hugh's aunts and uncles and cousins and their families greeting Hugh with hugs and kisses as they arrived at Aida's house. They inevitably then turned to Paul with a curious, affectionate, or teasing "and who's this?" in Hugh's direction. Hugh would grin or laugh, and reach back without looking to catch Paul's hand and tug him forward, naming off his relations as Paul attempted to pretend he didn't have a death grip on Hugh's fingers. Despite the awkward self-consciousness, it kindled a warmth in his chest that only increased every time he realized that Hugh was introducing him by name alone. Others might have taken it as reticence to refer to Paul as his boyfriend (Paul still can't believe it himself some days), but the also-inevitable delighted exclamations of "oh, yes, Paul, finally!" made it clear that no additional explanation was needed because they all already knew.
Lunch is delicious, and Hugh's father makes a point of cheerfully piling Paul's plate with food every time a dish is passed around. Given the vast quantities being put away by everyone else, he tries to will the nervousness in his stomach down enough to eat anything, lest his hosts think him rude.
You can do this.
When Hugh makes a comment about his brilliant boyfriend out to transform faster than light travel and what feels like everyone's attention is turned his way, Paul briefly considers whether there's space to hide under the table. The hand resting warm on his knee might be the one thing preventing him from coming up with a suitable excuse to leave the room. He fumbles his way through a quick description of his research, addressing his plate rather than trying to make eye contact even though he can only see pleasant expressions in his peripheral vision. The confident-to-the-point-of-arrogance persona he dons to survive conferences is nowhere to be found; normally, he's not terribly concerned with what people think of his manners, but this is Hugh's family and he can't make a bad impression.
Afterwards, Paul doesn't expect to be detached from Hugh's sheltering presence by none other than his nieces and nephews, eager to talk to him and making him wonder just what they'd been told and by whom. They couldn't have been paying attention to the adults at lunch, so it's probably Aida, who he is by turns charmed and intimidated by. He recognizes the flashes of the steel and echoes of her piercing looks from Hugh, and it's slightly terrifying to see exactly where he's gotten it from. Either way, the kids monopolize him when one suggestion to improve the structure of their pillow and chair fort leads to him explaining the concept behind strength in arches and angles with plenty of hands-on demonstration. It's both more and less challenging than adults, because he's never really been comfortable around people until they're old enough to hold a reasonable scientific conversation but they also don't make demands or judgments that he can't handle.
It isn't until a hand on his lower back startles him out of spreading yet another sheet that he realizes Hugh has wandered over to their corner of the living room. His smile is wide and delighted, laughing when his niece Antonella makes a face as he presses a quick kiss to Paul's lips.
"Nellita, can I have Paul back now? It's almost time for dinner."
She considers the question for only a moment before nodding.
"Okay. Can we keep going after dinner, Tío?"
Paul's surprised when Hugh doesn't respond, until a gentle nudge makes him realize that Nella is addressing him, and a flurry of Denevan fireflies set themselves loose in his stomach.
"Oh. Umm, me...you want to?"
Nella gives him a stare that says 'obviously', and it's so familiar from Hugh's face that all he can do is stand there and blink as it processes.
"All right," Hugh rescues him, "but only after we help Abuela clean up, okay?"
His niece agrees, crawling back into the fort and leaving them staring at each other.
"Sweetheart?"
Hugh's arm is warm around his waist, and Paul leans into it.
"...she called me-"
"Tío, yes. It means 'uncle'."
Paul's not feeling so out of his depth that he can't summon up a mock-annoyed frown.
"I know, I'm not completely incapable of understanding Spanish. Just...me?"
"Yes, you," Hugh kisses his cheek, "you're wonderful with kids."
"No I'm not."
"Babe," the affectionate laugh makes him smile in return, "this has to be the longest any adult has managed to keep them out of the kitchen since...well, since I was young enough to be sent outside to play with my cousins because Abuela was cooking."
"Really?"
"Really."
He's not given a chance to reply, because Hugh's uncle sticks his head out of the kitchen and calls for their help carrying dishes. Paul can't help but think about the way Hugh's aunts speak to him like another member of the family, how Hugh's mother and father haven't been anything but welcoming and interested in knowing him better, and his cousins try to include him in their conversations. It's completely different than his own family holidays, and he'd only been half joking when he asked if Hugh's relations were going to grill him as an outsider. The one person who had anything remotely critical to say had been Aida, and that only in reference to determining his intentions towards her favorite grandson. He must have passed her test, because she merely pats his shoulder with a smile when he goes to retrieve a large casserole dish from the oven. And while he catches her watching him throughout the rest of the evening, there's no accusation, just thoughtful regard.
Nella won't be gainsaid, and drags him off once the table is cleared and espresso poured, and Paul spends the rest of the time moving furniture and redesigning the increasingly elaborate fort until the younger members of the family are sent off for bed. Hugh is waiting for him on the couch, holding out the edge of a blanket to wrap themselves in against the evening chill. That's the other thing Paul is still getting used to, Hugh's apparent ease in indulging in displays of physical affection in front of his family. None of the others who have brought partners seem to have any reservations either. He can't imagine doing so with his own parents present, not because he's ashamed or anything, but because the Culber surplus of hugs and casual touches were very much not a part of his upbringing.
Hugh must sense that he's lost in thought and doesn't press Paul to join in his conversation with his cousin Mina about her plans to enter the diplomatic corps, just hands him a mug of hot cider and tugs Paul a little closer. The cider, he discovers, is laced with a generous helping of rum along with the earthy spices. He probably downs it a bit faster than he should, because he finds himself starting to sag further against Hugh's shoulder as his eyelids grow heavy. Paul lets himself drift, carried along on the currents of conversation around him and Hugh's steady breathing.
They have a whole week more ahead of them here, and he thinks it's likely to be the best Christmas he's ever had.
Notes:
I'm not exactly sure where I was headed with this one, other than wanting to add another story about Paul being overwhelmed by Hugh's family adopting him. Fluffy holiday fluff makes me happy.
Chapter 216: Streusel
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"What? Babe, you're drunk."
"I thu- thought I was adorable."
"You are. Adorably drunk."
"Hmph."
"Did you actually call me 'streusel'?"
"Mmhmm."
"I'm crumbly and buttery?"
"...no, you're sweet and tasty and smell good, and adding you to cake makes it even better, and I like to lick you off my-"
"Okay, I'm taking you home now."
"So I can lick you?"
"So you can talk loudly about whatever you want to do to me when Tilly isn't three feet away."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"Does this mean I don't get to lick you?"
"...it means the turbolift doors are about to open and you should probably get your hand out of my pants."
"But I wanna-"
"Shush. We're almost there."
"Hugh?"
"Hmm?"
"Why's the deck moving?"
"It's not, that's you."
"Oh. Okay."
"All right...let me give you a detox- babe, that's my side."
"Mmphh comfy."
"Your boots are still on."
"...muh..."
"Babe?"
*snore*
Notes:
I have no idea where this came from.
Chapter 217: Sadness, Part Two
Summary:
Tracy tries to figure out what happened between her leaving the medbay and finding Paul cradling Hugh's dead body.
Notes:
***WARNING for heavy angst and a lot of emotional pain***
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
His body was still warm when Harrington commed a medical emergency and Tracy ended up having to sedate Paul to get him to release Hugh. It had been a deceptive warmth from Paul's own heat, as she squeezed Hugh's limp hand and murmured, "it'll be okay, I've got you," before beaming directly back to the medbay.
The biobed alarms begin screaming at her - when she'd scanned Hugh quickly his vital signs hadn't registered, but Tracy's well-versed in resuscitation and can easily fix that - the readings showing the fatal injury. His head rolls at an unnatural angle when she applies the cortical stimulator while reaching for the defibrillator and she freezes, unable to blink or breathe as the screen dispassionately highlights the massive tear to his carotid and estimates just how long his brain has been starved of oxygen.
Too long.
The moment shatters. Furious, she runs the scans again, grabbing a new tricorder and resetting the biobed. None of that changes the fact that Hugh no longer has any notable synaptic activity, and yet she continues, can't stop scanning and cursing and repeating his name as if he could hear her and just wake up.
It takes Aisha gently taking the equipment from her hands before it really sets in that her best friend of twenty years is dead and there isn't a single thing anyone's medical training could do to change that. Tracy tries to take a deep breath and fails, her physician's ability to lock out emotion shredded. She falls numbly onto a stool at the side of the bed, curling forward until her forehead touches Hugh's shoulder and his cheek coming to rest heavily against her.
This can't be happening.
He's still, so still, and it's all wrong. For as long as she's known him, no matter the calm professionalism, Hugh Culber was vibrantly alive, chest rising and falling and a smile never far from his lips. The weight of his head on her own reminds her of nights spent crying on his shoulder, or him on hers, always so solid and steady and strong. Her next breath is a ragged sob, but she hardly notices.
This can't be real.
Saru and Tilly find them like that, Tracy's tears soaking Hugh's jacket and Aisha sitting on the floor at the side of the biobed with her head on her knees. Perretta, who'd taken charge of Paul's unresponsive form, is standing completely motionless and staring at the biobed readout, and he jerks violently when Saru places a hand on his arm.
"...Doctor Pollard? Doctor Culber is..."
He's certainly capable of reading the scans himself and she almost tells him to do so. Her control slams back down then, and instead sits up, a hand on Hugh's jaw to gently right his head again.
"He's gone."
The choked sob from Tilly at her words echoes her own heart, and the cadet sits down hard on the floor as Saru blinks in seeming incomprehension.
"I'm sorry, is there nothing you can do?"
She shakes her head, unsure from what well of resolve she'd finds the strength to keep her voice steady.
"His neck was broken. Fatal tear to his carotid."
"But can you not...repair it?"
Grinding her teeth, anger flares hot under her skin. Tracy knows it's his own shock manifesting as denial, but it's like a battering ram on her fragile composure.
"Even if I did and restarted his heart, Hugh...wouldn't wake up. He's been gone too long."
"...when-?"
"I don't know," she strokes Hugh's cheek with her fingers, using her other to gesture in Perretta's direction, "Paul was holding him, but he's completely dissociated. I-"
Oh saints and angels.
Paul.
"Why would Lieutenant Stamets do-"
Tracy's calm snaps.
"Paul would never, ever have hurt Hugh."
Eyes wide, Saru takes a step back at the vehemence in her tone, nearly tripping over Tilly.
"Who else would have done such a thing?"
"Computer, give me a record of occupants of the medbay for the past two hours."
>> Unable to comply. Files have been corrupted.
"I don't know. Not Paul."
"If Lieutenant Stamets was found with Doctor Culber...as you say, he has not been himself, so perhaps-"
Opening her clenched fists, Tracy crouches down and lifts Tilly to her feet, supporting her weight when she sways like a sapling in a storm, shaking and silent.
"No. That can't be true."
Her words are bitten off, sharp, even as Tilly hides her face in her shoulder. Saru stares at her, but she holds her ground until he looks away.
"Aisha."
Tracy watches as she pulls herself to her feet on the edge of the biobed, smoothing down her uniform. Aisha's eyes are dull and she completely ignores Saru, staring at Tracy as if she's only capable of focusing on a single thing.
"Tracy?"
"Take Tilly."
Aisha carefully detaches Tilly from her side, and Tracy waits until she leads her away to turn her attention back to Saru.
"I understand your long history with them may have that conclusion, but until we know more, I will need to have Mister Stamets restrained."
"That's an insult to them both. Sir."
"Doctor, I do not like it any more than you do. However, my decision is for the safety of everyone. I am sorry."
Tracy clamps her mouth shut to prevent a response from coming out that would likely get her relieved of duty. She breathes in once, twice, five times before she thinks she can speak again. Raising her chin, Tracy stares hard at Saru.
"Commander. I watched them fall in love a very, very long time ago, and there is no way in this universe or any other that Paul would ever raise a hand to Hugh."
"Nonetheless. Perhaps an examination of Doctor Culber would yield additional information to exonerate him?"
He might be saying something else, but by the time she realizes it, Saru is already turning away. She wants to be charitable and assume it's the command mode or pure shock, but her own anger remains and she can't bring herself to say anything further to him.
My best friend is dead, she wants to scream, how dare you blame it on the one person in the entire universe who couldn't possibly have done it?
I'm sorry, Hugh.
The privacy field activates around them, and Tracy lets out a shaky sigh. Aisha, on the other side of the bed, does much the same as they look at the figure lying still between them. Tracy knows she should start the autopsy record, but can't bring herself to say the words aloud, as if by doing so they would become irrevocably real and final. Neither of them seems to want to be the first to speak, so Tracy reprograms and reactivates the biobed functions and takes out her own handheld scanner. As she scans, she places on hand on Hugh's thigh in an automatic gesture drilled into them in med school, providing a grounding touch to the patient. She doesn't even realize it until she moves her hand to rest on Hugh's wrist, and the unnatural coolness of the skin shocks her back to reality.
Hugh ran hot, no matter if it was a stiflingly humid Puerto Rican day or in the foggy San Francisco chill. He laughingly complained on more than one occasion about Paul using him as his own personal space heater at night, icy fingers and toes shoved against various parts of Hugh's anatomy. She'd always...
Paul.
He doesn't know. How in the hell am I going to tell him?
Unsure of the instinct that prompts her but knowing somehow that it's needed, she pops open Hugh's collar and unzips his jacket. Wordlessly, she motions for Aisha to help support his torso, his body so much heavier without him inside of it, working the sleeves off his arms.
"Tracy?"
She pauses, half-turned away, jacket held to her chest.
"It's already been scanned for evidence."
"That's not...I didn't mean that. What-?"
Tracy's fingers wrinkle the fabric, the white marred by two tiny drops of drying blood on the collar. A few near-invisible blond hairs cling to the shoulders, and it takes a couple of tries before the words can make it past the tightness in her throat.
"I'm going to go tell Paul."
Once she gets back, together they manage to remove Hugh's boots, pants, and undershirt. Aisha seems reluctant to go any further, obsessively folding and refolding each garment until the edges are even.
"I don't think Hugh would mind," she murmurs, but the attempt at humor falls flat. "Let's just start the physical examination here."
She lets Aisha arrange Hugh's hands at his sides, waiting for her nod before starting a visual inspection.
Not a hair out of place.
No sign of head trauma or defensive wounds, and no other fractures.
Just his neck.
There are a half dozen fading bruises on Hugh's throat just below where the uniform collar would sit and spreading over his shoulders, and chest. Tracy doesn't need a scanner to recognize the love bites, or the ones on Hugh's inner thighs.
If I checked, would Paul have them in the same places?
Aisha doesn't comment, hands shaking a little as she helps with his underwear and carefully covers him with a drape up to the chest.
Well-loved, Hugh used to say.
Tracy's seen Hugh naked on more than one occasion - usually accompanied by more of Paul than she ever needed to know - but this is different as she finally begins the autopsy notes, relating their observations.
Pretend he's asleep, that's all. Sleeping on the couch at Med, passed out after finals when the environmental controls malfunctioned and it felt like a jungle.
Aisha's scanner chirps.
"Tracy..."
"What?"
"I'm reading...significant quantities of DNA that aren't his."
"Wha- where?"
Instead of answering, Aisha turns it so she can see the screen. For a moment, her heart climbs into her throat as a dagger of ice pierces her stomach, then-
You said you overslept this morning. No time for a shower.
"Run a match, but I'm pretty sure that's Paul."
Had it really been just a few hours ago that she'd left Hugh watching over Paul, gently stroking his temple and speaking softly to him?
Aisha stares blankly for a moment, then shakes her head sharply, pulling up Paul's file.
"Of course. I just-"
"I know."
The confirmation from the genetic comparison is exactly as she expects, and she steadfastly refuses to consider what she would have done had it been otherwise.
One last time together. Oh Hugh.
They continue with the rest of the autopsy, numbness beginning to creep around the edges of her perception. When she's done recording, she meets Aisha's eyes and sees her own pain reflected.
"We should get him into stasis."
It's not a reproach, and sounds like Aisha is repeating protocol on automatic the same way Tracy has been to try to hold it together. Still, neither of them move to cover Hugh's face, the finality of the act looming between them.
"I know. Just...I need a few minutes?"
Aisha nods, then picks up Hugh's limp hand. She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Instead, she exhales slowly, pressing her lips to his knuckles, then his cheek. Her lips move in what might be a prayer or blessing or just unvoiced grief, and Tracy averts her eyes to give the illusion of privacy. Then Aisha's gone with a squeeze to Tracy's arm, the draft from her passing like a weary sigh.
Tracy gazes at Hugh's face, memorizing the features even as her mind overlays so many expressions onto it.
"Hugh," Tracy murmurs, even though she knows he can no longer hear her, "Hugh, it's Tracy. I- saints and angels, how could you? You're- fuck. You still owe me for our final project at Med. How am I supposed to collect now? And how am I supposed to tell Paul that yo- you...that you're gone? If he wakes up again. Maybe this is all just a nightmare I'll wake up from, and you'll laugh at me when I tell you."
His familiar face blurs as her eyes fill with tears.
"I promise I'll look after Paul for you. Someone has to, right? Even if he doesn't want to let me."
Hugh's skin is cool under her lips when she kisses his forehead.
"I love you, Hugh."
As if from a great distance, she watches herself draw the drape up and settle it in place, hiding him from view. Slowly, Tracy stands and smooths a wrinkle away from over his knees. Then she steps through the privacy field, nodding at the rest of the medical staff to say their farewells and going to set up a stasis pod.
No.
Notes:
Tracy covers Paul with Hugh's jacket in Chapter 195 ("Sadness"). Read the autopsy report in Chapter 18 of When Sorrow Turns to Joy.
Chapter 218: Silent
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Everything about their evening is languorous, unhurried and easy. They fall into the comfortable silence that sometimes exists between them where one needs no words to communicate with the other, just a glance or a quirk of the lips to convey a thought.
Once settled under the covers, they snuggle close, limbs moving to rearrange themselves into patterns born of long habit. Hugh pulls the duvet over their heads and kisses Paul in the ensuing darkness, slow and deep. The air grows hot and humid in their little pocket of the universe, their bubble of peace, as shirts are removed and hands set to roaming.
Still, there’s no rush. Paul nibbles Hugh’s lower lip, the wet smack when their mouths separate loud in the small space. He sighs when Hugh’s lips trace a path from the tender skin just below his ear, down over where his pulse beats close to the surface and then back up the other side. They nuzzle each other, tips of their noses rubbing together, and Hugh drinks Paul’s soft noises of contentment.
Eventually, arousal makes itself known, built up gently between their bodies as sweat dampens their skin. Kicking their pants off seems too abrupt, as if it would somehow spoil things. Instead, Paul works Hugh’s down around his hips, then lowers his own without ever breaking the kiss. He gathers them together in his hand, slippery with Hugh’s pleasure, slow strokes in time with the rhythm of their mouths.
Strong, clever fingers wander over his ribs, seeking out and finding a nipple to tease. He squirms even closer, abandoning things below the waist to pull Hugh into his arms properly. There’s no demand to take things further than the gentle rocking of their hips. Nothing needed beyond a steady rise towards climax, just kisses and caresses and sighs.
Paul comes first, and Hugh follows less than a minute later. Sticky warmth spreads between them, smearing over their stomachs as they try to keep the pleasure aloft as long as possible.
When they still, Hugh retrieves his shirt to clean them off. Pants are pulled up and drawstrings retied, then they curl around each other again. Paul doesn’t need to see to find Hugh’s mouth, waiting for him to share a goodnight kiss. Warm and loved, they sleep.
Notes:
Consider this an apology for the previous chapter, because that one even surprised me when I wrote it.
Chapter 219: Serenade
Notes:
Lyrics borrowed from Bruno Mars with a few tweaks from Hugh :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh might not be able to hum Kasselian opera (a decade and a half later and Paul still can’t figure out if Hugh only did it badly to annoy him), but singing is something else entirely. His voice is sweet and clear, and it sets something loose in Paul’s chest to twirl and flutter when he really lets go at full volume. He goes through cycles of music, but Paul’s noticed a marked fondness for classic Earth songs in the last couple of months. There’s something timeless about them, despite being over two centuries old, and sometimes Paul’s even treated to hearing Hugh work through the same line or two over and over in completely different ways.
Tonight, Paul comes home to find Hugh in the shower, a few lovely notes drifting out the open bathroom door. He can’t quite hear the words, so after kicking off his boots, Paul makes his way over to stand in the doorway. Hugh’s silhouette is just visible through the frosted glass, but he doesn’t need to see the details to know that Hugh’s eyes are closed, head thrown back under the spray.
“-his eyes make...stars look...they’re not shining...”
Frowning, Paul closes his own eyes to listen, straining to make out the words. The sound of falling water obscures bits of it, although from the pauses and relatively quiet volume it seems like Hugh is trying to remember the lyrics in snippets.
“...his lips, I could kiss them all day if he’d let me...he’s so beautiful, and I tell him every day...”
Warmth kindles in his stomach, unbidden and far from unwelcome.
“...I compliment him he won’t believe...so sad...he don’t see what I see-“
There’s plenty of reasons why Hugh could be singing this particular song, but the way his voice caresses the words gives them more weight. It feels like he means them.
“...face...not a thing that I would change...amazing, just the way you are.”
Hugh works his way through the chorus a few more rounds. When the last note fades the shower pauses too, and he looks up to find Hugh watching him from the half-open door, water beading on his eyelashes.
”Hi sweetheart.”
”That was...beautiful, Hugh,” he murmurs, voice catching.
”Yeah?”
There’s something impossibly soft in his gaze, and Paul falls in love with him again for the millionth time.
“Yes.”
”Come in here, and I’ll sing it all for you?”
Paul smiles, nodding.
”Please. What’s it about?”
Instead of teasing him about the meaning being obvious, Hugh just holds out his hand.
“Us.”
Notes:
I’ve always loved this song, and it felt like it fits how Hugh feels about Paul.
This chapter isn’t titled “Song” or “Sing” only because I’ve had one unfinished for over a year that’s going to use it when I finally finish. Title updated to "Serenade", thanks to the amazing LadyRiona who reminded me what my late-night brain couldn't think of!
Chapter 220: Splintered
Summary:
Reno's tired of the angst.
Chapter Text
Jett Reno generally tries not to interfere in other's lives unless absolutely necessary. She's not interested in petty drama, and has even less time for those who start it. Granted, a lot of the time those personal things cross over into the professional side, so she feels justified in giving people a sharp nudge (verbal or physical) or offering unsolicited advice when it seems there isn't any other alternative.
Take the Mushroom Lord and his not-so-deceased doctor.
Her initial impression of him aside, it rapidly becomes clear that the outward display of irritation and condescension is a fragile defense. She's not a shrink, but she does have a finely developed sense of bullshit. Reno gets bits and pieces of Stamets' story from Tilly, and others from observation (she approves of the calling to his life's work, despite her skepticism over the use of mushrooms as faster-than-light propulsive providers). Her first guess, though still unsubstantiated, is that he hadn't had strong support from the people who should have been there. Combine that with someone uncomfortable with unknowns - people and situations - and presto, rude scientist.
The rest of it slots into place when she overhears Dr. Pollard tell one of the nurses, "Hugh would have loved this". Blunt and no-frills as she is, Reno knows better than to ask about the overtones of unresolved grief. Instead, she queries the computer, consults Tilly (who gives her a much-abridged version of the whole story), and starts watching Stamets in the spaces between words.
She knows, intimately, what loss can do to a person. Reno is overly familiar with feeling permanently off-balance, the relentless pain and the impossibility of redefining the universe when a constant has been torn away. It doesn't seem that his relationship with Hugh defined Stamets, not precisely; she's cynical enough to recognize when over-dramatic declarations of dependency meant someone didn't have an identity without them, and that's not it. He's a complete person on his own, would have been before they met, that much is clear.
What breaks her heart (not that she'd ever admit as much), is understanding exactly why Stamets doesn't know how to love himself as that person anymore.
After the magic mushrooms rebuild his boyfriend and said boyfriend rejects what had to have been awkward attempts at reconnection, Stamets falls into an even deeper funk. War was hell on a number of levels without isolation. Her own defense in reintegrating after months alone with unconscious bodies was dialing the sarcasm up from ten to about fifteen thousand, and she gets why Culber wants to climb out of his own skin, to figure out how to even be around others. On the other hand, once it drags on past a couple of weeks, she's about ready to enlist Tilly to weld them into a Jefferies Tube together until they talk. Communication is a bitch, sure, but the constant mournful looks now that Culber's back in reach are starting to drive her up the wall.
Watching him bleed out from a broken heart reminds her far too much of her own loss. Except, her wife had known the risks of Starfleet, of a Federation at war, and they'd had honest conversations full of dark humor about the high likelihood that one or both of them wouldn't make it out the other side. For all that it sounds like it had been a mature, respectful, and profoundly loving relationship, there's a naïveté in Stamets' belief that love itself is enough. Not to say that he hadn't put work into his relationship - although she wonders at his guilt for not doing so in a sufficient amount - but by all accounts (and she's collected several), Hugh Culber had been the sort of man most anyone romantically interested in men would want to be in a relationship with. Reno might be indifferent to the charms of human males, but she can see the appeal in someone kind, compassionate, intelligent, confident without arrogance, and completely devoted to his partner. And for someone seemingly denied simple validation and affection in his formative years, well, small wonder that he'd been the perfect balance for Stamets.
They all need him to be focused (and she'll grudgingly admit that he is a genius, so imagine him without the distraction...), and he's not capable of pulling himself up alone. Tilly literally throws her hands in the air when Reno mentions ways to fix the situation. Nilsson shakes her head and sighs. Harrington only shrugs, so a hangnail seems like a perfect excuse to pay the other half of the equation a visit. What they both need is a well-placed kick in the ass, but she'll have to settle for using her words.
If they all survive this...whatever it is, the Mushroom Lord owes her. Big time.
Chapter 221: Stunning
Chapter Text
Hugh's fascinated with Paul's eyes, has waxed poetic about them with or without a glass of wine in hand. He calls them gorgeous, describes a kaleidoscope of colors in their depths. Tells Paul they're stormy, quicksilver change in moods reflected immediately. Loves to gaze into them lovingly, or playfully, or in simple contentment.
By Hugh's account, his own are boring. No shift in colors, no comparison to gems or skies or oceans. Plain, unremarkable, good for seeing but indifferent to being seen.
Paul disagrees completely.
They captivated him from the moment he snapped, "Stifle it or sit somewhere else!" and turned towards the source of that annoying humming only to find himself going tongue-tied at the lively, mischief-filled gaze being trained on him by the most attractive man he'd ever seen. Paul finds it easy to look away when someone is speaking to him, but he couldn't stop staring at that stranger. Hasn't looked away in the fifteen years since.
Hugh's eyes are full of empathy, good humor, and honesty. That day in the café, they told him that this man could never be cruel, would never tell a lie. They're rich amber, smoky topaz, warm and welcoming and kind. Even when his mouth is solemn, his eyes are still smiling. He's never needed words to communicate his feelings Paul, not really, not when Paul can look into them and feel himself wrapped in love.
There's nothing plain about them at all.
Chapter 222: Stimulant
Chapter Text
The future is becoming bright again. Tasks like exploring uncharted star systems, providing aid to long-disconnected worlds, or investigating unexpected phenomena that had all fallen by the wayside while the Federation struggled to hold together and fragile remnants of its peoples are now possible again, Starfleet's scientific mission remembered.
This week, they’re busy cataloguing resources in a system at the edge of the Beta Quadrant, the crew enjoying a chance to do what they do best - the ship, like her namesake, meant for discovery. It had actually been necessary to set up rotations so that everyone who wished to was able to have their boots on solid ground at some point on one of the thirteen planets and moons. Tracy and Hugh aren't exempt to the excitement either, and maneuver their way onto a landing party alongside Paul and some of his engineers who are planning to explore native fungal species in an underground cave system. Even more than the fresh air and novelty, he loves the way the slightly reddish sunlight paints Paul's hair in shades of strawberry blond and catches on his eyelashes, remembering a younger but no less handsome man in a café with a serious face and the most adorable frown. He watches Paul, knowing that his lover is well aware of the attention and content with his regard. They're on duty so he doesn't reach for Paul's hand, settling for walking close together with their shoulders brushing as they head for the designated site.
Hugh fully anticipates and is therefore not miffed when Paul's tricorder picks up a new reading and he disappears from Hugh's side as if by transporter beam, right in the middle of a sentence. The two ensigns in his wake exit with a bit more grace, but they’re soon gone as well.
On his left, Tracy's chuckle is fond.
"Nice to see some things never change."
"I can't compare to a new scientific discovery, Trace."
It's said lightly, and he smiles to make it clear that he's not going to dwell on the issues it's caused in the past. He'd never want his partner to change who he is, not when the exhilaration in pursuing his science one of the things Hugh loves most about him. Paul's much better these days with boundaries, remembering to stop for meals most of the time and avoiding late nights that kept him away from their bed unless there's an emergency or Hugh is working gamma. They both appreciate each other more, he thinks, in ways they hadn't understood they were missing...before.
Tracy's elbow jabbing his ribs, poorly disguised as a stretch, brings him back to the present.
"Sorry."
"Try not to walk into anything if you're daydreaming, or I'll make you treat your own sprained ankle this time."
"That was ten years ago, are you still-"
"Yes."
Two hours later, Hugh's field kit is full of specimens of native flora and Tracy's identified at least seven previously unrecorded enzymes. They meet back up with Paul and the others, and he can't suppress a grin at seeing them covered in mud and nearly vibrating with impatience to get back to the ship and fully analyze their new finds. Paul has a streak of dirt down one cheek and his hair is awry, likely from crawling around or under something in the cavern, but he glows with glee when he holds up a stasis canister with a pile of orange-green...something inside. Hugh doesn't bother trying to follow the excited chatter or pursue Paul and his team as they make a beeline towards the engineering labs, leaving muddy bootprints in their wake. He's sure he'll hear all about it later, smile lingering as he follows Tracy at a much more sedate pace.
Once all of the small samples are catalogued, they turn their attention to the pile of intact fruits and flowers. Scanning and biochemical analysis could certainly be left to one of the actual science officers, but the task is medical-adjacent and Hugh enjoys doing something different for a change. He and Tracy work side by side, muttering to themselves and occasionally nudging the other for observation or input.
"...trace amounts of...stimulant properties," he murmurs, making a note on his PADD, "huh."
Tracy sets down the flower she's dissecting and leans over his shoulder.
"Cardiac effects? Synaptic clearance?"
They both watch as the readout scrolls through the substances present, comparing them to those in the Federation and Ni'Var databases.
"Actually," Hugh expands one of the categories, "it looks like it maps analogous to the 'natural remedies' multiple species use to increase desire. Low quantities, probably not enough to have an actual effect other than psychosomatic. Safe to eat, nothing harmful to anyone on board. Looks tasty tho- hey!"
Hugh's left staring at his empty palm as Tracy snatches it from him.
"What was that for? I wasn't going to eat it...”
She raises an eyebrow at him, a smirk playing about the edges of her mouth.
"It's for my own sanity. You two don't need any help in that department."
"Very funny."
”I saw the way you two were looking at each other over lunch.”
”How’s that?”
Hugh’s honestly curious.
“I’ve seen orgies less explicit than the two of you smiling at each other.”
He snickers, not rising to the bait.
”We probably have less sex than you think we do.”
Tracy places the purple tuber back into stasis, then gives him a shove with her shoulder when he suppresses a yawn.
"Shoo. Go collect your muddy lover and...do whatever you're going to do. Shower that dirt off, hopefully. And don’t tell me about it."
"Well-"
"Go on," she propels him towards the door with a hand on his shoulder, "and tell him to aim a half inch lower next time."
"What?"
"Your neck looks like it's been mauled."
"Oh. Oops?"
The completely false innocence earns him an eyeroll.
"Goodnight, Hugh."
Chapter 223: Surveillance
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul feels like he’s being watched, and looks up to find Adira staring at him. Well, not at him per se, but their eyes keep flicking back and forth between him and Hugh and they’re wearing the same expression as when they’re examining a particularly perplexing data set. He’s not sure what there is to see, especially when he and Hugh are leaning on opposite arms of the couch and haven’t exchanged a single word in the last ten minutes.
Adira notices his attention and is suddenly completely engrossed in the elaborate embroidery project spread on the table in front of them, holding it close to their chest. He'd actually love to get a closer look at it, but they've been oddly protective of it.
Okay then.
Chalking it up to the inexplicable but universal mystery of teenage thought processes, Paul mentally shrugs and goes back to reading Tilly’s report.
Adira’s back at it a few minutes later. This time, Hugh seems to pick up on it first, because he nudges Paul’s ankle with his foot. There’s rapid motion in his peripheral vision, and he can’t see anything except the top of Adira’s head when he turns his own to look. Hugh’s wearing the same bemused smile that Paul sometimes gets when he starts in on a random subject, raising his eyebrows in question. Paul’s quirked lips convey me neither, and Hugh taps his toes a couple of times in acknowledgement before turning his attention back to the simulated cell holo hovering in front of him.
Another five pages, and he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Tilly’s data is solid, but there’s something about the theoretical equation that seems off. It’s not her calculations though, and he huffs in frustration when he can’t quite seem to identify what it is. Hugh pauses his sim, DNA frozen between his long fingers, and glances over in concern. Paul points at the scrolling text, and he gets a sympathetic smile before Hugh resumes picking apart base pairs.
Adira’s wearing a perplexed frown, and he decides it’s probably time to ask.
”Adira?”
They start guiltily, and he makes sure to keep his voice soft.
”Everything okay over there?”
“Yes?”
“You keep staring.”
”Oh. Umm. Err, sorry.”
“Did I miss something,” Paul prods gently, “or...?”
They set down the needle they're holding, and gesture a vague semi-circle using both hands.
“Just, you two...” Adira’s voice trails off for a moment, “keep doing that.”
”Doing what?”
He glances at Hugh, who dismisses the nucleic acid structure with a flick of his fingers, silent but expression curious.
”That thing.
"What thing?"
Paul's distracted as Hugh's toes work their way up under the cuff of Paul’s pajama pants, poking at the hair on his shin. It tickles, and Paul gives him a quelling look that threatens revenge if he continues, which Hugh gleefully ignores. He narrows his eyes, Hugh tugs at the hair with his toes, and Paul hmphs before turning back to Adira.
”You’re doing it again.”
They can't be referring to Hugh's foot, right?
"You're going to have to be a bit more specific, which thing?"
Adira's hands flutter again before they start to fidget with the pincushion on their lap.
"You know, that thing, where you have this whole conversation, but you’re not actually saying anything.”
Oh.
"Huh."
“We’re not telepathic,” Hugh adds with an amused smile.
"I know that," Adira grumbles, "it's just...weird, watching you do it."
"Bad weird? Or good weird."
Paul's not sure when weird became a quantum of value, but he'll go with it.
"Just weird."
Hugh chuckles without a trace of anything suggesting that it's at Adira's expense.
"Adira," he smiles, "give it time. You'll get there with Gray."
Their eyes flick to the seemingly empty chair across from them for a few moments, then back over to the couch.
"When?"
Understanding dawns, and Paul feels a little tug inside his chest at the honest question. Removing Hugh's foot from under his pant leg earns him a pout, but he's more focused on Adira's earnest expression.
"When you realize one day that you're doing it and other people start to notice."
"That's...really non-specific."
"Believe me, I'm not being obtuse. It's just one of those things."
Adira considers them both in silence long enough that Paul wonders if his explanation hadn't helped.
"Okay."
They wrinkle their nose and pick their needle back up again, going back to stitching something that looks vaguely like an amoeba. When they don't seem inclined to continue the conversation, Paul picks his PADD back up and is about to start reading again when a squeeze to his ankle gets his attention. He hums a question, but receives only an insistent tug in response until he closes the distance between them and curls up against Hugh's side, snaking an arm around his waist. Seemingly satisfied, Hugh resumes his sim.
The PADD is abandoned on the cushions beside him as Paul snuggles into Hugh's shoulder and watches his fingers weave patterns in the air. Adira is visible through the faintly blue glow of the holoprojection, needle flashing as they work, a frown of concentration on their face. Hugh doesn't take his eyes off the holo, but he presses a kiss to Paul's temple that says everything.
Paul smiles.
Notes:
Space Dads giving relationship dynamic advice? I'm here for it.
Chapter 224: Special
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh's not sure what wakes him, the heavy pull of sleep tugging at him like a deep ocean current, and it takes a few moments before opening his eyes to become aware of his surroundings. He's warm but not overly hot, no sudden cramp in his calf, no elbow in the back, no pangs of hunger or thirst or the need to use the bathroom. It's completely dark save for the twinkling of stars through the viewport over the bed, silent but for the slow rhythm of his bedmate's breathing.
Paul.
He can just make out messy blond hair above the covers on his right, a few inches of empty sheet between them. There's no sign that Paul's sleep has been disturbed by nightmares or restless movement, so Hugh must have woken up because they drifted apart. They're perfectly capable of sharing a bed without being wrapped around each other, but there's nothing quite like feeling Paul's chest rise and fall under his arm, or the solid weight of his body against Hugh's back.
Without conscious thought, he scoots himself closer, fitting himself into all the negative space left by Paul's body under the covers. He tucks his knees against the backs of Paul's thighs, wraps his feet around his ankles and presses his nose into the soft fuzz of hair just behind an ear. Paul smells like citrus shampoo and musk, and Hugh makes a contented noise as he burrows his nose further into that special spot. His love squirms a little, shifting as Hugh's beard tickles his neck, and he apologizes with a gentle kiss brushed over the irritated skin. Closing his eyes again, he slips a hand under Paul's shirt to rest on his bare stomach. It's a little damp with the sweat of sleep, and Paul doesn't stir again even as he splays his palm wide.
Mine.
It's easy to fall back towards slumber, his breathing matching Paul's as he drifts into dreams of his own.
Notes:
Fluffy fluff, because Culmets snuggles are the very best.
Chapter 225: Swing
Summary:
Tío Hugh is kissing Tío Paul again, and Nella thinks that’s just ewwww.
Chapter Text
Aida’s in the middle of preparing lunch with her youngest son, just turning off the old-fashioned burner when the patio door slides open. There’s no one visible over the edge of the counter, and she smiles to herself at the sound of small, quick feet. Nella appears a moment later, face scrunched up in a frown. Aida waits patiently, but no one else follows.
”Nellita? I thought I sent you to get your tíos.”
“I tried, Abuela,” Nella kicks her shoes off before a reproving look from her great-grandmother has her lining them up carefully next to the door, “but they’re...kissing again.”
Well. She glances out the window over the stove, seeing the swing rocking gently and two heads - one dark and one fair - very close together indeed. Aida hadn’t expected any different, but she’d assumed they might actually be hungry for food after sleeping through breakfast.
Oh, you know they weren’t sleeping.
David leans over her shoulder and snorts at the sight.
“Abuelo? What’s so funny?”
He exchanges a look with Aida before setting down the knife carefully on the cutting board, wiping his hands and sweeping Nella up to perch on his shoulders. She giggles as he tsks at the scrapes on her knees, courtesy of climbing trees to look at fungi with Paul yesterday afternoon.
“Come on Nellita, let’s go- careful, duck! Let’s go find your brother and get cleaned up for lunch.”
Once they’re safely outside, Aida turns her indulgent smile back towards her grandson and his partner still completely absorbed in each other. She considers calling them in herself, but Paul always seems so embarrassed to be interrupted. The affection and attraction between them is clear, much to the amusement of Hugh’s cousins who seem to delight in telling him what a catch Paul is when he’s in earshot just to see him blush. It’s surely for his comfort that they’ve retreated to the swing on the far end of the deck, because Hugh doesn’t have any qualms kissing him in front of everyone. (Aida’s almost certain that, given the house to themselves for a while, they’d be doing far different things than cuddling.)
Instead, she opens the kitchen window, waiting for the smell of savory and spices to get Hugh’s attention. Shaking her head fondly, Aida goes back to cooking. She’ll have to clear the house for them later.
Chapter 226: Stifle
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Harder.”
”Like that?”
”Fuck...oh! Right there, Hugh. More.”
Tilly stares straight ahead, trying not to make eye contact with Adira who is also desperately attempting to sink into the deck and disappear.
“Mmm, you’re so tight babe. What am I going to do with you?”
”This. Defini- fuck. Yessss...”
They’re both squeezed under the condenser unit - a legitimate repair this time - too far from the exit to make a quick or unnoticed escape, trapped when Dr. Culber sailed into the cultivation bay and literally swept Stamets off his feet before disappearing around the environmental control console. Stamets’ jacket was draped over the edge of said console, and a moment later the moaning had started.
“What’s got you so worked up, hmmm?”
”...ahh, you- fuck, seriously expect me to talk ruhh-right now?”
She’s been so good at keeping Adira away from their quasi-parental figures doing anything worse than making out too, but it was definitely too good to last. Really, she’d love to put her hands over her ears, but she’s gripping a spanner and holding up part of a panel to keep it from squishing them both.
”Hold still, or it’s going to hurt.”
If Tilly leans to the side, she can just make out Stamets’ hands gripping the bare soil, fingers clenching in time with his moans. The top of Dr. Culber’s head is visible over the console, and he seems to be rocking rhythmically.
“Deeper- ahhh...”
”Are you sure?”
”Mmmphh... oh yeah...”
Adira’s luckier, and Tilly spares a moment to envy them with their fingers in their ears, hopefully blocking the majority of sounds.
“Relax for me- ahhh, like that, almost there. Gonna feel so good when I’m done with you.”
Tilly squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to think about how she’s going to be able to look either of them in the eye for the next month or so after this.
“Breathe for me, good, you’re so good for me sweetheart. Just a bit more...”
Stamets lets out a long, mewling whimper, and she’s certain her face ought to be hot enough to melt duranium. After a few moments, she hears him sigh and the smacking sound of kissing.
”Mmm. Just what I needed.”
”Better?”
”Yes, dear doctor. Have I mentioned yet today that I love your hands?”
A laugh, warm and fond, and hearing that feels somehow more intrusive than the...other sounds.
“You might have, when you commed me to come give you a massage, silly.”
Wait...a massage?
Tilly is still processing when Stamets shuffles to his feet and comes around the console, his undershirt rumpled but pants still neatly buttoned. Dr. Culber joins him a moment later, and-
Yep, he definitely patted Stamets on the ass.
“Mmm. Sorry, getting forgetful in my old age.”
”You’re lucky you’re pretty.”
”Says you.”
”I’m the only one whose opinion counts.”
”True.”
”Lunch?”
”Lunch.”
She almost forgets to stifle the gusty sigh when the sound of their footsteps recedes, waiting for the bay doors to open and close before nudging Adira with her knee. They peel one eye open, taking in her relieved expression before extracting their fingers from their ears.
”False alarm,” Tilly mutters, “Stamets wanted a massage.”
Tilly isn’t sure which of them is more relieved.
Both. Definitely both.
Notes:
Swamped with budgets, but can’t give up the Culmets :)
Chapter 227: Surrender
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
He’s dreaming, unclouded by fear or pain or doubt as his dreams have often become of late. There are no angry words, no betrayal, no helpless grief. Bereft he is not, nor denied.
Instead, he is wreathed in quiet contentment, warm and at peace. Stillness surrounds and fills him, not empty but complete, and he floats on it, rocked on the waves of its gentle protection. He is not alone, a voice whispers, will never be alone.
He is loved.
The dream starts to fall away, and he grasps at it, reluctant to leave its solace. It’s inevitable that he must wake though, and he steels himself against whatever reality he might wake to. He cannot remember what should be.
The air he gasps brings with it spice and musk and heat, tells his body to be at ease before his mind comprehends. There’s a weight on his chest that somehow eases his breathing, steadies his rapid heartbeat, soothes and calms.
”Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”
The murmur is barely audible, and he blinks against the shadows to find the uncertain darkness coalescing into a familiar shape beside him, propped on an elbow. A moment later, the weight lifts from his chest - a hand - and rises to smooth the damp hair back from his forehead.
”What if I want to be awake,” he mumbles, “with you?”
Barely visible lips curve into a gentle smile, the briefest flash of white teeth. A rustle of sheets, then those same lips press a kiss to his forehead, firm and sure.
”Come here,” that soft voice replies, drawing him into strong arms, “you impossible man.”
He settles into their hold, safe and certain, lies still until the arms loosen and grow heavier with slumber, anchoring him against the vastness of the universe. The heartbeat under his cheek pulls him back towards sleep, though he fights it. So long has it been his refuge, his torment, giving and taking from him until he craves and despises it in equal measure.
No more.
For the first time in a very long time, the waking world can give him more than his dreams.
Notes:
Post-Season Two or Season Three? I’ll let you decide.
Written as Paul’s perspective, but I got to the end and realized I hadn’t actually used any names (although that “sweetheart” is probably enough).
Chapter Text
"I promise I'll always be honest with you, in bed or out," Hugh murmurs one night, Paul sprawled over his chest and breathing gradually returning to normal.
"Of course," Paul pushes up on an elbow, frowning a little, "me too. Wait, do you think I..."
Hugh is quick to cut off that train of thought.
"No! No, I don't think you've been anything but honest. And I love that about you. But I wanted you to know, I'll always stop if you ask me to."
"Can't see that being a problem."
He can feel a corner of his mouth tugging up in a satisfied smile, unable to hold back moans of 'don't stop!' a few minutes ago.
"I mean it. No lying there and pretending to like it, or just because I want to if you really don't."
"That doesn't seem fair."
"I promise the same for you."
"That's not what I meant."
"Sweetheart..."
"I...why? I know you wouldn't do anything like that."
The humid air is cooling, and Paul retrieves the sheet with one foot to cover them both.
"It's sweet of you to think that," Hugh sighs, expression serious, "and I hope I never do. But I would never be able to forgive myself if I hurt you."
Paul searches his face, earnest despite the sheen of sweat still damp on Hugh's skin. Even if it is the case, especially if Hugh likes something, he's sure he won't mind even if he's not as enthusiastic. They haven't come across a single thing that hasn't been either fun or mutually agreed with giggles isn't going to work, and Hugh's always been so attentive to his desires that Paul barely has to make requests or point things out at all. He thinks this means more than just the position they're having sex in or the occasional 'ouch, my leg doesn't bend that far'. This is important to his lover, although he can't quite understand why. Hugh in bed - or the floor, the table, and that one time in the equipment closet in his lab - is the picture of caring and considerate, and he's not sure what spurred this discussion.
Something cold twists in his stomach.
"You- someone hasn't..." he trails off, unable to find the words to encompass the question.
Hugh catches on immediately though, just one of the amazing things about him.
"This isn't from experience. Well, not that kind of experience. I just...I know what this means for you," he gestures between them, "you've trusted me so much, and I want you to know that trusting me to share it with, I'm not going to take advantage of you on purpose or accidentally if I can help it at all."
He lets that sink in, and loves that Hugh doesn't push, just lets him take his time thinking about it.
Still.
“I’m not...delicate, you know,” he feels compelled to add. It’s not that he thinks Hugh considers him inadequate - though he still has his own misgivings - but he doesn’t want Hugh to think he has to tread lightly around anything.
“I know.”
The smile is back, a curve of the lips and Hugh’s eyes gone soft.
”And I know there’s a lot of things you say you don’t need. And that might be true, but-“ Hugh moves closer despite their legs already being tangled, “I think you deserve to be treated better than you see yourself.”
"Hugh..."
Shaking his head slightly, Hugh rests their foreheads together, eyes closed.
"Anything you want, I want to give you," he murmurs, "everything."
Paul loves this man so much.
"You already do."
Notes:
Tired. Budget. Ugh.
Dusting off a few mostly-finished snippets while most of my brain is diverted to work.
Chapter 229: Sanctuary, Part One
Summary:
Hugh, during “Context Is For Kings”.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Despite the standoffish demeanor most of the crew on Discovery know him by, Paul Stamets is a man of deep feelings.
Otherwise, Hugh thinks, why would he work so hard to hide them?
Stress and shock, however, mean that his reaction to losing Straal is locked down more tightly than anything he's ever witnessed. Hugh knows it’s for the best when he takes an early lunch and returns to their quarters to help his partner prepare for the away mission to the Glenn. He can’t afford any distractions for the next few hours, not when they're going to salvage equipment in who knows what state because no on even knows what caused the accident.
After that is another story.
Paul is quiet as Hugh checks that his tactical vest is fastened and helps him adjust the thigh holster. The phaser looks awkward and out of place with science silver, doubly so for someone who despises violence and weapons. The change in demeanor while wearing a phaser is clear, Paul standing as though it's a huge weight that he can't ignore. As a physician, Hugh isn’t fond of them either, knows intimately what they can do to living beings although he concedes the necessity of defense. Paul though, might actually hate them more than Hugh and Tracy do.
He won't let Hugh see him off from the shuttle bay, demurring with a muttered comment about Landry in the turbolift. Much as Landry's martial bent rubs Paul the wrong way - her passing comments about pampered scientists aside - Hugh trusts her to look after her crewmates when it comes to security matters. She may not like his partner much, but he knows she won't be any less vigilant in his protection.
Hugh pulls him into a small observation port before he goes, draws him into his arms and holds on tightly. Paul doesn't speak, but the back of Hugh's uniform jacket bunches beneath his fingers as he buries his face in the side of Hugh's neck and inhales deeply. Hugh releases him with a gentle but firm kiss to the temple, straightens the tactical vest, and receives one final squeeze of Paul's hand before his partner pulls the invisible armor of Lieutenant Stamets back on and departs.
After the shuttle launches, Hugh takes one last long look through the viewport at the glow of the impulse engines, then returns to the medbay. Tracy and Aisha are going about with business as usual in preparation for an away mission to any potentially hostile location, and neither says a word about the worried look on his face. Rather, Aisha rests a comforting hand on his arm in passing, and Tracy increases her complaints about minor things to draw him into banter. It's appreciated, even if he remains distracted.
He counts the minutes of Paul's mission, even as he smiles and carries out a routine wellness exam. Then he throws himself into reviewing the week's logs and files, sorting and signing off with brisk efficiency and a single-minded focus that still fails to distract him from his concerns.
It's a very long two hours and seventeen minutes.
His blood freezes, heart in his throat when Saru notifies Medical to expect injuries and adds that the team suffered an irretrievable casualty. Behind his doctor's mask of calm, his thoughts spiral, morbid detachment as he considers the implications of not even having a body to bury. Imagines himself never seeing his face again, unable to hold him one last time, no final kiss farewell.
Not Paul.
Not Paul.
Not Paul.
Please come back to me.
Hugh repeats it over and over, a mantra of supplication. Even when he was commanding the medical facility on Starbase 12, too far from Earth and Utopia Planitia during Discovery's construction, the daily low-level worry for Paul was never so intense as the few minutes he has to wait. A stray thought wanders across his mind, of the stories he'd read of centuries past, waiting for a loved one to return from war in an age that had yet to birth communication beyond handwritten letters. He feels a kinship to those left behind, beseeching the universe and whatever powers might be to bring his love home safely.
He doesn't pretend to be doing anything else when his eyes keep straying to the crew manifest, waiting for the six names not onboard to become five returned.
>> Landry, Ellen, Commander, Security
Tracy casually wanders over, fiddling with a scanner.
>> Tilly, Sylvia, Cadet, Engineering
She doesn't look at him or say anything, just comes to stand beside him, leaning into his shoulder.
>> Bryce, Ronald Altman, Ensign, Operations
>> Burnham, Michael, NR
He starts holding his breath, the moment crystallizing around him with perfect clarity.
>> Stamets, Paul, Lieutenant, Engineering (Sciences)
It goes against his medical training, but he thinks he could be forgiven for his relief that it's someone else who died.
Notes:
Part two is next - what happens after the credits roll?
Chapter 230: Sanctuary, Part Two
Summary:
The aftermath of "Context Is For Kings" (aka 2,000+ words of Culmets tears and comfort sex).
Chapter Text
Paul Stamets is also a man of few friends.
Of his acquaintances, professional and personal alike, moving past his many walls to be called a friend is rare. Rarer still are the ones he counts among his close friends, and Justin Straal is at the top of that list for their mutual love of astromycology and long standing scientific partnership. They balance each other, Paul's quiet intensity and Straal's cheerful sociable nature, and the shared history built on the foundation of Paul's life's work stretched years prior to Alpha Centauri. He was the first person in Paul's life that Hugh was introduced to (Paul accidentally met Tracy when she commed the morning after their first night), long before any members of the Stamets family. And while they bickered, disagreed, and sometimes argued over the science, Straal is the one person - other than Hugh himself - who Paul is never willing to stay mad at.
Hugh's always gotten on well with Justin, particularly when it comes to all things Paul. In the beginning, it just took a look to know that they were both in the same boat when Paul went off on a scientific rant or complained about people standing too close on public transports. Later, there was casual conversation about opera (Justin delighted in teasing Paul about his dislike of "your true love's true love!"), Straal a friendly face and ally no matter the situation. The thought of him dead is...
Well, it hasn't really sunk in yet for him.
More to the point, his own reaction isn't important right now, not when he's standing in their quarters where Paul is staring blankly ahead. After reassuring himself that Paul was physically unharmed save for a few small scrapes and burns, he'd guided his partner by the elbow back home. The lack of resistance to a very public display of their relationship tells him all he needs to know about Paul's current state of mind, that and the fact that Paul just stops, swaying in place but otherwise unmoving when Hugh lets go again.
He brushes a soft kiss over Paul's cheek, sighing when there's no sign of acknowledgement. Instead of trying to engage verbally, Hugh drops to his knees and frees Paul first of the phaser holster and then stands to remove the tactical vest. Both of those get stacked on a chair, and the sight when he turns back around breaks his heart.
His partner trembles, tiny shakes that he can't seem to control but also aren't enough to express the depth of his grief. Paul seems smaller beneath the gear, shrunken in on himself as though he's withdrawn from the extremities of his own body. Eyelashes damp with tears that refuse to spill, Hugh can see the emotions trying to break free, but he’s held them in for too long to let go of them easily.
So much pain.
"Sweetheart?"
Hugh reaches out slowly, moving until they're toe to toe, until Paul should be able to feel his body heat. He's not expecting it when Paul flinches back sharply at the touch to his cheek, glassy eyes struggling to focus and breath coming in gasps.
"Hey," he pitches his voice quietly, "it's okay. You're okay, love."
Paul's clenched fists fly open, shoulders raised and rigid as if he's expecting a blow that never falls.
Fuck.
This is beyond not good.
"It's just me," Hugh murmurs, hand on Paul's chest over his pounding heart, "I'm right here."
A sharp head shake.
"Are yo- ooooppphhh!"
Hugh's back hits the wall, knocking the air out of his lungs in a surprised huff. He doesn't have long to process, because Paul's following a second later, crowding him against the bulkhead with his body. His eyes are dark, stormy, jaw tense and chest heaving as Hugh tries to free the hand still trapped between them. There's something more at work than mourning, something Hugh recognizes from this terrible war in the dilated pupils and flushed skin: the post-battle crash, an unconscious physical manifestation of survival at its most basic. He has an inkling, then, of where tonight might be headed.
"Sweethea-"
With a small cry, Paul surges forward for a desperate kiss, mouths pressed together so tightly that he can feel his teeth digging into the inside of his lips. Hugh's eyes fall shut automatically, parting his lips and inviting him into his mouth, standing still and receptive even as Paul's tongue is rough, stroking, probing, seeking something that he knows he can't provide but wishes with all his might that it could be otherwise. After a couple of minutes, he tries to slow it down, to gentle it, but Paul's knee works its way between Hugh's thighs, growing erection trapped as he ruts against Hugh's hip. One hand fists in his collar, tearing the snap on the white fabric open, the other behind his head as he’s held in place.
Hugh draws in a ragged breath when his mouth is abruptly freed, almost immediately turning to a moan as stubble rasps over his throat. Paul's lips are hot against his skin, teeth and tongue working his neck with a hungry growl. He licks Hugh’s pulse over and over, burying his nose in the spot just below his ear and sucking at the side of his throat.
It's far from unpleasant as a physical experience in and of itself. The urge to submit to the whirlwind of want is almost overwhelming, to let go and simply feel. His own pants are growing tight, body responding to this rare assertiveness, and he wants to melt into the fevered grasp. He wonders if he should try to talk Paul down, to soothe him with words and maybe then attempt careful lovemaking. Hugh's certain if he resists or asks him to stop, he'll be released. That's never in question. And yet, if it offers him a measure of comfort, of solace, then Hugh will give it gladly. Still-
"Ti-" he pushes firmly on Paul's chest to interrupt the kiss as he claims Hugh’s mouth again, "time out, babe."
The long-honored words penetrate the frenzied haze after a scant few moments. Paul shudders with the effort, but he freezes as Hugh's bottom lip slips free from between his teeth, eyes open wide and glazed as he forces his hips to still their desperate motion. He swallows convulsively, then ever so slowly works his clenched fingers open and lets his hands fall to his sides. His lips are kiss-swollen and red, chin smeared with saliva, and Hugh curls his toes against the primal desire heating his blood at the sight.
"...Hugh."
He sways, starts to take a step back, and Hugh catches his wrists, using his thumbs to rub circles over his hammering pulse.
"Shh, it's all right."
The tips of their noses brush with every breath, and he watches as Paul's gaze pulls in from a thousand yards, sharpening into focus. He licks his lips, tongue darting pink over delicate skin, and Hugh is all too aware of the fact that they're both aroused, bodies fitted together from shoulders to knees.
"Is this what you need?"
Hugh strokes his cheek with the back of his fingers, waits. Eventually, he responds with something halfway between a nod and a head shake.
”Do you want...would talking help?”
This time he gets a definite motion of negation.
"Paul..."
Eyes closing briefly, he swallows hard again and locates his words. Hugh can see the effort it takes, as if he has to translate his thoughts into a foreign language.
"I need- need to feel you. Please?"
The sound of a throat raw with emotion demands he protect, comfort, shelter.
"Okay," he nods, pressing a gentle kiss to Paul's lips, "can we move to the bed though?"
A jerky nod.
He nudges Paul back enough to properly remove his uniform, jacket and pants left in a pile by his boots. The fact that Paul does much the same, foregoing his fastidious tidying, is yet another worrying thing. There’s not much to be done about it now. Stepping out of his briefs, he settles on the sheets and holds out his hands.
“Come to bed, love.”
Paul makes a small, wounded noise as their bare skin meets. He’s shivering, and Hugh pulls up the duvet, rubs circles with his palms on Paul’s back to warm him. This time, he gives himself over when Paul’s mouth descends on his again, the kiss less rough than before but still frantic.
Hugh lets his legs fall open, draws his feet up flat on the sheets to give Paul a cradle to thrust into. He wonders if that will be sufficient, the kisses and closeness, if Paul will chase an orgasm before he finally lets go. It seems unlikely to stop there though, when scrabbling hands sear fiery paths over Hugh’s arms, his sides. Despite his body responding, the touch clearly isn’t meant to arouse but to reassure Paul of his closeness, clinging to Hugh fiercely.
There’s a question in his eyes, shining with moisture, when he breaks the kiss. Hugh gazes up at him steadily, patient as Paul seems to be having a conversation with himself. He waits until he has his full attention again before nodding and reaching towards the nightstand drawer and handing him the bottle. Paul’s hands are shaking too much to have fine motor control, spilling a puddle of lube over Hugh’s stomach. He looks relieved when Hugh brushes aside his hand and resumes the kiss, dragging his own fingers through the slick and slipping down between their bodies.
He prepares himself as quickly as possible, efficient motions nothing like the playful games or gentle loving they shared on other nights. As soon as he deems himself ready, he slicks his palm and gives Paul’s erection a few strokes before guiding him inside. Despite the circumstances, he still revels in the way his love’s eyes go glassy as he bottoms out in one long slide.
“...fuck...”
There's a momentary pinch of muscles stretched too fast, and Hugh can't suppress the tiny hiss of discomfort. At the sound, the haze clears and Paul looks horrified at himself, at his actions. Before he can pull back, Hugh locks his ankles behind the small of his back.
“Stay.”
He wraps his arms around Paul’s shaking shoulders, rocks his hips carefully. Hugh knows his lover, knows that when pushed to the limits, insecurity and doubt cloud his mind. For close to a minute, Paul is absolutely still. Then he pulls almost all the way out and shoves back in again.
Hard.
Paul sets a nearly brutal rhythm, one he recognizes as an attempt to chase away any thought through physical exertion. It’s not the most comfortable sex they’ve had, but Hugh used more than enough lube that the sting soon fades into a rough sort of pleasure. He ignores Paul’s belly rubbing the underside of his own erection, focused on his partner’s face, waiting. There’s no noise in the room other than the mattress creaking beneath his back, the silence far from usual. Paul’s biting his own lip hard enough to draw a tiny bead of blood, almost as though he’s afraid to let any sound loose at all.
Almost there.
He uses his heels and powerful thigh muscles to pull Paul even deeper on the next thrust, and he stiffens above Hugh, a gasp working its way free.
Closer.
A second noise, a breathless moan, joins it.
“Let go,” he manages even as he works his hips to meet Paul’s harder, “let go.”
Paul blinks and a single tear escapes, rolling down his cheek to splash on the dip of Hugh’s collarbone. It’s enough, and the dam bursts. Tensing, Paul gives a wordless cry, not in ecstasy but grief. More tears now, tracing luminous tracks over his flushed cheeks, and he tries to hide his face in Hugh’s chest.
“Shhh,” he murmurs into Paul’s ear, tucking his head beneath his chin, “I’ve got you. Have me, take what you need.”
Half a sob, only partly suppressed, and Paul’s hips stutter, losing his rhythm.
“I’m here, love,” he repeats, over and over, feeling Paul’s tears hot on his neck. “Let it out. Let go.”
Inside, Paul’s erection starts to fade, and Hugh ruthlessly quashes the part of himself that’s disappointed as he slips free from Hugh’s body. He tumbles them onto their sides, rocking Paul back and forth and whispering wordless sounds of comfort. Kisses his temple, his forehead, the bridge of his nose. Runs his fingers through sweaty hair, working out the tangles and smoothing it back, over and over.
”...why? I- I...why Justin?”
Paul's voice is muffled against his skin, and Hugh wraps his arms more tightly around Paul’s shaking shoulders.
“I don’t know, love. I’m so sorry.”
He’s not sure how long it takes Paul to cry himself out, his own silent tears mingling with Paul’s. When it’s quieted to the occasional shuddering dry sob, he uses a corner of the sheet to dab the wetness away from Paul’s swollen nose and kisses him softly, tasting bitter salt and grief.
”...promise...”
Paul’s saying something against his lips, and he draws back to listen.
"...don't le- I can't lose you. Please. Promise me, H-Hugh...promise..."
It would be so easy to say, but that's not how it is between them, not even the little lies. He takes a moment to think of what vow he can give Paul, freely and without reservation.
"I promise, sweetheart," he takes Paul's face in his hands, raising his head until they're looking each other in the eyes, "that I love you, and I will stay with you for the rest of my life. I will never willingly leave you, not until my last breath."
At last, the ghost of a smile flits over his lips. A nuzzle becomes a kiss, careful and slow, then another and another until arousal returns. Hugh gathers them both together in his hand, stroking with the same gentleness and murmuring his love for Paul until it overwhelms them. They lie in each other’s arms after, sharing the pillow, bodies heavy with exhaustion.
Several minutes after Paul’s eyes drift completely closed and Hugh thinks he might actually have fallen asleep, he speaks again.
"Till death do us part?"
Theres no hesitation needed.
"And beyond."
Forever.
Notes:
Slight deviation from "When Sorrow Turns To Joy" describing Paul's reaction to Straal's death as picking a fight with Hugh and getting drunk. This felt like it fits better here.
Chapter 231: Sleepy
Chapter Text
He wakes to Paul's hand on his shoulder, light but insistent.
"Hugh?"
"...mmmm..."
The hand migrates up the side of his neck, fingers stroking his jaw. It's a tender touch, and Hugh hums with pleasure when it turns to gently scratching his beard. He's just about to drift back off when there's a draft as Paul pushes back the covers and a weight lands on Hugh's thighs.
What?
Hugh peels one eye partway open, waiting for the vague shadows to resolve into familiar shapes, and assesses the situation. Paul's kicked the duvet all the way down to the end of the bed, straddling Hugh's legs and sitting back on his heels. He doesn't seem to have woken from a nightmare, but instead is chewing his lower lip with a slightly sheepish smile.
"Hi."
Giving in, Hugh opens the other eye and readjusts the pillow under his head, propping himself a bit higher.
"Everything okay?"
A nod.
"Can't sleep?"
"Umm."
Paul's fingers are fiddling with the stretched out collar of Hugh's shirt, rolling the edge between thumb and forefinger. That reminds him of exactly why he was sleeping so soundly, and he smiles, remembering their evening. Speaking of...yes, Paul's still naked. The only reason Hugh's still wearing his shirt is because they didn't get around to taking it off, although he sees that Paul's managed to at least untangle the pants twisted around his own ankles when Hugh passed out on the sweaty sheets.
"Babe?"
With a sigh, Paul shifts on his lap enough for something firm to prod his hip.
Oh.
Hugh can't help the laugh, low and amused.
"You-" he's interrupted by a yawn, "are insatiable tonight."
"Sorry."
He sounds the very opposite, but Hugh replies anyway.
"Don't be sorry."
With a wry smile, Paul scrubs a hand across his own face and drags his fingers through hopelessly mussed blond hair. Then he reaches down to cradle Hugh's soft dick in his hand, thumb rubbing just under the head.
"I want you."
"You have me. I'm-" he yawns again, "probably not going to be able to give you a repeat performance from earlier though."
A grin, then he slides towards Hugh's knees and leans down. He doesn't bother with slow licking and teasing, just gets straight to business sucking. The feeling of his tongue fluttering along the underside and lips sealed tight sends a tingle of excitement down to his groin, but it's more a languid echo of desire than true arousal. Paul's enjoying himself as usual though, humming quietly while he works and eyes sparkling with mischief when he glances up. Despite his best efforts, Hugh barely twitches, and after a few minutes he gently tugs on Paul's hair to get his attention.
"Sorry love, I don't think I can fuck you silly for an hour again," Hugh murmurs with regret.
Paul looks vaguely disappointed for a moment, but places a final sweet kiss on the tip and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before crawling back up Hugh's body.
"Wore you out, mmm?"
"I can-" another yawn, "take care of that for you?"
He tries for an alluring smile as he reaches down, but his hand doesn't seem to want to cooperate with its usual dexterity and he ends up frowning instead.
"I'll be fine."
"That...mmmm...hardly seems fair."
Hugh's protest earns a chuckle, and Paul rocks against his thigh a little.
"I can take care of it," he nuzzles Hugh's jaw, "go back to sleep."
Drowsy logic tells him that he wants to do more, despite Paul's reassurances to the contrary. He can't leave his love hard and wanting like that, can he?
Unacceptable.
The lube is between their pillows, and he passes it to Paul, ignoring his bemused expression as he rolls over onto his stomach.
"Go ahead."
A warm hand on his lower back, and lips beside his ear.
"Umm. Should I...?"
Hugh shoves his arms under the pillow, folding them and getting comfortable, spreading his legs slightly.
"Whatever you want, love. F'you don't mind me not bein' awake?"
He wonders for a moment if too much of that was lost in the pillowcase, but then he feels a huff of air across his shoulder.
Paul likes that.
"Mmm. I see."
The sheets rustle, and he hears the distinctive sound of a cap being unsnapped. He sighs, squirming a bit as cool liquid runs down the cleft of his ass to puddle on his balls.
What?
"...think you missed," he mumbles.
Knees nudge his legs back together, Paul moving to straddle him.
"Nope."
Hugh gives a content hum as his love's weight settles on his back, arms coming around his shoulders and knees to either side of Hugh's own legs. Then something stiff and hot is being slotted between his thighs, and Paul's intent becomes clear. They spend a few seconds adjusting, crossing his ankles to create an even snugger fit as Paul wiggles until his erection is pressed intimately against him.
"I love you," tickles the shell of his ear, and he smiles into the pillow.
" 've you too."
Unlike the vigorous lovemaking of earlier, this is slow and easy. Hugh does his best to stay awake, occasionally shifting beneath him to tighten his grip. Paul's cheek is warm on the back of his neck, his sighs and moans breathed into Hugh's shoulder as he thrusts into the slippery space. Lube and sweat dampen his inner thighs, mixing with pre-come and probably staining the sheets even further, but Hugh can't find it in himself to be bothered by the fact that he's going to be sleeping in the wet spot. He's safe here, and so loved.
"Fuck..." Paul gasps, "you're - ohh! You're so good to me. Gi- give me so much..."
Too tired to find words, Hugh slides a hand down to lace their fingers together under his collarbone as they rock faster.
"Close..."
Smiling with his eyes closed, Hugh flexes his back muscles and rolls his shoulders and is rewarded with a sharp cry as damp skin rubbing over Paul's nipples sends him crashing over the edge.
Yes.
He's vaguely aware of Paul peeling himself off of him, cooler air over heated skin making him shiver. A towel swipes between his legs, then Paul snuggles into his side and pulls the covers back up. He's on the verge of surrendering to sleep when he feels a kiss to his shoulder, taking that down into his dreams.
And if he wakes up in the morning stuck to the sheets, well, Paul's only too eager to apologize and make it up to him.
Notes:
Heading into a budget meeting.
Something to make up for the angst in the last two chapters.
Chapter 232: Susurration
Notes:
Title prompt from ElenAranel <3
Chapter Text
Adira holds their breath as they gingerly set foot in Paul and Hugh's quarters. Technically, they're welcome any time, but it's 0200 and they decide it's probably less disruptive to let themself in than if they commed ahead and woke one of them up. Gray follows behind them, incongruously barefoot and yawning. Adira almost shushes him out of habit as they cross the threshold, tiptoeing in.
They let their eyes adjust to the darkness, silhouettes of furniture illuminated only by the stars through the viewports. On the bed, Paul and Hugh seem to be curled together in a single mound of covers, and they let their breath out slowly when they don't stir as the doors swish shut. Relaxing just a little, they carefully detour around the coffee table and settle on the couch, pulling the folded throw off the arm and getting comfortable beneath it.
Gray doesn't comment, just sits down at Adira's feet and stares until they close their eyes. He'd woken them from a nightmare, frustrated at his inability to actually hold them for comfort. Adira was too shaken to get back to sleep, and it had actually been Gray's idea to go see Paul and Hugh.
Okay, maybe he said 'talk to them', but this should work too, right?
Although Adira doesn't remember their parents, they've read enough stories and watched enough holonovels to know that it's sort of like sneaking into their parents' bedroom for comfort. They're not going to actually climb into bed with them - because, weird - but they can sense their presence across the room. Being in Paul and Hugh's quarters is always oddly soothing, as if Adira could feel the calm connection between them, and tonight is no different.
The covers rustle as someone shifts in the bed, sighing before they still again. Another whisper of the sheets, and a quiet thump of a hand making uncoordinated contact with a body part is followed by the snores abruptly cutting off with a sleepy noise of protest and something that sounds an awful like "hmmmmphhhh" from one of them.
A couple of minutes pass, and the snoring starts again.
In the dark, Adira grins. Paul might make a show of complaining about Hugh's snuffly snores, but they form a background noise that chases away the shadows lurking at the edges of their mind. It blends into its own sort of lullaby, and they feel the tension drain from their shoulders as they finally let sleep claim them again.
****
In the bed, Paul nudges Hugh for the umpteenth time. It earns him a sleepy grumble as his partner steals the covers and rolls back to his side from the middle of the bed, unconscious form radiating mild displeasure. He waits a perfectly reasonable ten seconds to see if he can fall back asleep, then pushes up on his elbow to try and at least free the duvet from under Hugh's shoulder.
It's a lost cause, of course, the covers wound too securely around him to budge. He briefly debates waking Hugh up again, but that's likely to get him a grumpy huff and a temporary refusal of cuddles. Sighing, he crawls to the edge of the bed and takes a few steps towards the couch, intending to retrieve the throw. He's thankfully more awake than asleep, and is able to control his surprised yelp into a high-pitched squeak when he finds that it's already been claimed by someone who wasn't there when he and Hugh went to bed.
Adira is fully asleep but unsettled, and he can just make out a small frown on their face. He's not sure if they'll still be there in the morning, or if they'll even want to talk about whatever brought them sneaking in at this hour, but part of him is inordinately pleased that they decided to come. Shuffling across the floor, he palms the wardrobe door open and pulls down two blankets from the top shelf, shaking them out as he turns back. One is a standard issue 'Fleet blanket, but the lines of stitching under his fingers tell him that the other is the patterned quilt Aida gave to Hugh when he left Earth on his first starship posting. He tucks the fabric around Adira's shoulders, thinking of the nights spent snuggling with Hugh beneath it with a smile. The years of happiness and contentment must have somehow imbued it with soothing qualities (the rational side of his brain insists it's just the added weight), because Adira's restless movement stills almost immediately.
Satisfied, he returns to the bed to find that the sheets thankfully haven't cooled much in his absence. He yawns before wrapping the blanket around himself and spooning up behind Hugh, intent on stealing some of his partner's warmth. The pillowcase crinkles under his cheek as he does so, pajamas catching on the sheets, and he tugs the blanket a bit higher before stuffing his nose into the nape of Hugh's neck.
In the morning, they'll probably both be on Paul's side of the bed, Hugh nearly edging him off the mattress and covers discarded. For now though, warm and cozy, he sleeps.
Chapter 233: Sext
Chapter Text
Tracy looks up from the PADD in her hand, forkful of tortellini poised halfway between the plate and her mouth, but both of her lunch companions seem to be busy with their own reading. She writes off the slight rattle of the table to one of them shifting a boot, carefully chews her pasta, and goes back to the romance novel that Tilly (of all people) had recommended. It’s absolutely trashy in the best possible way, florid and overblown prose and descriptions of acts that verged on campy to the point that Tracy wonders if it’s meant as an intentional parody.
The main triad, after an exchange dripping with innuendo so thick she has to stifle a snicker in her coffee, have just beamed back aboard their vessel following a transporter malfunction that failed to materialize their clothing. She’s just gotten to the part about “his sculpted chest heaved with perspiration, the pebbled peaks upon them grown firm with anticipation and his girthy member barely concealed by the console as he imagined plunging into the sweet valley of her bosom” when Hugh twitches again, knee banging into the table. He throws a half-hearted glare at Paul who’s studiously ignoring him, and Tracy controls the urge to roll her eyes.
Men.
Or, more specifically, these two.
They’re probably in the middle of a minor squabble - who stole the covers, Paul stepping on Hugh’s wet towel, Tracy’s heard it all - with a petty tit for tat going on. Not knowing the stakes and who’s at fault, she parks the thought to ask Hugh once they’re back in the medbay and finds her place in the text again.
”His manhood rose rampant, throbbing like a ripe plum as he considered plundering their lover’s mouth, his masculine musk overwhelming-“
Paul makes a frustrated sound under his breath, tapping furiously on his PADD. Next to her, Hugh crosses his legs and clears his throat, a deceptively mild expression on his face. She can see the tiniest hint of a smile twitching at the corner of his lips, and reevaluates the situation. Shaking her head at the realization that it’s a different kind of provocation, she returns to her reading.
”his masculine musk overwhelming him until he bursts hot in his pants, spilling his seed-“
A booted foot glides up her ankle. Tracy sets down her PADD and fixes a glare at them both.
“Aren’t you two a little old to be playing footsie under the table?”
She’s met with two innocent looks that completely fail to convince her.
”What are you-“
”Trace-“
”That,” she points at Paul with her fork, “was my leg.”
He has the grace to look mildly chagrined.
”Sorry.”
She gets three more pages in when a stifled snicker from Hugh makes him accidentally elbow her. Instead of saying anything, she pointedly moves her chair an inch to the right away from him.
”Their passion leapt higher as flames burn and catch dry leaves, her cries like the tinkling of bells and their grunts like wild animals in rut. She-“
Hugh’s now tapping furiously at his PADD too, and she glances over briefly, expecting to see annotations on a file or a comm to his grandmother.
[Sweetheart] I want to slide under this table.
>> And then?
[Sweetheart] Unzip your pants with my teeth.
>> Tell me more.
[Sweetheart] You’ll have to wait and find out. 1500, cultivation bay
>> Oh? You’re talking a big game.
[Sweetheart] Very big. And it’s all your fault. I’m going to bend you over a console and-
“Not that I’m not thrilled that you two are still going at it like a pair of hormonal Risan bunnies, but seriously? You’re worse than this,” she waves the PADD, “and that’s saying a lot.”
”Sorry.”
”Are we actually sorry?”
”I mean, sort of?”
”Not really.”
”True.”
Groaning in an only slightly exaggerated fashion, Tracy drops her forehead to the table.
Spare me.
Chapter 234: Souvenir
Notes:
Tissue alert.
Chapter title refers to the usage of souvenir as the French word for "memory" or "remember".
Follows on Chapter 138 ("Secret").
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul's only too happy to be off shift for the day, rubbing the bridge of his nose to ease the ache from hours spent peering at the inside of a conduit with Reno. The discomfort is less about being stuck in a small space with Reno's (admittedly clever) jabs and more about squinting to make out the details. Of course they both had their tricorders and magnifiers, but he's never really gotten used to the parallax of working at that scale on a blown-up version. He has no idea how Hugh manages to do microsurgery with a stereotactic interface - for hours and with both hands, even - without giving himself a migraine. Luckily, this feels like a simple headache that a quick analgesic will fix. He could have stopped by the medbay for one, but Hugh should already be home and the relief of pain following the clinical efficiency by the medical staff couldn't hold a candle to the gentle touch of Hugh's fingers on his neck and his breath gusting even and warm over Paul's skin when he peels back his collar to administer the hypospray.
They have a couple of hours before Movie Night (Tilly and Adira's suggestion that Detmer, Owo, and the rest quickly adopted), enough time for a quick meal and maybe cleaning up first. Hugh's probably already finished his evening meditation too, which should mean he's free to join Paul in the shower. With that in mind, he's careful not to make too much noise as he comes in just in case, expecting to find him sprawled on the couch reading or listening to music.
Instead, the lights are at 10%, leaving their quarters almost completely dark. Paul pauses, unzipping his boots and setting them aside with a small frown.
"Hugh?"
He listens for a response, would be certain that his partner has dozed off or maybe decided to take a run, save for the fact that his shoes are still in the corner where he kicked them off yesterday, and both bed and couch are empty. There's a rustle of fabric and a sigh that leads him around to the other side of the partition, although he still can't see anyth-
Oh.
Hugh's sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest and Aida's quilt around his shoulders. Paul's not sure what the air surrounding him is, nothing so concrete as tears shining in his eyes or any expression of overt emotion. Rather, he looks pensive, gaze directed at the viewport but not seemingly focused on anything in particular.
"Hi."
Hugh's voice is quiet, even. He doesn't look at Paul, but he can feel his attention shifting. Paul's always been the one more likely to be brooding or moody, with Hugh preferring to work out his stress and negative emotions through activity. This doesn't feel volatile, but it's still odd enough that he's not sure what Hugh needs. Sighing, he unzips and tosses his jacket over a chair and lowers himself to the floor beside him. Hugh holds out his arm and Paul scoots closer, enveloping him under the warm fabric.
"Is...everything okay?"
He doesn't answer for a few breaths, and Paul waits impatiently, snuggling into his side. Then-
"Yes. Just..." Hugh rests his temple against the top of Paul's head, "thinking."
"About?"
"Nella became a mycologist."
That's nowhere near what Paul might have expected to hear, and he feels his mouth falling open.
"...what?"
Hugh uses his toes to nudge a heretofore unnoticed PADD on the floor beside them. The screen comes to life, showing a photo of a young woman holding an award and the headline "Promising junior scientist wins Nature award for discovery of new fungal species". With a jolt, he recognizes those expressive eyes and wide smile, feels his eyes sting. Nella had grown out of the awkward teenage stage and into her striking features, the tilt of her head and toothy grin a perfect match to Hugh.
"I onl- I was afraid to look. To know. Not that it could change the past, but...I wasn't ready until now."
He swallows audibly, shaking his head a little.
"This came with it."
Paul can't seem to find his voice, just cuddles closer as Hugh taps another command and a holo springs to life in front of them.
"Doctor Culber."
Fleet Captain Christopher Pike's face has a few more lines than Paul remembers, but the compassionate expression hasn't changed.
"Number One assures me that this encryption will hold and only be triggered by certain access to the Federation data core. I'm not an expert in all the details, but I hope that this message finds you well. Doctor, I delivered your message as requested, although in strictest confidence as the official record does not reflect the whole of the matter. Please know that while I am aware of the contents, it was only because it was necessary for me to do so in person."
Pike's image stills for a moment, then he sighs.
"You'll understand that it wasn't possible to tell your families the whole truth. I am sorry for that, but for the safety of the Federation it was deemed necessary."
"I- your grandmother was an amazing woman. I'm sure it will not be any easier to know from where you are of...loss. S he asked me- I'd like to honor her passing, Doctor, with a message."
Hugh's breath hitches, and Paul hugs him tightly.
" She said that she knows you have found each other again, and that she loves her grandsons dearly."
The holo of Pike seems to look directly at them, across the centuries. His posture straightens to attention, words crisp as any Captain's oration in a time of great need.
"I'm sorry to have lost out on the opportunity to welcome you aboard Enterprise as part of my medical staff, but I understand your decision and hope that you've found happiness. Given that your grandmother is not someone who seems to ever be wrong," a ghost of a smile flits across his face, "please extend my most sincere regards to Commander Stamets. Discovery's deed may not be widely known, but you have the utmost respect and humblest thanks from me and my crew. Godspeed, Doctor. Pike out."
Neither of them speak, but the tears that come are cleansing.
Notes:
So their thirty-second century commbadges may have built in PADDs, but I imagine a lot of the Discovery crew is still more comfortable with actual devices.
I set out just to write Hugh reading up on Nella's accomplishments, but it grew from there to include Pike. I honestly believe that he would have found a way to let "his" crew on Discovery know that their messages were delivered.
Chapter 235: Sharing
Summary:
Another installment of SpaceSiblings.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“It’s...beautiful.”
Adira’s voice is quiet and awed, and Tilly smiles at the reverence in it. She’d felt much the same the first time she’d climbed up here, escaping a day of perceived failures and frustration when Lorca was driving Stamets to the edge of everyone’s sanity. Now, she pats the duranium plating at her side and waits patiently for her companion to close their mouth and sit.
They don’t lose the look of wonder though, and for that she’s grateful. Tilly loves her crewmates, the ones she’s grown closest to like Rhys and Detmer and Owo (and Stamets and Culber, her mind points out), but they’re all career Starfleet officers. Michael, though she still loves her too, has drifted and grown different somehow in their year apart. There’s hard edges to her that weren’t there before, a restless and volatile energy that Tilly isn’t quite sure what to make of.
And she’s tried.
In Adira, she recognizes the same sense of amazement and delight that makes them a kindred spirit of sorts. A fresh perspective, regardless of era, whose own experiences left them feeling isolated from others in a way that reminds Tilly of herself. The same oblique shifts in reasoning, and drive to try to innovate for the sake of it that resonate so well with Stamets. And, honestly, a connection with their erstwhile mentor. She’s horribly happy for Adira bonding with the two of them, doesn’t begrudge them spending so much time with Stamets and Culber off duty when she knows there’s always a spot at the table by the viewport for her too. Despite her stint as first officer, she knows it’ll be a long time - if ever - before she doesn’t seek approval from her quasi-parental figure. Yet, she doesn’t need it the same way Adira so clearly does right now, more able to stand with her own confidence because of him.
”Tilly?”
”Hmm?”
She blinks back to find Adira peering at her with trepidation.
”Is everything okay?”
”Oh. Yes? Yes. Just,” she grins, “remembering my first view of the nacelles from up here.”
“It’s...wow.”
Adira falls silent, picking at a hangnail. The blue glow and hum of the nacelle is almost meditative, hypnotic in its thrum of power. It’s a comfortable silence, and Tilly loses track of time until she hears the sound of boots on the access ladder.
“Are you two planning on staying up here all night?”
Dr. Culber’s voice is amused, and she turns to find him with his elbows resting on the deckplate and regarding them with one of his warm smiles.
”What time is it?”
”Dinner time,” he reminds them, “I was going to comm, but Paul thought you might have wanted some space?”
Tilly shakes her head, shifting to her knees before climbing to her feet.
”Just wanted to show Adira that this outdated museum-“ she nudges them with her elbow, “still has some pretty interesting stuff.”
He nods, then shifts aside to let them precede him down the ladder. Tilly gestures for Adira to go first, then follows. As she’d half-expected, Stamets is waiting for them in the corridor below. She smirks at his appreciative expression when Dr. Culber makes his descent, and even more at Adira’s bemusement when they catch the doctor winking at his partner.
No, she thinks as they head for the mess hall, no problem at all.
Notes:
Random image of Tilly and Adira sitting up in the nacelle popped into my head, and I just let the story take me where it wanted to go.
Chapter 236: Swamp
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
When the landing party returns, Hugh is waiting to greet them. He’s expecting the crates of specimens that accompany them, and that they’ll probably all be as tired as Paul sounded when he commed half an hour ago, exhaustion warring with excitement. They shimmer into existence, light wreathing three figures, and he’s already smiling.
Sure enough, they’re all mud-streaked, Tilly’s normally red hair tangled with some sort of vegetation and Paul’s hands a dingy grey. What he’s not expecting - at all - is the smell.
“You stink.”
His partner narrows his eyes.
”Hello to you too.”
To Paul’s left, Adira swipes at a dead leaf stuck to their arm. They shuffle towards the edge of the platform, and a sound like sloshing water follows.
”Going to tell me what happened?”
Hugh crosses his arms for lack of anything else to do since his usual greeting after Paul’s been gone for several days went out the airlock the moment his lover returned smelling like a sewer. Sighing, Tilly slogs her way towards him, flushing when Hugh takes a step back.
“Sorry, Doctor. We umm...”
”There was a swamp,” Adira pipes in, pulling off the offending boot and pouring a stream of dirty water out of it before jamming their foot back inside.
”There was a swamp, and you all decided to bathe in it?”
Hugh gives up any pretense of being professional and covers his nose and mouth with his hand. Undeterred, Paul rolls his eyes and follows the other two forward. His normally blond hair has taken on a distinctly greenish hue, and there are large specks of what looks like algae clinging to the limp strands plastered to his head.
He drops the hand from his face the moment Paul grimaces and hisses in pain while stepping down. Hugh immediately reaches for the scanner at his hip, only to encounter nothing besides the seam of his uniform.
Still not used to it.
The tricorder display from his comm badge is activated a moment later, taking Paul’s vitals and checking for injuries. Sure, he could ask, but from the combination of guilty and mildly chagrined expressions on the other three, he doesn’t think he’ll get a straight answer.
”Well,” he flicks the tricorder away, “there was a swamp and you managed to sprain your ankle?”
Normally he would be the first person going to support Paul as he hobbles forward, but the sprain isn’t severe and Tilly and Adira are already gripping his arms, sparing Hugh’s white uniform for the time being. The physician in him overrides everything else, and he beams them all directly to the medbay without further comment.
”You said you were fine,” Adira mumbles as soon as they rematerialize, cheeks flushing. It’s half accusatory and a whole lot apologetic.
”I am,” Paul insists, even as Tilly helps him up onto the nearest biobed.
Tracy takes one whiff of them, makes quick eye contact with Hugh to assess the situation, then pinches her nose and absents herself.
”Sorry,” Adira addresses Paul’s kneecaps, “it’s my fault.”
”It’s no one’s fault,” Tilly glances at Hugh, “it was an accident.”
”Does someone want to tell me what ‘it’ is?”
Paul’s already dripping a sizable puddle onto the deck as Hugh breathes through his mouth and helps unzip his boot. It comes free with a squelching sound that makes Adira snicker, then he’s rolling up Paul’s pant leg and tugging his sock out of the way. The biobed tells him everything he needs to know, but Hugh does a physical exam anyway, noting the swelling on the outside of the ankle and gently probing with his fingertips.
”There was a sinkhole in the path. We didn’t see it in time before Adira stepped in it.”
Nodding, Hugh administers an analgesic that has Paul sighing in relief.
”Wait- if Adira stepped in it, why are you the one with a sprained ankle?”
”It was sort of the edge of the path? And umm, Commander Stamets went to catch them, because he was closer, but he tripped and then I tried to help but the ground was really slippery and I grabbed this vine but it wasn’t attached so we all sort of...fell into it. The swamp.”
It takes Hugh a moment to parse Tilly’s run on sentence.
“I see.”
Paul wrinkles his nose, swiping at the water still running out of his hair.
“Can we please be done here? I’d really, really like a shower about ten minutes ago.”
Hugh’s about to comment on Paul’s overly dramatic delivery, but he catches the look his partner gives him and nods in understanding.
“Swelling will take a while to go down, but it should be fine if you don’t try to stand on it.”
Paul holds up a hand to cut off what is probably another apology from Adira.
”I’m fine, kiddo. Go get cleaned up, we can have dinner and start cataloguing-“ he clears his throat at Hugh’s raised eyebrow, “tomorrow.”
The other two slosh their way out, and Paul gives Hugh a mournful look.
”What?”
”Do I have to wait till after I shower for a kiss hello?”
“I suppose I could make an exception,” Hugh puts on his best long-suffering face, “just this once.”
”Really.”
”I did miss you, sweetheart.”
Hugh hands him a damp towel and waits for Paul to scrub his face before leaning in to share a careful kiss.
”What, no lecture on being more careful on away missions?”
He shakes his head.
”You thought Adira was in danger, so...no.”
Paul gives him a half-smile, rueful. His uniform’s a lost cause, so he helps Paul down to stand on his good foot, arm around his waist.
”Next time, could it not be a swamp though?”
”I stopped being able to smell it on day two.”
Hugh laughs, then immediately regrets inhaling.
”Remember when Linus ate peanut butter and no one wanted to go into the science lab for an hour after because it smelled like rotten eggs?”
”That bad?”
”Worse. Come on, let’s get you home and into the shower so I can hug you properly. Can you manage, or-?”
Paul takes an experimental step, letting Hugh take the weight off his injured side.
”Should be fine.”
Hugh smirks.
”I can always carry you...”
“If you’re not going to hug me, I thought that was out of the question too.”
”Was that a request?”
They’re in the corridor now, and Hugh notices the crew giving them a wide berth. Paul really does reek.
“You could carry me into the shower.”
“Was that a request?”
”Yes.”
”Okay.”
Stinky or not, he’s glad to have him back home.
Notes:
This all spawned from imagining Adira, Paul, and Tilly having a comedic slow-motion fall into a swamp :P
Chapter 237: Sacred
Chapter Text
The first night they brush their teeth and climb into bed together again, Hugh thinks his chest might burst with the nervousness and happiness warring behind his sternum. They’ve spent the last several nights cuddled on the couch, falling asleep after hours talking, an unspoken accord that Paul’s bed - their bed - is a larger step to take. For all the things they’ve discussed, neither seemed willing to address it until they were both ready. Thus, the quiet invitation to stay the night had taken him off guard with its intensity, heart racing because he knew what Paul was really asking.
More than sex, sharing a bed has always been deeply intimate for them, and Hugh doesn’t want to get it wrong. He’s acutely aware of the mattress shifting under their weight, how easy it is to let his body move on instinct to make himself comfortable on his side, facing Paul who mirrors his position, knees touching. They’re not sharing a pillow, but he’s close enough to feel Paul’s breath warm on his cheek. Hugh’s slightly disappointed that the sheets are clearly fresh (evidence of Paul planning ahead), not bearing Paul’s scent as strongly as he’d hoped, but it’s a passing thought easily discarded.
Slowly, Paul brings his hand up between their chests, palm facing outwards. His eyes are full of fragile hope, shining with reflected starlight in the darkness. Hugh moves with equal solemnity, matching his left hand to Paul’s right, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. Though they’ve kissed every day this week, the feeling of Paul’s lips meeting his here and now feels almost sacred. It deepens but stays slow, sharing breath as the distance between them closes.
Reunion.
It isn’t until a strangled moan works its way from Paul’s mouth that Hugh realizes they’re now pressed together from chest to ankles, fingers still entangled. Heat suffuses his skin, the edge of hunger coiled low in his hips speaking of nascent arousal. He loosens the grip his other hand has on Paul’s collar, pulls back with understanding at the slightly panicked expression on Paul’s face. It’s probably similar to the one he’s wearing.
”Too fast-“
”Sorry, I-“
The soft laugh they share at talking over each other diffuses the tension before it starts.
“You go,” Paul murmurs, “please.”
“I-“ Hugh draws in a slow breath, “...I’m not sure I’m ready for more. Not yet.”
He waits, swallowing hard, for Paul’s answer, even though he’s almost positive of what it will be. They’re not in a place to make assumptions about each other, not as they rebuild from the foundations.
”Me too.”
Hugh nods, keeping his mouth shut because he can feel Paul still thinking.
”I want. Obviously,” he presses his hips forward, “but. I...not tonight.”
“Not tonight,” he agrees, giving Paul the lightest of kisses. It’s sweetly chaste, like a promise, one he knows is understood.
”May I-“
”Could you-“
He should have known how easy it would be to fit back into the spaces they’ve made for each other.
”Go ahead.”
”May I hold you?”
To anyone else it might seem a superfluous request, implicit permission from all the nights prior. To Hugh though, it speaks to just how carefully they’re navigating this.
”Please. Yes, sweetheart.”
One more squeeze, then Paul releases his fingers and gently nudges his shoulder. Hugh rolls over, pulling his knees up as he feels Paul’s chest against his back, an arm wrapped around his waist. The weight is familiar, solid and grounding, communication in a language that words couldn’t describe. A kiss to the back of his neck, then Paul’s palm flattens over his stomach, pinky tucking itself just beneath the elastic waistband of his pajama pants.
His body knows, there is nothing more right in the universe.
Yes.
Chapter 238: Sacred, Part Two
Notes:
Follows on from the previous chapter
Chapter Text
They don't have sex the next night, or the one after that either. They don't need to, when all of their senses are fully aroused in other ways, alive with touch and sight and smell and taste and sound.
Hugh re-maps the notch of Paul's collarbone, the constellations of freckles dusting his shoulders and chest.
He counts Paul's eyelashes as they dip in relaxation, traces over his knuckles and kisses each fingertip.
He confirms that yes, catching Paul's lower lip between his teeth and gently tugging makes him gasp.
He runs his palm down the curve of hip and thigh, feeling the muscles and tendons tremble, the tickle of hair against his skin.
Paul explores the new, old landscape of Hugh's form, visits each of the places where scars and wrinkles used to sit, waypoints that guided him existing only now in memory.
He kisses the strong line of his jaw, tastes the sweat on his throat, follows the veins up his forearm with his tongue.
He presses his fingers into the grooves between the muscles of Hugh's torso, reassuring himself of their solidity.
He listens to Hugh's heartbeat, loses himself in it and lets it encompass his entire awareness.
They explore each other's bodies, unhurried and careful, making love in a way that doesn't involve the pursuit of orgasm. Their hands and lips are reverent, sharing kiss after kiss, reminders that they know each other in a way that nothing - not even death - could change.
They belong to each other.
Chapter 239: Solution (Duct Tape Optional)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Are you ever mad at me for it?”
Hugh’s pulled abruptly out of his reading by Paul’s quiet but serious question.
”...what?”
He reaches his arm out to set his PADD on the nightstand. When he turns back, Paul’s watching him from where he’s been using Hugh’s chest as a pillow, lying at a right angle so that his body is parallel to the headboard. His cheek is resting just above Hugh’s heart, and he’d honestly thought his partner asleep until just a moment ago.
”Mad at you for what, love?”
”Wasting time.”
Now he’s even more confused.
”I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Paul nods slowly, then pushes up on an elbow until he can lever himself to sit facing Hugh, hip level with his waist.
“For...driving you away. And for not trying to apologize sooner.”
Oh.
This doesn’t feel like a typical bedroom conversation he can have lying down, and he sits up as well, taking Paul’s hands in his.
”Sweetheart,” he sighs, “no. If you’re not angry with me for walking out like that, for saying what I did, how would it be fair for me to?”
”I- I don’t know? I don’t know.”
”I wasn’t ready to be with you again yet.”
It hurts, but it’s the truth, spoken as gently as he can manage. He squeezes Paul’s fingers, who closes his mouth on whatever response he was about to make and waits for Hugh to continue.
”You don’t get to blame it all on yourself. Even if...even if it hadn’t happened like that, I wasn’t feeling like I even knew myself. And,” he raises his voice a little at the protest he can see building in Paul’s eyes, “you’ve blamed yourself for enough already.”
Paul chews his lip, seemingly unsatisfied.
”I could have been there for you, if I’d just listened.”
”Yes,” Hugh releases one hand to cradle Paul’s cheek in his palm, “or maybe no. Neither of us knows.”
It’s been hard to talk about those weeks apart after his resurrection (re-embodiment, Tracy prefers to call it), but they haven’t shied away from the difficult conversations lasting long into ship’s night. Moreover, it’s the reason that they’re tucked in bed together again, after Hugh was convinced that Paul could still love him as he is now, after Paul was convinced that Hugh hadn’t returned to him out of guilt or a misguided sense of atonement.
“But-“
”But, I would hope that you don’t spend this time we have now worrying about the past.”
There’s no reproach in his tone, but Paul’s eyes flick away.
”I don’t want to let that happen again.”
”Babe,” he tries for levity, “I’m not planning on needing to be rescued from the network again.”
That makes the corner of Paul’s lips twitch, so he counts it as a win.
”That’s not what I meant. I don’t want to ever not see you or hear you, not listen because of something I want.”
They’ve been working on communication to the point that Hugh thinks it’s even more clear than before, not clouded by war and frustration and resentment. He’s glad of it, for not taking for granted that they know how the other is feeling or what he’s thinking.
“You won’t, Paul.”
The use of his name breaks through, and he can see the tension leaving Paul’s shoulders. Hugh leans forward to kiss him, then urges him back under the covers.
”What brought this on?”
He snuggles up, resting his head on Paul’s shoulder.
”Reno.”
”Reno?”
”So,” Paul huffs a half-groan and half-laugh, “she decided to explain to Adira that if we ever are- what did she say...’have our heads up our own asses’ again, she’s going to weld us into a Jefferies Tube until we work it out.”
Hugh snorts.
”Okay, that sounds about right.”
“Yeah.”
Whatever else Paul might be intending to say is lost in a yawn, one that Hugh echoes helplessly.
”Sleep?”
”Mmhmm. Computer, lights.”
One kiss. Two.
“I love you, Hugh.”
”I love you too, sweetheart.”
Notes:
For anyone interested in reading a scenario where Reno, Tilly, and Tracy decide to lock them in a Jefferies Tube until they sort things out, head on over to Chapter 5 of Paths Not Taken.
Chapter 240: Seasons (of Love)
Notes:
I’ve spent 239 chapters resisting this title because it felt too cliché, but Paul and Hugh argued otherwise.
The other option was “Series”.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
His lover kisses like he’s surrendering, mouth soft and pliant beneath his as he surges forward.
He kisses like he’s drowning, gasping for air and breath.
He kisses as though they have all the time in the universe, slow and deep and savoring each moment.
He kisses like it’s as natural as breathing, hello and goodbye and goodnight.
He kisses like the years stretched between them are but a rehearsal, each one sweeter than the last.
He kisses as if learning him anew, tentative and testing.
He kisses with the blazing heat of summer, the promise of spring in winter’s chill.
He kisses with insatiable hunger, plundering, possessing, never satisfied.
He kisses as though he’s worshipping something sacred, reverently touching his lips, his cheek with shaking fingertips.
He kisses like they’ve been separated by death, until their love dwindled to the tiniest thread.
He kisses with the fierceness that refused to let that thread break, no matter what their words said, the naked hope when their bond traversed time itself to heal.
He kisses like joy and happiness, sunshine and salty tears and laughter and song.
His kisses taste like love.
Notes:
Another unspecified perspective :)
I don’t say this enough, but thank you all SO MUCH for your comments and suggestions and questions. Writing is my first love, and to know that it’s enjoyed by others is the most rewarding thing in the world.
Chapter 241: Suspended
Summary:
Body-worship, banter, and love.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul’s chest makes a lovely pillow, warm and broad with a steady heartbeat and gentle rise-and-fall with each breath that makes Hugh smile. He knows each freckle (although he’s not averse to becoming reacquainted) and exactly how far down he can follow the trail of barely-visible hair over Paul’s belly before he starts to get ticklish. His scent is strong here too - not quite as much as that special spot behind his right ear - woodsy and welcoming, especially when they’re cuddling skin to skin. The hollows between his ribs are a perfect fit for Hugh’s fingers, and the bit of extra bulk at his waist is perfect for squeezing. In fact-
“You’re doing it again.”
His partner’s amused voice interrupts Hugh’s reverie.
”Hmmm?”
Hugh raises his head, taking in Paul’s indulgent expression and the glasses perched on the end of his nose. His lips are pink from licking them while he concentrates on reading, and the bedside light illuminates the shadow of stubble on his chin.
It really shouldn’t be possible to be this attractive, he muses, not that that’s a complaint...
“Stamets to Culber,” Paul’s chest rumbles with his chuckle, “where are you right now?”
“Right here,” he murmurs, unashamed to be caught in his Paul-appreciation, “wondering how I got this lucky.”
Paul blushes enough for both of them, even now, although there’s no hiding his pleased smile.
”I seem to recall it’s because you decided to annoy a stranger in a cafe with your humming.”
”Oh. Right.”
Huffing another laugh at Hugh’s pretense of realization, he rocks up long enough to steal a kiss.
”Exactly.”
It’s hard to remember what they were talking about before, when well-worn memories are playing in his mind of a handsome man with an adorable scowl and the most beautiful eyes Hugh’s ever seen.
“...what was I doing?”
One pale hand comes up, a finger pointing and sketching a curve across his left pectoral. It’s a shape Hugh knows well, the scar over his love’s heart. He hadn’t questioned when Paul chose to keep it, just showers it with kisses and gentle caresses whenever he can.
Hugh had been idly nuzzling at Paul’s chest while he drifted. Although he doesn’t remember specifically, there’s an eighty percent likelihood that he was tracing it with his nose or lips. Again.
“Ahh. Sorry.”
He’s not apologizing for doing it (nor does he think Paul expects him to), but it does mean he’s been neglecting the rest of Paul’s delicious skin.
“You’re forgiven,” Paul hauls another pillow under his head so that he can look at Hugh without straining his neck, “but, while you’re down there...”
”You want my mouth somewhere else?”
Hugh lets his fingers walk down Paul’s stomach, detouring around the dip of his navel and flirting with the drawstrings on his pajama pants. A nudge on his wrist halts his advance, and he raises an eyebrow.
”No?”
”Not that I’m opposed. But I was thinking somewhere further up in the general vicinity.”
It takes an effort of will to keep a mostly straight face at Paul’s playfully serious response.
”Oh. What about-“ he hooks a finger over a prominent collarbone, “here?”
”Mmm. Warmer. A bit too high though.”
They both know where this is going, but Hugh’s not in any hurry to get there, not when their back and forth is wreathing him in contentment. Instead, he taps the same finger in the middle of Paul’s sternum.
”Here, then?”
There’s a sparse patch of hair under his hand, and he scratches at it lightly.
”Closer. Right height, though.”
He skates his hand all the way around to under Paul’s armpit.
”Here?”
Paul squirms when he wiggles the finger teasingly.
”More towards the middle.”
Hugh puts on his best frown of concentration.
”Left or right of midline?”
Accidentally slipping into medical terminology gets him a snort, Paul’s lower lip fighting to stay neutral.
”Either, really. Your pick.”
”Hmm. Not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
He traces a meandering path back, deliberately avoiding where Paul wants him to go.
“You might have better luck finding it with your mouth.”
”Yeah?”
”Mmhmm.”
”Okay.”
Winking, Hugh gives in with the game and licks Paul’s left nipple. The reaction he gets is well worth the wait though - those beautiful eyes flutter shut and a shiver rolls over his skin. He repeats the action, lapping at the nub then sealing his lips around it to suck. Predictably, Paul arches up, thrusting his chest further towards Hugh’s mouth, and he flicks with his tongue until he earns a drawn-out moan.
He releases Paul’s nipple long enough to ask, “Is this the right place?”
A hand on the back of his head is all the answer he gets, so he smiles and gets back to work. He switches sides after Paul’s squirming gets too wiggly, plucking at the nipple he abandoned with spit-slick fingertips. Surprisingly, Paul ignores the thigh thrown over his hips, just scratches at the back of his neck with every careful nibble and makes breathless noises of approval.
Hugh loses track of time, only stops when both nipples are reddened and too sensitive for more. Paul’s gloriously aroused, but he doesn’t move to touch himself or ask Hugh to. Instead, he opens his eyes with a satisfied hum, stroking Hugh’s cheek with the back of his fingers.
Ahh.
Paul, Hugh’s learned, sometimes likes the slow buildup of pleasure in his body, enjoying Hugh’s attention without seeking release. He nudges Hugh’s half-hard dick with his thigh, an offer in his smile.
”Nah.”
There’s a certain kind of satiation in pleasing Paul when he’s like this, one that leaves the knot of desire to warm his groin. The kind that gives him the best kind of dreams, and usually means an enthusiastic (if sleepy) round of morning sex. He’s perfectly content to wait, especially with that look of blissful fulfillment on his lover’s face.
Reaching over the edge of the bed, he retrieves Paul’s shirt, knowing the sheet will be too rough on his chest without it. Then he tugs the covers up and snuggles into Paul’s side, claiming a thorough goodnight kiss before he closes his eyes. Hugh falls asleep with a smile, anticipation coiled in his stomach as he does.
It’s going to be a good morning.
Notes:
As someone for whom intimacy and trust are relationship goals...yeah.
Chapter 242: Suffer, Part Four
Notes:
Follows the previous three “Suffer” snippets from Chapters 24, 74, 91, where Tilly grows closer to Paul as he deals with his grief.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s a normal day onboard - as far as “normal” ever extends to Discovery - as far as Tilly can tell, when there’s a sharp inhale followed by a noise like a suppressed sneeze. Her head jerks up and she glances around, but nothing stands out. Harrington is under a console, Stamets is working on simulations in the corner, and that just leaves her running a diagnostic on the drive.
Weird.
Eighteen percent later, she hears a sniffle that’s quickly cut off. All she can see of Harrington is her legs from the knee down, and Stamets has his back to her completely, so that’s no use either.
Maybe the console is dusty?
Shaking her head, she goes back to debugging the flow controller, frowning at the progress bar that seems to be moving slower than a Rigellian tortoise.
“Can somebody tell me,” Reno’s voice accompanies the door swishing open, “why there’s four backup shunts for your mushroom highway, but the actual engine only has two?”
Tilly makes eye contact with Harrington, who emerges from under the console with a shrug.
“Ship’s designed that way,” she reaches for her toolkit, “way above my pay grade.”
”And whose bright idea was that? Did they talk to an actual engineer when they built this thing?”
To her left, Stamets’ shoulders stiffen, and Tilly wonders if she’s going to regret opening her mouth. Not that that’s any different than usual, but still.
”Umm. Actually...Commander Stamets designed it that way. I mean, the ship was built for the spore drive, so-“
Reno holds up her hand.
”Got it. Mushroom Lord, you’re awfully quiet.”
Stamets doesn’t turn around, but Tilly can hear something odd in his voice.
”I’m busy.”
Rolling her eyes, Reno marches over, propping an elbow on the console.
”Well if you ask me- Stamets?”
Her tone goes from the one she uses to deliberately needle Stamets to something else that Tilly needs a moment to place.
Concern.
Reno doesn’t follow that with a sharp comment, but rather leans forward and gently places her hand on his wrist. Tilly shakes her head, because she has to be seeing things. Except-
“I’m fine.”
The two syllables are clipped, and Tilly gets the briefest flash of flushed cheeks and reddened eyes as he pivots and practically runs into the cultivation bay.
”...Reno?”
Harrington sounds as confused as Tilly feels. For her part, Reno sighs quietly, gaze gone distant.
”You...” she trails off, frowning, “right.”
Before either of them can ask what she means, Reno crosses the bay and is in the corridor with the doors swishing closed behind her.
”What was that?”
”No idea. Hang on...”
Tilly checks and- yes, Stamets has locked the doors of the cultivation bay, but it still accepts her code without challenge.
“-I’ll,” she gestures at the doors, “go...do something.”
”Good luck.”
Inside, she doesn’t bother checking any of the other spots, just heads straight for the back corner behind the secondary environmental controls.
“Commander?”
She can just make out blond hair on the other side of the console, and steps around it to find Stamets sitting on the deck, staring at the bulkhead. It’s not the first time, or even the first half dozen, so Tilly lowers herself onto a crate and waits.
Eventually, Stamets turns his head to look at her. He’s not actively crying, but there are suspiciously damp patches on both sleeve cuffs and his nose looks raw.
”Tilly.”
”What happened? Is it...about Doc- about Hugh?”
A weary nod.
If anyone had told her five months ago that she’d be the one of the people her boss chooses to talk to about his dead partner, she’d have laughed.
“Condolences,” he says quietly, “they keep coming. Hugh...had a lot of friends.”
Tilly nods. It makes perfect sense - Dr. Culber had been on good terms with everyone (except Lorca), and she’s sure it wasn’t just for show.
Sighing, Stamets angles his PADD towards her. A comm is open, bearing a short message that she politely doesn’t read and a small image written over with script.
”...shit.”
She clamps down on the instinct to apologize, because it draws a wan smile on Stamets’ bitten lips.
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t seem inclined to talk more, so she flicks on her own PADD and calls up the diagnostic. Line after line of code scrolls past, and she highlights a few sections to examine more closely later, mind only half focused. The other half is wondering just how many more bits of himself that Stamets can stand to lose with each reminder, before there’s nothing left.
Tilly supposes the sender meant the message as one of understanding and acknowledging the deep love they’d shared. His grief is a heavy thing, a burden he seems to be able to set aside but is still ever present. There’s not much anyone seems to be able to do, so she stubbornly refuses to let him be alone when he doesn’t make an effort to lock her out with everyone else. At the very least, she can listen, even when he’s silent.
The war taught her many things, some good and many painful or frightening that she’s slowly moving past. Loss, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have a fix other than time. Still, she can’t comprehend the unfairness of it all. Not now, and maybe not ever.
It’s another twenty minutes before Stamets stirs, rising slowly to his feet. He doesn’t look at her, but the quiet “thank you” as he passes is more than enough for her. She just wishes she could do more for him.
If love alone could have saved you, you would have lived forever.
Notes:
This story is by no means a product of me crying my eyes out when I stumbled across this quote. We lost our family bird after 28 years in late 2019, and I’m still not over it.
Chapter 243: Shore Leave, Part One
Summary:
Space Family goes camping: a prologue.
Notes:
Here’s the promised fluff to make up for the angst of the last chapter!
Chapter Text
Discovery’s upgrades included the conversion of a few lounges into holosuites, Lounge H among them. Admittedly, Tilly had been slightly skeptical when Adira described the immersive reality of holosuites. Holotechnology was good in the twenty-third century, but she’s still digesting the current use of holograms almost indistinguishable from sentient beings. It’s simultaneously really, really cool and also creepy as hell.
It isn’t until Adira drags her into a perfect recreation of the old oak tree at the Academy - programmed to replicate its appearance in the mid-2250s - that she believes them. The simulation is flawless, down to the knobby root that she always tripped over and the scent of the grass.
“Tilly?”
Adira’s looking mildly concerned, and Tilly blinks away moisture in her eyes before it can fall.
”This is perfect,” she grins, “I- this place is special for a lot of the crew. For me.”
”Here?”
She points to particular spot on the trunk, and watches as Adira squints, clearly trying to determine what sets it apart from any other patch of bark.
”Here.”
”...I don’t get it.”
“I used to sit here and study. It’s...well, it’s been a lot longer, but like not even two years ago, for me. And,” Tilly feels her cheeks heat, “this is where I had my first kiss. That I liked, I mean. I was this super awkward kid, but here...at the Academy, even though there were so many people, I felt less alone.”
Silence.
Adira is frowning, but it doesn’t look like they’re upset. Rather, they seem to be thinking, coming to some sort of conclusion.
”I know what you...me, too. Here. On Discovery, not here, but...I never really fit anywhere. It was just me and Gray for so long, and I thought that I’d never find people who get that.”
They're veering into emotional territory, and Tilly gently nudges them with her elbow.
”You’re in the right place for it. We’re...all cobbled together in a way. That’s what this ship is. And,” she smiles, “you’ve got the best people on Discovery looking out for you. Err. Not me, I mean.”
”I think you should mean you too.”
Shaking her head, Tilly makes a vague demurring noise.
“I meant Stamets and Culber.”
”They’re pretty cool, even if they’re old,” Adira snickers, mischievous smile in place, “like, they’ve been together almost as long as I’ve been alive.”
”You’re not that old.”
”Most of your life too.”
Tilly has to concede that point.
”Yeah.”
Adira nudges a few loose pebbles with their boot.
“So what do you think?”
A thought wiggles its way into Tilly’s head. It’s hardly a rare occurrence, but she gives it a moment anyway.
”Almost as good as shore leave. Makes sense though, I guess, being in the middle of nowhere without warp, people are going to want to get away.”
”Better, because it’s all safe in here too. You know, you could program this to be anywhere, any time. I bet there’s lots of places you’ve never even heard of yet! I haven’t been there either, not for real, but if you want? I could show you.”
Tilly has about fifty different things she’d love to see - Newton’s lectures, the twenty-first century Golden Gate Bridge, and St. Louis before the arch was restored amongst them.
”Yes. Yes!”
Adira looks to the side, and Tilly supposes they’re listening to Gray.
”Umm. Tell Gray I’m sorry, I don’t mean to ignore him.”
“You’re fine, it’s okay. Gray says he doesn’t mind listening. He likes you, too.”
There’s a little bit of sadness in their voice, and she tries to think of what would bring them both some comfort.
”We’ll find a way so he can talk to us too. Stamets and Culber are like the best people for that, because they don’t give up, okay? They won’t let you down. And I want to help too, so...yeah.”
Adira looks down, and Tilly decides they probably ought to get back to what they were originally saying.
”Anyway! Umm, how many programs do you have?”
”A lot?”
”Oh.”
Great answer, Sylvia.
“Where do you want to start?”
”Anywhere. You pick?”
”Okay,” Adira grins, “I’ve got the perfect place.”
Chapter 244: Symptom
Summary:
Hugh gets sick, and Paul freaks out. Just a little.
Notes:
Title suggested by LadyRiona :) References Chapter 117 ("Sick").
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“You’ve navigated this ship across universes with your sheer stubbornness, Paul,” Tracy’s tone is amused, “surely you can manage this.”
”I don’t know what to do.”
Her look makes him roll his eyes even as he gently strokes Hugh's hand. It's not burning hot like before, but the fever still has his temperature above even his usual warmth.
”I mean I know, I’ve just never...”
Encountering thirty-second century viruses was bound to be a challenge, obviously, but why does a doctor have to be the one who gets sick?
"I know you're capable of taking care of him. Even if you commed me every two hours when he had the flu."
He tries to glare, but judging by Tracy's raised eyebrow, Paul thinks he probably just ends up looking petulant.
"That's not the point. He was just sleeping a lot and could still get out of bed on his own."
”I can’t believe I’m asking this. You’ve cleaned him up after the two of you do whatever it is that keeps your neighbors awake?”
”...yeah.”
There's a weak squeeze of his fingers, and he glances down into fever-bright eyes.
"Mmmuhh."
Hugh seems too exhausted to speak, but the groaning grumble manages to communicate both affection and exasperation.
"We know you're still here," Tracy gives his shoulder a pat, "trying to convince someone that you're just going to be miserable for a few days. And if I keep you here, that same someone is going to spend his whole time off-shift hovering and you're going to try and get out of bed to work."
"I-"
"Mmmphh."
Hugh's side-eye tells Paul that he agrees.
"I hate this," Paul mutters, scrubbing both palms across his face, then hurrying to take Hugh's hand again when he tries to lift it but only makes it a couple of inches before dropping again.
"HmmmMmmm."
”What does Hugh usually do when you’re too sick to get out of bed?”
Tracy's speaking in that too-reasonable tone that he recognizes from Hugh, the one he uses when he's trying to explain to Paul that staying awake for thirty-six hours isn't healthy or that Tilly's broken arm will be fine after a few hours of regeneration.
”...he makes me Aida's vegetable soup and carries me to the shower.”
Fever or no, the look Hugh gives Paul is full of love. His fussing is the only thing that makes being sick bearable, particularly sitting on the floor of a steam-filled shower cradled on his lap, but he's not going to mention that.
Tracy probably already knows anyway.
"You'll be fine. Should I make it an order?"
"You don't outrank me."
"Hugh does."
"We're the same rank."
A huff of air from Hugh that's probably supposed to be a laugh.
"Medical's outside the command structure. Do I need to remind you I'm acting CMO while he's out of commission?"
"I hate you."
"No you don't."
Paul chews his lip.
"What if he gets worse?"
"Paul," she drops Dr. Pollard's tone to become Tracy, Hugh's friend, again, "mild fever, headache, muscle weakness, and possibly some vertigo, but that's it. Tuck him in bed for a few days, make sure he has enough water, and let Adira keep an eye on him while you're on shift. And it's safe to sleep next to him, because I know you two won't listen to quarantine anyway."
"Mmmhmm."
They both turn their heads to look at Hugh, who seems about to fall asleep again despite the way he's clinging to Paul's hand. He opens his mouth, jaw moving but no words coming out except a noise of frustration.
"Hugh?"
Frowning, Paul holds the glass while he takes a sip of water, head falling back with a grimace and eyes squeezed shut.
"...home," he whispers through chapped lips.
Paul's shoulders slump, and he leans over to brush a kiss over Hugh's sweaty forehead before nodding at Tracy.
"Okay."
Notes:
Sorry for the intermission, I'm still working on Part Two of "Shore Leave" a.k.a. "Space Family Goes Camping".
Chapter 245: Somewhere
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s taken time to get comfortable with the crew, beyond Paul and Hugh and Tilly. They didn’t even speak the first time Tilly led Rhys and Owo and Detmer over to sit with them, listening with their eyes glued to their food and trying to decide if they all actually wanted to spend time with them, or were just putting up with Adira’s presence for Tilly’s sake. That was a couple of weeks ago, and nothing since has suggested the interest in including them is anything but genuine. No one demands they join the conversation, although there’s plenty of openings, and Adira is mostly content to observe.
Tonight, Rhys is regaling everyone with stories about Hugh learning to override his doctor’s instinct and spar at full force, mostly involving humorous missed punches and a few undignified moments that have the entire table laughing. Adira hadn’t planned to spend this long over dinner, but every time they think to excuse themself, Rhys launches into another tale or Detmer says something that makes Owo tease her until she blushes.
(“Doctor C would never-“
“Admit it, Keyla, you have a crush on him.”
”I do not! He’s just- how could anyone not like him?”
”Ooooh, did I ever tell you guys about the time Hugh had a junior diplomat follow him around for a week trying to get his comm frequency?”
”What? No! When?”
”Well, according to Stamets...”)
Eventually, they say their goodnights and head out of the mess hall with a smile, Gray trailing behind. They cross the threshold of their quarters and pause mid-step, something oddly warm squirming in their stomach as the sweet, mellow notes fill the room.
Paul’s seated at the piano, metronome ticking. His posture suggests he’s been there long enough to warm up while waiting for Adira to arrive, shoulders relaxed. From this angle, Adira can make out the tiniest frown on his face as his fingers move over the keys. He’s down to his undershirt despite the slightly cooler temperature Adira prefers, no sign that he’s bothered by it tonight. The reason for it is sitting beside him, straddling the bench with arms wrapped around Paul’s waist, head resting on his shoulder. As Adira watches, Hugh tucks his thumbs under the waistband of Paul’s pants and slumps a little further against him. The motion earns a surprised huff, but Paul’s hands never still even as he turns to kiss Hugh’s forehead, smiling all the while.
Adira hadn’t thought Paul was playing anything in particular until the passage repeats itself, slower and quieter like a lullaby, and Hugh starts to sing along. It’s soft, barely loud enough for them to hear over the piano.
Something about a rainbow?
They wonder if it’s a special song for the two of them, or just something that Hugh happens to know the words for.
Bluebirds?
By the third repeat, Adira’s fingers are itching to pick up their bow and join in. Doing so would surely get their attention though, break the spell the music has woven. It’s not something they can quite explain, but the thought of interrupting them feels wrong.
Gray is silent too, a peculiar look in his eyes that Adira thinks looks a bit sad even as he smiles. Of course they know Hugh (and Paul and Tilly) are doing their utmost to help, but it’s slow going when no one even knows exactly how Gray still exists. Tears prickle at their nose and they will them back, trying not to think about all the reasons why it might never work.
I want this, they suddenly realize with all the surety of a gravity well as Paul starts the song again, I want this to be us.
Closing their eyes, they let themself hope.
Notes:
A bit rambling, but I hope enjoyable nonetheless :)
Hugh is singing “Somewhere Over The Rainbow”, because I can never get enough of Wilson’s voice (link).
Chapter 246: Sustenance
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Even if he wasn’t capable of being consumed with lust - if Paul didn’t rouse Hugh’s body - he would still be deeply in love.
(Paul’s mind is as beautiful as he is.)
Even without the sheet-rumpling romps and slow lovemaking and mischievous mouths - if their touches held no more than affection, if Paul suddenly decided he didn’t want Hugh that way any more - he would be sustained on the warmth of his skin and his scent in the sheets.
(He would be disappointed to lose the immense sexual satisfaction, but that’s what he has two hands for.)
Bereft of Paul’s love in return would destroy him - has come too close to it - emptiness of that place in his heart and mind that Paul normally occupies ever-present too much to bear.
(T’Vala tried to tell him at the beginning of the war, her Vulcan understanding seeing what he could not.)
Paul sleeps peacefully in Hugh’s arms as he stares up at the stars overhead, thinking about love and life and third chances.
(He’s never letting go again.)
Notes:
Apologies for the break in posting updates on my multi-chapter fics. Real life has been intruding, and I need to do a full Season Three re-watch to get back into my groove.
Rapidly approaching 200k words!
Chapter 247: Slick
Summary:
T’Vala is certain she’s selected an appropriate gift in accordance with human bonding customs.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“It’s not my birthday,” springs to his lips at the sight of T’Vala proffering a small box.
“Indeed, I am aware that the date is not for another thirty-six point nine days.”
”Point nine?”
”Did your birth not occur at eleven forty-three?”
”...the fact that you remember that-“
”Is merely an observation.”
“T’Vala.”
”Is it not human custom to offer a gift in honor of your formal bonding?”
She sets the small box in his hand and raises a delicately arched brow.
Hugh blinks.
”It- thank you. You didn’t have to, you’re helping us so much with everything.”
”Indeed, there is a similar Vulcan practice, although the items are often intended for meditation or scholarship.”
Nodding, he lifts the lid to inspect the contents and nearly drops the box.
”T’Vala!”
“I understand the gifts between friends are intended to be of a personal nature. Tracy explained they may also be related to sexual activities, and helped me to select an appropriate token of my...esteem for you and your mate.”
Years of knowing her allows him to pick up on the most fractional glimmer of what might be amusement in her dark eyes.
”It has been formulated with the most optimal properties to minimize unwanted friction and residue. Nor does it have a discernible flavor were it to be ingested, and its pH and composition will not cause a negative physiological reaction.”
Hugh opens his mouth and when nothing comes out after a few seconds, shuts it again.
“I would be pleased to provide the chemical specifications should you desire them,” she continues, “it was a most fascinating process to develop.”
He clears his throat.
”Th- umm. Thank you? Err. Thanks, T’Vala.”
Seemingly satisfied, she inclines her head and leaves his office. Once the door swishes closed, Hugh peeks inside the box again and can’t decide if he should laugh or die of embarrassment.
Possibly both.
Shaking his head, he reaches for his PADD to message Paul.
Trust a Vulcan to design you a perfectly logical bottle of lube.
Notes:
**snickers uncontrollably**
You know Tracy is going to hear from Hugh later for this :P
Chapter 248: Slick, Part Two
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul sees Hugh off in the corridor at 'Fleet Medical, a quick squeeze of fingers before heading in the opposite direction. His gaze lingers on his partner's retreating (deliciously round) backside until he hears a blatantly fake cough.
"Trace," he turns to find her smirking at him, "T'Vala."
"Down, boy," Tracy chuckles, stepping aside to let the two of them go through the door first.
It's a morning spent in clinics, chronic pain and physical rehabilitation, and Hugh sits down to lunch with a relieved sigh, popping his collar open. T'Vala is slicing an apple into sections with mathematical precision while Tracy downs her third coffee, and it's blessedly silent until she surfaces from the mug and groans theatrically.
"What?"
"Computer, mirror, Hugh Culber."
His own reflection hovers between them, and he blinks in confusion.
"What?"
T'Vala sets down the knife and raises an eyebrow.
"Indeed."
"What?"
Tracy and T'Vala share a look before T'Vala folds her hands primly on the table and addresses Hugh.
"Based on the pattern of petechiae on your throat with a similar spacing to that of human adult male teeth and your heightened state of arousal this morning, it is logical to assume that you recently engaged in activities of a sexual nature."
Hugh nearly inhales a forkful of rice. After Tracy thumps him soundly on the back and the coughing stops, he swipes away the moisture from his eyes to find T'Vala still gazing at him serenely. Draining his water glass, he clears his throat and tries to find his composure.
"Why the sudden interest?"
"While I have no particular interest in your, as Tracy has deemed, 'love life', I do wish to inquire as to whether you have utilized the lubricant which I-"
His face feels like it's on fire, and Tracy is snickering helplessly into her napkin.
"-provided, and if there were notable differences in performance in comparison to others which you have used for the same purpose. Viscosity, perhaps?"
"Umm."
T'Vala pulls her PADD closer, looking for all the world as if she's ready to take notes.
"I would also be curious as to the rate of evaporation when exposed to significant amounts of friction, as I was unable to properly simulate the human male p-"
Tracy lets out a sound like a boiling kettle. Groaning, Hugh drops his face into his hands and wonders if he could justify an emergency beam-out.
Probably not.
“I mean. We...didn’t. That. Last night.”
”Fascinating,” T’Vala’s other eyebrow joins the first, “prior observation would suggest that the degree and placement of bruising on your throat is positively correlated with instances of penetrative intercourse.”
How does she even...?
Beside her, Tracy’s hiccuping with laughter, and Vulcan or not, Hugh recognizes a friend teasing him within an inch of his life.
Hopefully.
“I’m going to kill you, Trace,” he mutters under his breath.
”Wh- whahhhuhh...what di- did I do?”
”You’re the one who told her!”
Tracy takes several swallows of water before replying.
”She asked.”
”Ugh. I hate you.”
”No you don’t.”
Shaking his head, Hugh stares at his plate and attempts to use aggressive chewing as a sign of his displeasure. Tracy’s probably immune, but it makes him feel a little better. She gets up a moment later to answer a comm, leaving him the subject of T’Vala’s continued focus.
“T’Vala...”
Something appears in T’Vala’s sharp eyes for a moment, a micro expression that Hugh can’t quite place. It’s gone a moment later, and he wonders if he imagined it.
”Given the duration of our friendship and the human predilection for divulging personal information to one’s close associates, as well as the frequency of such conversations between yourself and Tracy, I appear to have made an inaccurate judgment and overstepped the boundary of a privacy taboo. My apologies, Hugh.”
He pauses, fork halfway to his mouth.
”It’s- you don’t have to apologize. Seriously. I wasn’t expecting it, there’s no harm done.”
A tiny frown appears, vanishing when he blinks, and her usual placid expression returns. He steals Tracy’s half-empty mug, downing the lukewarm contents.
“You can always ask,” he chuckles, “but no guarantee that I’ll answer.”
T'Vala is still watching him, with the polite bemusement he’s gotten used to over the years.
”Then shall I inquire again once you have performed an act which requires the use of lubrication?”
Notes:
I'd originally planned to have the second part of Space Family Goes Camping pushing me over the 200k word mark, but I couldn't resist a sequel.
Chapter 249: Shoulders
Notes:
How have I gone this long without using this title yet?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh’s arms are around Paul’s shoulders, body covering his.
Hugh’s arms are around Paul’s shoulders and his knees are digging into the bed, reddened with friction.
Hugh’s arms are around Paul’s shoulders and his knees are braced wide and the air between them is hot and humid, filled with Paul’s gasping cries.
Hugh’s arms are around Paul’s shoulders and his knees are slipping on the sweaty sheets and he’s breathless with exertion, so close to the edge.
Hugh’s arms are around Paul’s shoulders and his knees lock when he comes, Paul writhing and whimpering beneath him.
Hugh’s arms are around Paul’s shoulders and his knees give out when Paul drives upwards into his body one last time and moans out his climax, Hugh’s name like a benediction on his lips.
Hugh’s arms are around Paul’s shoulders and he forgets about his knees as they kiss long and slow and deep, until the universe shrinks to just the two of them making love beneath the stars.
Notes:
This is what happens when I combine poetry with smoldering hot lovemaking and trying to see how long I can make it sound like Hugh is the one topping.
Chapter 250: Sooner
Summary:
Even the best sex isn’t *always* perfect.
Chapter Text
Paul’s very happily bouncing on his increasingly (deliciously) sweaty partner when Hugh makes a noise. That in itself isn’t unexpected - Hugh’s been quite vocally expressing his delight in Paul’s insatiability - but it sounds a bit like a strangled cough, and is out of place enough that Paul peels open eyes he can’t remember shutting.
”...Hugh?”
”Mmmm.”
Hugh’s eyes are a little glazed, but he still manages to wink at him.
”Is- ohhh! Unhhhh...”
“Mmhmm.”
Paul could fuck himself silly on his love all night, and he thinks he probably manages to gasp something out along those lines, because he gets a wicked, filthy smile in return as Hugh grips Paul’s waist tighter and snaps his hips upward. Whatever Paul had planned to say next gets lost in a moan, and his fingers slip free from the headboard as he falls forward, face buried in Hugh’s neck.
Thinking is nearly impossible when Hugh’s naked anyway.
Squirming against Hugh’s strong hold is a pleasure all its own, and he paws at Hugh’s sides where his ribs are heaving with exertion between Paul’s knees. A sly finger keeps caressing where their bodies are joined, teasing, and he struggles upright again.
”Close?”
Sentences are a bit beyond him right now, so he settles for an enthusiastic nod. Hugh’s frowning a little, he notices, but it hardly seems important when the sheets are tangled around them and the pillows are on the floor and he has Hugh stretched out underneath him with bite marks on his neck. He shifts his knees wider apart, wiggling his hips to help Hugh hit that spot inside. It’s not quite at the right angle apparently, but he doesn’t need that to come when a hand wraps itself around his previously-untouched erection, his own clutching at Hugh’s shoulders as he arches into it. Hugh’s frown has deepened, and he’s biting his lip, and Paul just needs a little more-
Wait.
The tiny part of his brain not melted into a puddle between his legs convinces his body to stop mindlessly rocking, although it’s a difficult prospect. It’s harder still (pun completely intentional) to reach down and still Hugh’s hand, fingers shaking.
It takes a few tries to form a coherent thought, but he eventually manages.
”...Hugh.”
”Sweetheart?”
He reaches back to confirm, and yes, that could be a problem.
“What’s wrong?”
”You're not...hard anymore.”
Hugh blinks a couple of times and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a curse.
”Hugh?”
“Umm. I came.”
Paul shifts again, and is suddenly aware of just how slippery his inner thighs feel when Hugh slides out.
“...I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”
“When- oh.”
He frowns, vaguely disappointed that he missed it because his lover is gorgeous at the height of climax.
”Why didn’t you say something? I mean, coming is sort of the point...”
His attempt at humor falls flat.
”Sorry,” Hugh’s cheeks flush a little darker, “I wasn’t planning on it. You were enjoying yourself so much.”
Paul’s legs choose that moment to give out, and he lands on Hugh’s chest with a sigh, squirming until he can see his face.
“I enjoy seeing you get off.”
Kiss-swollen lips twist in a wry, self-deprecating smile.
”Me too.”
The teasing finger is back, and he shivers when the tip slips inside.
“Yeah?”
”Mmhmm. Can I help you finish?”
Hugh’s finger wiggles in just the right way, and Paul’s dick reminds him of just how talented those surgeon’s hands are at playing his body. The sheets are already a lost cause, so instead of worrying about the mess they’re likely to make, he lets Hugh roll them over until he’s sprawled on his back, legs spread around Hugh’s shoulders. An affectionate kiss lands on his inner thigh, then two other fingers join the first and the wet heat of Hugh’s mouth steals his breath away. It doesn’t take long - not that he’s capable of counting - until he cries out and spills down Hugh’s very willing throat.
Because his dear doctor is the best lover in the universe, he keeps sucking gently as Paul comes down, holds his hand still and lets him fuck himself on it until the post-orgasm shakes subside before withdrawing his fingers.
”Good?”
”...mmm. Hmm.”
He raises himself up long enough for Hugh to strip off the top sheet, wiping them both down with a corner and dumping it unceremoniously on the floor.
“It’s going to stick to the floor,” he manages to point out, hauling the duvet up where it’s clinging precariously to one corner of the mattress. Hugh gives a half shrug, retrieves two pillows, then snuggles under the covers with him.
“Sorry.”
”For what? How many times have I come early?”
”That,” Hugh informs his left armpit, “s’not the point.”
“Yes it is.”
”Would you please let me be embarrassed and apologetic?”
”No.”
“Mmmph. Fine.”
”See? Easy.”
”Hmph.”
Hugh pinches his nipple, and he laughs quietly.
”Pouting is my thing.”
He can feel the smile against his chest.
“I’ll make it up to you by sucking your dick in the morning?”
”I wouldn’t complain.”
”Love you, sweetheart.”
Paul closes his eyes and settles further into Hugh’s embrace.
”Love you too.”
Notes:
Running up on writer’s fatigue, but I’m still here! Stuck on Space Family Goes Camping. Paul and Hugh at their intimate best needs a certain kind of mindset and I’m having some trouble reaching it.
That being said, plain old Culmets smut with a side order of feelings never gets old (I hope!).
Chapter Text
Paul’s brilliant. Absolutely, in any measure, a dreamer and doer who never took no for an answer. It’s not only parental pride that made Olivia Stamets certain of that, although she had a healthy measure of it as well.
She thinks back to him as a small child, before he’d started growing distant, before he’d become too caught up in visions of what could be to spend an afternoon playing with his sister or trailing Olivia around her office while she graded papers. Her bright, inquisitive boy, always asking questions and never satisfied until he had an answer. Too serious by half, uninterested in anything besides knowledge. Maybe it was school that started the change, when he was nine and came home frustrated that the teacher didn’t understand his project, or when he was eleven and withdrew into his room every night to read, waiting for his father to come home from work.
(“He needs you,” she’d told her husband on more than one occasion, “you’re so much alike.”
”He’s smarter than I ever could be, Livi. He doesn’t need me interrupting him.”)
He’d always been happiest in the lab or off digging up mushrooms on some planet or other, dirt under his fingernails as he and Justin catalogued samples. Olivia might not have understood everything Paul was interested in, but she could see a similar light in Justin’s eyes when they spoke about their research and was glad to see that her son had found a kindred spirit. They were passionate about their work, delighted with discovery and indifferent to promotion and ambitious career climbing.
The only other thing that made Paul come alive in the same way besides his work was Hugh. She hadn’t been sure what to expect, when he’d kept his relationships to himself, and was completely charmed by the young doctor he’d finally brought home. Hugh had a ready smile, she remembers, and eyes full of stars whenever Paul latched onto a topic and began to expound. No, Hugh she understood, even when her own son seemed to be growing more distant. Their love was firm, solid like the ground beneath her feet and just as deep, and she was happy for them.
Losing Justin was a horrible tragedy, and in the midst of the war she wished she could simply take the entire family somewhere safe. Worse, Olivia hadn’t known what to say to him when Discovery limped home at the end of the war, minus her captain and bearing too many flag-draped caskets. She’d tried not to take it personally when he shook his head at her invitation to stay, stiff with unreleased tension when she hugged him, when he accepted his father’s uncomfortably awkward condolences and turned back towards the waiting groundcar. A woman in Medical white had been waiting beside it, skin grey with exhaustion and the same blank, bleak expression her son wore.
(Tracy Pollard, her mind filled in, Hugh’s best friend.
“Paul...”
”I can’t, Mom,” he’d addressed his feet, “I can’t.”
The door shut behind him, and Tracy turned to Olivia with the barest hint of a polite smile.
”Mrs. Stamets.”
”Where...?”
”I’m taking him to Aida’s,” she’d replied, “he won’t be alone.”)
She hadn’t seen him again until the service, a sunny Puerto Rican day in complete opposition to the thick grief surrounding them. Everything about him was closed off, more withdrawn than she’d ever seen him. Olivia had reached out to him, but it was as if he couldn’t see or hear anyone. Not until they began to lower the casket.
A shuddering breath then, followed by a piercing cry so full of anguish that it broke her own heart as he’d gone white and folded in on himself, sagging into Aida’s embrace. Hugh’s grandmother had been the one to hold him, rocking him as he sobbed and pled and repeated Hugh’s name over and over. Olivia had stood there awkwardly, rubbing his shoulder and feeling very much like she never really knew her son at all in that moment as he begged powers she didn’t think he believed in for Hugh’s life.
After that, Paul had been barely more than a shell of a person, going through the motions but little else. The fire was gone, the joy he took in his work vanished, more and more disconnected with every mention others made of Hugh.
No parent is ever equipped to handle not being able to put things to right for their child, she’d thought, no one.
He'd given her a tired, forced smile before Discovery departed Earth again, with a mumbled promise to comm and the weight of grief like an unbearable burden. There had barely been time after that it seemed, before news of Hugh’s miraculous recovery arrived. She would have expected her son to be back to his old self, if not even better, but instead had received only a plea not to ask about it.
And now...
Olivia gazes across the room at Captain Christopher Pike, flanked by a Vulcan in blue (Ambassador Sarek’s son?) and a sharp-eyed woman in yellow. Unease coils in her stomach when Captain Pike clears his throat and everyone else present falls silent.
“Thank you all for coming. I have news about Discovery...”
Notes:
This one was rocky, I’ve never tried to write from the perspective of Paul’s family (or about them, for that matter).
Chapter 252: Settle
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Hey babe, sorry I'm-"
Hugh stops short half a step into their quarters, complaint about the long day forgotten on his lips at the sight in front of him. He blinks, slowly, then the corners of his mouth turn upwards and a smile creeps unbidden across his face.
Paul is still in his uniform, jacket unzipped and hair pressed flat where his head is resting on the arm of the couch. At his side, Adira is curled up like a cat in the opposite corner, feet tucked under themself and face scrunched up in a slight frown.
"Err. Hi Doctor."
Waving slightly, Tilly sets down her PADD and levers herself up from the floor in front of the coffee table, fingers trying to smooth away the wrinkles at her thighs.
"Hey Tilly," Hugh takes another two steps and lets the doors swish closed behind him, "I didn't know you were babysitting."
"What? No, umm, they fell asleep and I tried to get ahold of you earlier, but Doctor Pollard said you were busy."
Hugh groans and stretches his neck, laughing quietly.
"It's fine. I take it the away mission went well?"
"Yeah," she twists a red curl between her fingers, "really well. Paul- I mean Commander Stamets, really impressed them. Not that that should be surprising, but you know what I mean."
He doesn't correct her use of Paul's title off duty, just nods and enjoys the little spark of pride at his partner's apparently overlooked diplomatic skills. He's teased Paul often enough over the years for his bluntness, but dealing with a species whose central focus is technology and completely lacking the ability to dissemble is oddly suited to him. There's a very pretty and vaguely functional-looking...something resting on the coffee table, and he's sure there's a story behind that too.
"We climbed all over this mountain made of programmable matter," Tilly continues, bouncing a little as she recalls it, "so worth it, but my feet were killing me by the end! Anyway. I know we were supposed to do dinner and all, but Adira said they were tired and wanted a nap."
"Let me guess, Paul said he was fine, then fell asleep as soon as Adira did?"
Tilly's apologetic but amused smile tells him everything.
"Should we wake them up?"
Hugh unzips his boots, shaking his head.
"Doubt you'd be able to. Go ahead and grab whatever you want from the replicator, unless you've got other plans?"
"What? No, nothing, just...here."
"Great. Give me a minute..."
Sighing, he bends down and fits his arms under Paul's knees and back, lifting him carefully off the couch. His partner doesn't even stir as Hugh sets him down on the bed, easing his jacket off and popping the button on his pants. He can hear the whir of the replicator behind him when he returns to the couch and unfolds Adira into a more comfortable position, covering them with his grandmother's quilt. Hugh spends a few moments looking at their sleeping face, the well-worn fabric a little faded but still soft where it's bunched under their chin. It's gone with him over twenty years of postings, Aida's parting gift to the newly-minted Lieutenant Junior Grade Doctor Hugh Culber when he shipped out on his first mission. He and Paul had snuggled under it numerous times (and made love, his mind reminds him), and it seems fitting somehow to share with Adira. His eyes travel back over to Paul, snoring into Hugh's pillow, and the smile slips off his lips to wrap itself around his heart
"Doctor? Is everything okay?"
He shakes his head to clear it, turning to Tilly who's waiting at the table.
"I'm fine, Tilly. Just thinking about family."
She pauses with her mouth open, then snaps it shut, probably wondering if she ought to say something on a potentially sensitive subject, and Hugh can't let that stand.
"Nothing bad, I promise. I wish you could have met my grandmother. She'd have loved you and Adira too."
Aida would definitely have adopted them both, would have delighted in playing grandmother to two people so uncertain of their own abilities and made it her mission to spoil them the same way she did Hugh and Paul. Tilly flushes a little pink, but doesn't say anything else on the subject as Hugh dials up his own dinner and turns the conversation back to their away mission. He thinks she must have missed the implication in his last sentence, but that's okay too.
Paul and Adira sleep on, Tilly knocks over her water glass trying to recreate an elaborate situation with her hands, and he can't think of anywhere else he'd rather be right now.
Family.
Notes:
Real life still has me distracted, hoping to get back to posting regularly soon. Thank you for sticking with me!
Chapter 253: Support
Summary:
Pike calls Enterprise post-"Saints of Imperfection".
Notes:
Set just after Chapter 25 ("Day 2 - 1100") of When Sorrow Turns to Joy, where Pike calls Hugh to the ready room to speak with him.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Christopher Pike taps his fingers slowly against the side table, the polished wood smooth beneath them. Enterprise is at the farther end of subspace range, so he forces himself to be patient while his comm connects.
"Enterprise here, Captain."
Una's cool voice brings a smile to his face that he hadn't realized was missing, her ever-precise tone as always carrying an undercurrent of perpetual amusement that he's long given up trying to figure out.
"Number One, it's good to hear you. How's my ship?"
"Likewise, Captain. Repairs are underway, although Louvier hasn't stopped cursing since they started replacing the entire port nacelle plasma manifold."
He whistles lowly, shaking his head even though there's no one present to see it.
"I'm impressed he hasn't kicked out the repair crew and done it himself."
"It's a volatile situation, but I'm monitoring."
Chris imagines the reaction on the bridge to Una's enigmatic smile. Amin, Mann, and Nicola are probably in various stages of quiet laughter, doubtless enjoying the confusion on the faces of any non-Enterprise personnel doing repairs who haven't previously witnessed her Captain and first officer's repartee. Personally, Chris would have found a completely polite first officer to be both unhelpful and downright dangerous - it's their job to weigh the safety and wisdom of the captain's decisions, to question orders which could put either the crew or the Federation at risk. Una's always courteous and professional...unless he's done something to merit a private conversation.
"Captain?"
"Sorry Una."
"Lieutenant Amin, you have the conn," Una's voice is steady, "I'll be in the Captain's ready room."
He waits until he can hear the doors swish shut.
"Thanks," he sighs, "nothing critical, but..."
"Sensitive?"
"Yeah. Well, it might be critical, I don't know."
"I'm all ears."
There's a knock, as if she's sitting in his chair and the arm has bounced off the desk. He takes a moment to entertain himself with the (ludicrous) notion of her leaning all the way back with her heels propped on the desk, dismissing it with another smile. Una would be more than suited to captain her own ship, if she wanted. Not that Chris would trade her for any other officer in the fleet at his side, not yet anyway, but he can't help but think that eventually he'll have to surrender her to a well-deserved promotion.
"It's- you've read the report on our trip into the mycelial plane?"
"I did. I wish-" Una pauses, and he thinks he might hear her sigh, "I wish Spock were here."
"Me too."
"That's not what you called about though."
"No. It's about Doctor Culber. Or rather, Commander Stamets and Doctor Culber."
"Is the Commander neglecting his duties in favor of his husband?" Una sounds like she's smiling, "I'm certain there's nothing in the regulations covering a recently resurrected spouse."
"They're not married. And that's not it."
"No?"
"Certain experiences...change people."
He knows she understands all too well, her silence somehow reassuring.
"And I don't know what, but there's something about Doctor Culber that seems...I don't know."
"Is there any chance that he's not who he seems to be? Your CMO reported a full genetic and bioneural match."
"No, he's definitely who he's supposed to be. I talked with him briefly, but I think- oh hell, Una, you know I don't interfere in my crew's personal lives."
"Oh," her tone is drily amused, "so you weren't the one that overheard Mikkelsen botch her proposal, then called Rollins to the ready room just as Turbolift Seven was going down for repairs and Mikkelsen was assigned to it, knowing it was the only one in his path from Sciences?"
"That," he grins, "was purely coincidental. Besides, Mikkelsen just needed him to not run away before she was done talking this time."
"I see."
"But," Chris sobers at the thought, "by all accounts, Stamets and Culber had a relationship that was about as solid as neutronium. Fourteen years together, Una. Can you imagine?"
"We've served together almost that long," she reminds him, "so yes."
"Doctor Pollard - and she isn't one who seems prone to exaggeration - painted a picture of a man about as saintly as possible while still having human flaws when she was describing Doctor Culber. Albeit, they were close friends, but nothing in the records would disprove it."
"Phil knew him too."
"Did he? Huh...I suppose he would have been teaching at Medical when Culber and Pollard were there."
"Want me to let him know you called?"
"Nah, I'll talk to Phil later."
He stares at the opposite chair, thinking of Culber's defensive posture, the way his shoulders slumped down and his eyes darted around the room. It was a far cry from the calm, poised physician all accounts made him out to be, and certainly not the cheerful demeanor his file photo suggested.
He'd just been brought across dimensions into a new body, he reminds himself, not ideal conditions.
Stamets' hastily-sent request for leave as reasonable in the middle of their mission - remaining aboard but with vastly reduced duty shifts - had also vanished a few hours later. Chris had been paging through reports when the status changed, Saru's approval blinking out into a "Request Withdrawn" notification as he scrolled past.
"Captain?"
"Sorry. Just...thinking."
"I hear that it's a common activity."
Her comment pulls a huff of laughter from him, which was probably her intent.
"Sorry to bother you Una, I know you're busy."
Chris imagines her raised eyebrow together with the look that said they both knew he was full of it.
"I'm sitting in spacedock signing off on repair orders, Chris. Amin could have done this two years in."
"Amin is brilliant."
"You're avoiding the question."
Her use of his name should have made that clear.
"I need to think about it some more."
"It?"
"There's something I can't quite put my finger on."
"Is it a danger to the ship?"
Her question is sharp, focused. 'To you' goes unspoken.
"No, I don't think so. I might need your opinion later on it, though."
"You know I don't give relationship advice."
He can't tell if she's being serious, but that's not the point.
"I know. Thanks, Una. I should let you get back to it."
"Mmm. I'm sure Louvier will have another report ready for you by oh-seven-hundred."
"Tell him I look forward to reading it."
"Be careful, Captain," her admonition is quiet, the most concern she's likely to express while on duty, "Enterprise should be ready to fly again in the next three days."
"She's in good hands. Take care of her for me."
"Aye, Captain."
Una's voice is back to its usual even-keeled pitch, and some of the tension drains from his shoulders. His ship is indeed in the best hands, between Una and Louvier and the rest of his crew.
The finest in the 'Fleet.
"Pike out."
Notes:
This one came out of nowhere, all 1,100 words. There might be a part two at some point, although I don't quite have a feel yet for how the rest of the conversation would go.
I really enjoy writing Pike, and Number One speaks a lot to my own normal sarcasm :) She seems like one of a very small handful of people who Pike can express his thoughts to honestly 100% of the time - including his doubt. Phil Boyce would be the other, and possibly Spock later on in their time together.
Chapter 254: Stage (Whisper)
Summary:
Dialogue-only playful Culmets banter.
Chapter Text
"You're so gorgeous."
"Mmm."
"I could just lay here and stare at you for hours."
"Hmm."
"How did I get so lucky?"
"Mmhmm."
"Just want to rub myself all over you whenever you're naked. Or clothed."
"Ahh."
"Love kissing you and touching you."
"..."
"Beautiful."
"...Hugh?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Why are you talking to my dick like that?"
"Oh, so you are listening?"
"I can listen and read at the same time."
"Uh huh."
"Wait...did you mean any of that?"
"That?"
"What you just said."
"All of it."
"Oh. Umm. Thank you?"
"Shh, keep reading, I'm having a private conversation."
"With my dick."
"Mmhmm."
"Should I be concerned that you're carrying on an affair?"
"Don't worry, you're invited to a threesome later."
"I see."
"But only if you be quiet now and let me finish."
"Finish?"
"Telling him everything I'm going to do to you both."
"Ahh. I can do that."
"Good. Now, where was I..."
Chapter 255: Swap
Chapter Text
Sweet lovemaking, lazy slow afternoon handjobs, fucking each other senseless - they've done it all and more over the last decade and a half, and Paul's never going to get tired of it. Never going to get over that little wiggle of excitement in his stomach when Hugh looks at him with eyes darkened with desire, or the sound of his voice when he moans Paul's name.
Yet, if he had to choose, Paul would forego it all if it meant he could keep the in-between moments. Would give up the most satisfying sex he's ever had, the physical rapport between them easy and comfortable. As much as their chemistry makes it hot, it's not what keeps them together, not what sustained them over months of separations or through life and death itself.
He'd keep Hugh's sleepy yawns when they're brushing their teeth before bed, the brush of his fingers over the back of Paul's hand when he's not even looking in his direction, stretching out barefoot on the couch to read and write reports and not exchanging a word for hours. Couldn't give up Christmas dinner at Aida's table, Nella's science fair projects, or evenings spent stargazing on Deneva. Wouldn't trade the kisses on the back of his neck as they share the pillow, the simple pleasure of Hugh washing his hair in the shower, or elbowing his partner in the middle of the night because his snoring woke Paul up. Nothing is worth more than how it feels when Hugh snuggles into his arms, his laughter, his scent, a murmured "sweetheart".
There's no price the universe could put on Hugh's love.
Chapter 256: Sink
Summary:
Waking up their first morning back together.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul wakes up to warm fingers stroking his pillow-mussed hair away from his face. A smile tugs at his lips before he's even fully conscious, before he feels the thigh thrown across his legs and the foot tucked beneath his left knee or the way the mattress dips beneath their weight to press him closer against the body at his side. He's cozy under the sheet, surrounded by a feeling that he hadn't thought he would ever know again, only the cold bitterness of loss as his bedmate for decades to come.
Hugh.
For a moment, he's swept back to waking up fifteen years ago, Hugh's arm heavy around his waist and the pleasant languor of lovemaking from the night before - their first time - still humming in his body.
"Good morning, sweetheart."
His eyes open and he blinks in the early morning light of a simulated sunrise, the muted taupe of his apartment on Deneva falling away into the grey of Discovery's walls. There are wrinkles at the corner of Hugh's eyes now, the silver shine of grey in his hair, but the soft look in his dark amber eyes is exactly the same.
Hugh's looking at him with wonder, tenderness mingled with joy, and Paul feels so alive that it steals the breath from his lungs and he has to wet his lips before he can speak.
"You're really here."
Those aren't the words he was planning on saying. A brief flicker of pain crosses Hugh's face, there and gone again in an instant. Then he nods once, solemnly.
"I am."
He leans down to press his lips against Paul's temple, a kiss like a benediction, firm and full of love.
"You're so beautiful."
Paul's smile wobbles a little at the edges, and he swallows down the lump rising in his throat.
"Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you."
"I used to dream about this," Hugh's palm curves along his jaw, "but nothing, no vision or memory could ever be this real."
Early morning conversations with Hugh never used to feel this significant, but Paul wouldn't have it any other way.
"I used to dream about this too."
He untangles a hand from the covers to mirror Hugh's, fingertips tucked beneath his ear and thumb gently stroking his cheek. The soft bristles of his beard send tiny pinpricks of exhilaration dancing up his wrist and shivering over his skin. Unfortunately, they also remind him that there's some things that can't be ignored first thing in the morning.
"Babe?"
Paul doesn't think he'll ever get tired of Hugh not using his name ever again.
"Umm. I love you," his insides melt a little when Hugh's eyes light up, "...but I really, really need to pee."
Hugh's face goes totally blank for a moment, then Paul's shivering again, this time from the cold draft when the sheets are abruptly kicked down and he's dragged off the bed with Hugh's hand in his.
"Come on," Hugh tugs him into the bathroom, "we can brush our teeth too."
There's an emphasis on the last words that Paul doesn't quite catch.
"Hmm?"
"Unless you're going to let me kiss you without it."
The quiet snort of laughter as he turns to use the facilities trails off, and he pauses with his hands on the waistband of his pajama pants.
"Are you planning on watching me?"
That earns him an eyeroll that doesn't distract from the way Hugh scratches at his neck just under his right ear, and he smirks at the wall before continuing where he left off.
"It's not like I haven't seen it before," Hugh's voice drifts over from the sink once he's done.
"True," Paul tucks himself back in and goes to wash his hands, "not the most alluring thing I could be doing with it."
Their eyes meet in the mirror, and he smiles around his toothbrush but doesn't say anything until they're rinsed and done.
"What?"
"You know," he boosts himself up to sit on the edge of the counter, "I always wondered why we picked the sides of the sink where our elbows are going to bump into each other."
Hugh shrugs, and the thought is completely forgotten when he squeezes Paul's knee, eyebrows raised in silent question. Paul responds by spreading his knees enough for Hugh's hips to fit between his thighs, hands coming to rest on his waist as he does.
"Hi."
"Hi yourself."
He's mesmerized by the breadth of Hugh's shoulders and the flex of his biceps under the thin fabric of the shirt sleeves as he closes the last of the distance between them and Paul's eyes flutter shut without any prompting. Hugh tastes minty and fresh, and Paul loses himself in the kiss, breathing him in as their lips meet again and again. They're both smiling, he can feel it in the way his nose bumps against Hugh's cheek, and when they break apart it's only to bury their faces in each other's neck with a fierce embrace.
For the first time in a very long time, Paul feels right again.
Notes:
Actually, I think the scratching under the right ear is Wilson's tell that he just carried over into Hugh for That One Scene With Georgiou™.
This wasn't supposed to be anything longer than a short snippet ending after Hugh says, "I used to dream about this." Then the plot demanded I keep going. I waffled between leaving this as a standalone or working it into one of the last chapters of When Sorrow Turns to Joy, but couldn't wait to post. It still might end up slightly altered to fit that story :)
Chapter 257: Stroke
Notes:
Throwback to S3E2. I was re-watching the Season Three extras and my heart melted yet again for this moment.
Chapter Text
“It’s good to have you back.”
The moment the words leaving his mouth register, Paul could kick himself for the inane statement. ‘Good’ is finishing reports before 2200 or a hot shower after a long day, mundane things that have nothing on waking up from what he half-assumed would be a fatal wound to find the love of his life smiling down at him. There aren’t words to describe the joy slowly penetrating the thick haze that’s filled his head since opening his eyes, the nearly forgotten thrill of Hugh verbally poking at him.
”It’s good to have you alive.”
Anything he might have said next is lost as Hugh bends down and kisses him. For one perfect moment, the pain in his chest and throbbing in his head vanish completely, the anguish of the last few months wiped clean at the touch of Hugh’s lips. It’s as gentle but firm as he could have dreamed - had dreamed of - sweet and chaste and loving.
Loving.
The air smells like burnt electrical wiring, medical disinfectant, and sweat. Underneath it all though, there’s a hint of citrus and spicy musk that spreads itself like a balm over the broken wreck of his heart. He breathes Hugh in greedily-
“Owww.”
Tries to, at any rate, because the attempt at a deep inhale tugs at something in his chest that the neural blocker doesn’t manage to hide. Hugh’s eyes snap back from the controls to his face, then flick to the screen again.
”Easy,” he murmurs, stroking Paul’s temple again, “you’re still going to be sore for a while.”
He can’t really move while the regenerator is running, but manages to turn into the touch, although he stops short of nuzzling Hugh’s hand. Hugh’s sleeves are liberally spattered with blood almost up to the biceps, and he idly wonders if the amount soaking his cuffs will come out with a refresher or if the whole uniform will just have to be recycled.
”Hugh!”
Tracy’s yell carries across the corridor, and Paul very, very reluctantly admits to himself that there are others who need Hugh more than he does right now. He sighs, squirming as what feels like his left lung starts to itch.
”Go on.”
He can see Doctor Culber nudging Hugh aside, manages to dredge up a hint of a smile that reminds the muscles of his face what happiness feels like. Hugh nods, thumbing at Paul’s temple one more time before withdrawing his hand.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he holsters the scanner at his thigh, “don’t go anywhere.”
It’s said lightly, in the same tone of voice as before, but he can hear the slight wobble to it.
”I promise.”
Paul means so much more than staying put - honestly, scar or no, Discovery will need him as soon as he can - and Hugh must hear it, because he gifts Paul with a smile that feels like being bathed in sunlight. Then he bends down for another brief kiss before straightening and dashing back into the main medbay.
Try as he might, Paul can’t keep him in sight at the angle he’s stuck in the chamber. He ends up closing his eyes, picking up snippets of Hugh and Tracy between the cacophony of alarms and pained cries and ominous creaking of the ship. It’s enough, though, to be left with the taste of Hugh on his lips and a third chance that he’s not going to screw up. Not this time.
Sighing, he lets the cool blue him of the machine lull him down into the sleep of the exhausted.
He still loves me.
Chapter 258: Stroke, Part Two
Notes:
Follows on from the previous chapter, Hugh’s POV.
Chapter Text
Walking away from Paul this time isn’t the most difficult thing Hugh’s done in the last twenty-four hours, but it’s not easy either. His oath compels him when there are other lives that need saving still, so he takes a deep breath and pulls his physician’s face back on between one blink and the next.
He’s safe now.
It wasn’t a foregone conclusion that Paul would take him back, after all, not after how much Hugh had already hurt him. The smile he’d given him as he slipped under sedation had bolstered his hope, but there’d been too much blood to think on that while he was repairing Paul’s beating heart. He appreciates the symbolism in it, and wonders if the cosmos has a sense of humor after all.
No, he hadn’t been sure, not until the sarcastic challenge in retort to Paul’s ill-advised attempt to stand was out of his mouth as natural as breathing.
Not until he’d cradled his too-pale body in his arms to expedite the trip across the corridor and felt Paul’s breath warm on his neck.
Not until he heard Paul’s plaintive “Are you punishing me?” in that tone of voice that spoke of years of knowing each other.
Until he’d felt a spark of elation when their lips met, when they angled their heads without thinking to avoid bumping noses and Paul’s eyelashes fluttered over the freckles on his cheeks.
The taste of Paul’s kiss is sweet on his lips as he turns to leave, his beautiful stormy-sea eyes telling Hugh more than words ever could. As he pulls on a fresh pair of gloves and Doctor Culber prepares to deal with yet another shrapnel wound, Hugh can hear his grandmother saying “you belong to each other”.
Si, Abuela.
Chapter 259: Satellite
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Dr. Hugh Culber is popular at conferences with a wide network of friends and colleagues coming together from across hundreds of light years for a colloquium. He’s already been on a couple of panels, and finished giving his talk on a new microsurgical technique for grafting biomimetic augments just a half hour ago. In the corridor, he’s surrounded by a group vying for his attention with questions about instrument calibration and eager to discuss biocompatibility, and he does his best to engage with everyone as they make their way to one of the ballrooms for an evening reception.
It’s not until his second drink that most of his fellow physicians disperse, curiosity satisfied or otherwise planning to correspond on some point or another. A few still linger, apparently reticent to approach him in front of so many others but courage buoyed by the crowd thinning. Hugh guides them to a table, patiently answering their questions and offering advice to those earlier in their careers. Eventually, one by one they rise and depart with thanks, until only three remain.
Like satellites in orbit, Paul thinks, observing from a quiet spot hidden by one of the decorative pillars, they’re drawn to him.
He’s nursing a glass of whiskey, empty plate abandoned on a nearby table. The canapés were delicious - one of the advantages of holding a conference at Starfleet Medical and catering from San Francisco - and he idly wonders if he ought to procure dessert or wait for Hugh to finish.
Has it been an hour and a half already?
Watching Hugh interact with other doctors is a pleasure all its own, particularly when he’s in mentoring mode. Paul’s long imagined their retirement together, teaching at the Academy and ‘fleet Medical, and the thought brings a smile to his face even as he shifts uncomfortably from one tired foot to the other. Hugh may have the patience of a saint when it comes to conferences and the endless rounds of socialization, but Paul’s more than ready for his partner’s undivided attention.
He examines the three remaining at Hugh’s table - a Vulcan and two humans - and can’t suppress a smirk at what he sees. The Vulcan is clearly interested in Hugh’s professional advice (discreetly taking notes on a PADD as he nods), but the two others seem to have other things on their minds. A man and a woman, probably in their late twenties, obviously well-acquainted by the way they lean their heads together. The man is giving Paul’s partner increasingly longer appreciative glances while Hugh engages their colleague, and he notices that the woman is doing her best to touch Hugh’s arm in conversation.
Are they both trying to pick him up?
Sore feet forgotten, Paul makes his way from one pillar to the next until he’s within three meters of the table, as yet unnoticed behind a large potted fern. As he leans on the cool marble, the Vulcan stands and inclines his head politely before moving off and leaving Hugh with the other two.
This is going to be good.
He has to stifle a snort when the woman offers to buy Hugh a drink later - as if they weren’t in the middle of a full-host reception - and makes a comment about changing out of their uniforms for dinner at the old Presidio yacht club.
“...Doctor Culber, have you seen the Bay from their back deck?”
“Mmm. Yes, years ago, while I was still in med school. It’s quite lovely when the fog comes in.”
”We’d love for you to join us,” the man pipes in, spreading his knees a little wider in a move too casual to be anything but deliberate.
”Ahh, I’m afraid I already have dinner plans,” Hugh smiles, “but I appreciate the invitation.”
”Tomorrow evening, then?”
Paul has to give them credit for persistence. He can’t see the woman’s face from where he’s standing, but the way Hugh’s smile widens fractionally tells him that she must have reacted.
”I’m afraid I’m fully booked outside the conference sessions, unfortunately.”
As Paul snickers into his hand, Hugh raises his glass to drain it. Both of the others are too busy staring at various parts of his anatomy to notice the unsubtle wink that accompanies the action.
“What about a late drink? You could tell us more about how you handle the equipment? Your hands must be very steady.”
Hugh lifts one off his lap to inspect it.
”My partner does say so.”
The implication sails right over their heads.
”Oh? You mean your co-author on the last paper, Doctor...Pollard?”
Paul probably shouldn’t be surprised that they’ve done their research.
“Ahh, no. Doctor Stamets.”
”Have you worked together for a long time?”
”Been together twelve years, actually. He’s brilliant, really.”
The woman seems to be rapidly trying to touch-type a query into her PADD under the table while Hugh is talking.
“Umm, I don’t think we’ve met him yet. Is he also a surgeon?”
“No, he’s an astromycologist.”
Two blank stares. Then-
”...fungal science in space?”
“How does that tie in to your work?”
“Oh, it doesn’t.”
Hugh crosses his legs, clearly waiting for that to sink in.
”But then how is he your- oh. Your partner?”
“Mmhmm.”
The woman elbows the man in the ribs, and he blinks a few times before starting to redden.
”I do appreciate the offer,” Hugh repeats evenly, “but as you see, I’m unavailable for...dinner.”
Paul’s too busy trying not to laugh to hear whatever it is they stammer as they excuse themselves, but it’s a moot point when a pair of strong arms twine around his waist.
“Hi there, handsome. Can I interest you in dinner?”
”I don’t know,” Paul frowns, “I’m sure I heard you say that you’re permanently unavailable.”
He feels Hugh’s chuckle against his back as much as he hears it breathed in his ear.
”Well, you haven’t heard what’s on the menu yet. You might change your mind after that.”
”Go on.”
”Going back up to our room, ordering room service, and cuddling until we fall asleep,” Hugh nibbles his earlobe, “then maybe we can have shower sex in the morning?”
Paul squirms around in the circle of his arms until they’re face to face, Hugh’s eyes dancing with affectionate mischief.
“Oh. Well in that case...I accept your invitation to dinner, Doctor Culber.”
Grinning, Hugh gestures at the door on the far end of the ballroom.
”After you, Doctor Stamets.”
The others might be satellites, Paul decides, but Hugh makes me feel like the sun.
Notes:
100% random, I have no idea where this came from.
Chapter 260: Stream
Chapter Text
Adira watches Paul and Hugh.
From their perch next to Gray on a large bough three meters up an enormous tree, it’s easy to see them both along with the others as they explore the secluded valley. Reno has her pant legs rolled up, wading into an ornamental stream with boots held carelessly in one hand and “accidentally” splashing the others every time she walks by. On the other bank, Doctor Pollard is leaning against a boulder and seems to be enjoying the humid afternoon, occasionally calling a comment across.
It’s idyllic here, and Adira feels a deep sense of peace suffusing their body. Tal is happy to be home on Trill, replaying memories for Adira of the planet over the centuries. They’re thankful for it, but think their own memories of this visit will be just as significant.
To anyone who doesn’t know better, Paul and Hugh would appear to be arguing about one of the blooming plants, full of dramatic eyerolls and hand gestures. Their volume hasn’t increased, but Adira can hear their bickering continue as Hugh points to one of the flowers and pokes Paul in the chest. The back-and-forth is happening at an amazing speed, honestly, because they can barely keep up even as the two of them seem to have an endless supply of sarcasm. (Gray snorts when Paul tells Hugh that the plant has broader shoulders than he does.)
They’re wondering if the two of them will run out of steam before Reno makes her way back from the waterfall when Paul throws his hands into the air and ostentatiously stomps off. He gets less than a half dozen steps before Hugh snags his sleeve, and Adira has to lean forward a little because the sun is making it hard to see their faces. Paul’s wearing a petulant frown that Adira can’t help but laugh at, especially when Hugh reels him into a hug and he pretends to protest.
Eventually, they settle on a patch of grass a companionable distance apart, holding hands. It’s a simple thing, but Adira pays close attention to how their fingers lace together. The conversation seems to be continuing in a series of taps and squeezes as they sit silently staring at the waterfall, and Adira thinks they can almost discern a pattern. They’ve seen Hugh squeeze Paul’s arm to get his attention - the location seemingly communicating whether it’s an urgent or casual matter - or brush the backs of their hands together while walking, but Adira doesn’t know where to begin with translation.
Then Hugh smiles, raising Paul’s hand to his lips to kiss each knuckle, and Adira looks away when Paul’s response is to nuzzle into Hugh’s neck.
”Aww, are you embarrassed?”
”No,” they turn to find Gray watching them with amusement, “it just feels...private.”
Gray makes a thoughtful noise that turns into a laugh when Doctor Pollard - with either extremely accurate or extremely luck aim - bounces a knotted-up piece of vine off Hugh’s knee as the nuzzling becomes enthusiastic kissing.
”Oh, gross,” Reno’s voice carries from eight meters downstream, “Doc, can you give Stamets his physical somewhere else?”
”You don’t have to watch,” Paul calls back.
Reno says something that Adira doesn’t quite catch, and it makes Hugh shake with laughter and Paul redden. Then she turns and splashes off again, muttering to herself. The others can’t see it, but Adira has a perfect view of her expression. It’s self-satisfied and wistful with just a hint of sadness. As they watch, it morphs into a small but unmistakable smile.
Yes, Adira is definitely going to remember today.
Chapter 261: Salty
Notes:
Title suggested by the delightful Snorlax_on_USS_Discovery. Thank you!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It's not an oral fixation, Hugh maintains, as much as an everything-Paul one. Sight, smell, sound, and touch are all happily catalogued and revisited, and since he does enjoy putting things in his mouth, it only makes sense to include taste as well.
"Delicious," he declares after nibbling an earlobe.
"Yuck," he wipes his mouth on a sleeve cuff, gesturing at the smear of coolant on Paul's cheek.
"Soapy," he grumbles, pouting when Paul laughs and nudges him aside to finish rinsing the suds off his chest.
"Sweet," he chuckles after sucking a now-clean finger, nodding eagerly at the offer to feed him another bite of dessert.
"Tasty," he grins an hour later, licking his lips and swallowing while Paul moans and squirms.
"Salty," he pronounces with great satisfaction, gently biting the back of Paul's neck during their post-coital cuddle.
"Perfect," he sighs when their lips meet for a goodnight kiss and they snuggle close to sleep.
Notes:
Can you really blame Hugh? :D
Chapter 262: Shaken
Summary:
Early in Season Three, Hugh wakes up in the middle of the night.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Something tugs at him, pulls him from sleep. He doesn't fight it, comes willingly but confused, opening his eyes to darkness.
What...?
Hugh blinks the slumber from his eyes, groaning quietly and pulling his face out of the pillow. Their quarters are silent, nothing but the barely-perceptible hum of Discovery's systems in the background. On the other side of the bed, Paul mumbles something and Hugh smiles, rolling his eyes just a little.
Still a restless sleeper, he thinks with affectionate annoyance, some things never change.
He rolls the rest of the way over, settling in on his side and reaching for Paul to pull him closer and hopefully quiet the discontent.
"Shh-
"...no, no, Hugh..."
Frowning, he pushes up on an elbow, leaning over to try and see his partner's face.
"Paul-"
"NO!"
Paul goes rigid in his arms, head snapping back and nearly colliding with the bridge of Hugh's nose as he shoves him away. The cry cuts off with a horrible gasping sob, drawing his elbows and knees up towards his chest and curling in on himself. He shakes violently, a leaf caught in the wind as Hugh struggles to untangle himself from the covers. It's a lost cause, and he finally kicks them away before climbing off the end of the bed and dropping to his knees on the floor on Paul's side.
"Sweetheart?"
No response, just gut-wrenching sobs. He stares blindly ahead, no sense of recognition in his eyes. The reflected starlight turns them a milky platinum, and Hugh has to shake off the memory of Paul's time trapped in the network.
He can't hear you.
Hugh reaches out, laying a tentative hand on Paul's shoulder, careful not to spook him.
"Sweetheart," he tries again, "you're dreaming. I need you to wake up."
Paul hasn't shrugged him off yet, so he moves even closer, smoothing the sweat-soaked hair away from his forehead. The skin beneath his fingers is clammy, and he's about to retrieve the sheet when his hand is caught in a vise grip.
"Paul?"
The haze clears, and for a moment Paul's eyes are filled with so much anguished loss that Hugh can't breathe.
"...H-Hugh?"
"That's right, it's me," he uses his most soothing voice, unsure if Paul's actually awake, "you're safe, it was just a dream. You- oooph!"
He rocks back on his heels as Paul throws himself at him, tumbling off the bed and onto the floor. The corner of the nightstand digs into his bicep in passing, then his back hits the wall hard enough that he's probably going to have a bruise. None of it matters though, not when Paul has both arms wound around his neck, clinging to him desperately.
"Paul? Love, it's...shhh, it's all right."
"...you were- oh god, you were dead," Paul sobs into his collarbone, fingers clutching the fabric of his pajama top, "you were gone, and I- I..."
Oh.
Hugh's always loved that they're mostly the same size, but at the moment it means that it requires all of his not-inconsiderable strength to unfold his legs where they're bent awkwardly underneath them both and shift Paul's weight until he's in Hugh's lap and not chilly deck plates.
"I'm here, sweetheart. Shh, it's okay, I'm right here. You found me, Paul, you saved me. I'm not leaving you ever again, I promise."
He kisses a sweaty temple, then presses his cheek to the top of Paul's head and squeezes just as fiercely in return as he murmurs quiet words of comfort until his shuddering inhales turn into the occasional shiver.
"I love you, you're safe. It was just a dream, love. Just a dream."
Eventually, the man in his arms stirs. Hugh's backside has long since gone numb, protesting the long stay on the floor, but he ignores it and guides them both back onto the edge of the bed before gently detaching himself from Paul and going to the synthesizer for a glass of water. When he returns, the blank stare is back but Paul accepts the glass without protest, and Hugh watches with concern while he drains it. Then he coaxes him out of the sweaty pajamas, quickly shedding his own and wrapping them both in the duvet
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He's careful to keep his tone gentle, encouraging without demanding.
Tears are still caught on Paul's lashes, reflecting tiny pinpoints of light. His face is blotched pink and puffy from the tears, lips bitten red as he draws in a shaky breath.
He's so beautiful.
"...you...I dreamed I woke up, and you-" Paul shivers violently, "you were gone. That finding you...wasn't real."
Hugh's heart breaks for how small Paul's voice is, the remembered pain.
"Oh, sweetheart."
He cradles Paul's face between his palms, presses a firm kiss to his lips before kissing away the salty dampness on his cheeks.
"I missed you so much," Paul whispers.
"I'm here now. And I love you."
Paul sniffles, nodding, and the quivering of his mouth turns upwards into a tiny smile.
"I love you too."
"Do you want to talk more?"
A head shake.
"Not right now."
Hugh sighs, knowing there's still too many things to deal with but also that now isn't the right time.
"Okay. Do you want me to hold you?"
That earns him a look that's so familiar he can't help but smile in response.
"Obviously."
He rolls onto his back, bringing Paul with him until he's snuggled into Hugh's side, head resting on his chest and legs intertwined. Hugh's not sure he'll be able to sleep again quite yet, but there's no sense in telling Paul that. Instead, he hums a few notes and starts to sing very softly, an old lullaby his grandmother used soothe him back to sleep when he'd had a nightmare as a child. It's simple, just a few lines repeated over and over, hand rubbing circles on Paul's back until the last of the tension leaves him and Hugh hears a quiet snore.
Sleep, my love, he thinks, I'll watch over you.
Notes:
I was re-watching "Forget Me Not", and the moment where Adira tells Gray "I missed you so much" broke me all over again. Paul having nightmares seems to be a recurring theme in my work, but it's such a powerful visual that I had to write this.
Chapter 263: Shaken, Part Two
Notes:
Follows on from the previous chapter, Paul's POV.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The sweat on his skin has dried and he's no longer shivering, held safe against Hugh's body. Paul focuses on the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the regular thrum of the heartbeat against his cheek, to soften the raw edges of his nerves. He lingers on the threshold of sleep, breath hitching annoyingly in his stuffy nose. It's less of a problem in itself than the fact that it's preventing him from surrounding himself in Hugh's comforting scent. Licking his lips, he cracks open an eye and wonders if he ought to bother Hugh with it - he can't taste him, either - because he needs to immerse himself in the knowledge that his partner is alive and well and holding him like he's the most precious thing in the universe.
Hugh's still singing, words weaving a spell around him that's both gentle and a little sad. He recognizes it as Aida's lullaby, the one he heard when they sat vigil with Hugh for the last time before one of the worst days of his life.
("He loved you so much," Aida's voice is raw but firm, "remember that, Paul."
"Aida..."
"You will always have a place in my home," she continues, glancing over at Tracy curled up with her head resting on the edge of the bier, "both of you." )
Rather than the dagger of remembered grief that usually pierces his heart at the memory, he thinks about connection and bringing a part of Hugh's beloved grandmother to the future with them, kept alive nearly a millennium later. Paul wonders how she could know that they would find each other again, shakes his head at the notion that Aida could ever be wrong about anything and then immediately freezes when Hugh's singing trails off.
"Sweetheart?"
Damn.
"...yeah."
"I thought you were asleep?"
He shifts enough to see Hugh's face, careful not to relinquish a single square centimeter of contact between them. It strains his neck though, and his frustrated huff is followed by the feeling of his world tipping as Hugh smoothly rolls them until he's on top of Paul, elbows planted to either side of his shoulders. Hugh's back is broad and warm beneath his palms, and he can feel him flexing just a little - not in a display of strength, but of shelter.
That wordless understanding, the certain knowledge of what Paul wants and needs...he's had a taste of living without it, and it's not something he thinks he could survive again.
"I can't breathe."
A moment later, Hugh starts to lift himself off, and Paul tightens his legs.
"Not like that. Stay. Please?"
A raised eyebrow in question.
"I meant..." Paul closes his eyes, inhaling noisily, "I can't smell you like this."
Anyone else would probably stare at him strangely, but because it's Hugh, he just nods.
"We could go to the shower, let the steam...?"
That would require moving, which, stuffy nose or not, is at the bottom of his list of acceptable actions.
"I'll be fine."
The corner of Hugh's mouth twitches upwards.
"I could get some horseradish to clear your sinuses."
While he appreciates the attempt at humor, it's not what he needs right now.
"I just...indulge me? I need to feel you. Please."
"Always."
He tips his chin up and is immediately met with a kiss. It's sweet and soft, and Hugh makes a quiet noise of contentment when it deepens. Paul licks his way into Hugh's mouth, chaste but insistent as he chases the elusive taste of Hugh's tongue. The kiss doesn't end, nor does he comment when Paul wraps both legs around his hips and particular parts of their anatomy are now squished together. Instead, he settles more heavily on top of him and starts a rocking that has nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with creating a different kind of friction that counters any doubt in Paul's mind that Hugh is very much here and alive.
Alive.
They're breathing heavily, hands roaming and tugging at hair, scratching at each other's skin until the sensations drown out any other thoughts and he's firmly present in this moment. Hugh nips Paul's lower lip hard enough to sting, and he suppresses a giggle as it seems to place another brick in the wall between him and the fear of loss that's been trailing him when he closes his eyes at night. He does laugh when Hugh tears his mouth away and actually bites him, working a mark into the the place where neck meets shoulder. Mine, Hugh seems to be saying with it, lets out a satisfied cry of his own when Paul returns the favor on his throat.
"I love you," he gasps, "I love you, Hugh."
"I love you too, sweetheart. I'm here."
Me too.
Notes:
Life-affirming, non-sexual aggressive cuddling? Oh yes.
Chapter 264: Sanction
Chapter Text
”No.”
”Why not?”
”Because…because.”
“Was that gesture supposed to mean something?”
”Ha ha.”
”So…”
”No.”
”That’s not a reason.”
”But- I…I don’t have to give a reason. For any of it. It just…no.”
”Ughhhh. Fine.”
”Where are you going?”
“To ask Hugh.”
”Yo- wait, Adira!”
Notes:
Teenager-parent standoff, anyone? I leave it to you to decide what SpaceDad!Paul is being a stick in the mud about.
Chapter 265: Sloppy
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Some of Hugh’s habits drive Paul to distraction, and not in the good way.
In fifteen years, he apparently still hasn’t figured out how to use a towel rack, preferring to drop it in the corner or leave it in the center of the floor for Paul to step on. The towel is bad enough, but the wet socks afterwards are the worst. There’s also a perfectly logical place for their boots next to the door, but he manages to forget about that too.
He’s annoyingly cheerful and coherent in the morning, far too awake before Paul’s brain begrudgingly starts to work after the first cup of coffee. And Hugh likes to talk during holonovels without pausing them first, offering his opinion on plot points or mentioning something it reminds him of right on over character dialogue.
Hugh squeezes the tube of toothpaste in the center, leaving an unsightly dent for Paul to grab instead of neatly rolling from one end. They’ve been over it enough times that he should have figured it out by now.
(“It’s more efficient and less wasteful that way.”
“It’s toothpaste, babe.”
“That’s not the point.)
And Hugh is just so messy, the complete opposite of Dr. Culber’s neat efficiency. He leaves his opera solids out on the coffee table, the wardrobe door half open, and seems to delight in the clutter on his nightstand, even when it means he topples a precarious stack of PADDs reaching for his water glass.
Paul wonders sometimes if Hugh deliberately kicks the covers until they’re untucked at the bottom and pulls them up unevenly. Once Paul’s sighed loudly and gotten up to straighten them, he also steals said covers and sprawls over the middle of the bed.
Actually, he’s fairly certain the first one is true.
It’s a good thing he’s so handsome and charming and thoughtful, so loving that Paul can’t ever stay annoyed for long when Hugh gives him that special smile or snuggles up to him in bed. It’s always forgiven…
…at least until Paul leans on the counter to brush his teeth the next morning and soaks the front of his pajama pants on the washcloth carelessly flung over the edge.
Notes:
We’ve passed 30k views! Thank you all so much <3, you are amazing :)
Chapter 266: Surround
Notes:
Set some time in Season Three post-"Terra Firma".
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Another dining table set in the Captain's ready room, full of favorite foods with not an inch of space to spare.
Another dining table surrounded by the bridge crew plus Paul and Hugh, minus Nhan and Georgiou.
Another dinner table fallen silent as Saru calls for a toast, and they raise their glasses in celebration of togetherness.
Just the same, and yet so different.
****
This time, the clink of utensils on the plates is a pleasant counterpoint to the sound of many voices.
This time, those voices are raised in unforced conversation, not dangerously brittle tension.
This time, when Paul reaches across the table to take the last chocolate eclair, Tilly smacks him on the knuckles with her spoon and he laughs at the expression of surprise on Saru's face.
****
Hugh's right hand starts the meal resting on the back of Paul's chair, but slowly migrates first to his lower back, then to his thigh where Paul is free to hold it without knowing looks from any of their dinner companions.
Hugh's smile is wide as he tells a story from his time with Tracy in med school, embellishing it only slightly to the delight of the others.
Hugh's smile is small as he glances at Paul while they're sipping espresso, a light in his eyes that says more than words ever could.
****
"Goodnight, Captain," Paul bids Saru as they stand to leave.
"See you at oh-eight-thirty for Adira's new simulations," Paul calls after Tilly as she exits the turbolift.
"Take me to bed," Paul whispers to Hugh as the doors to their quarters swish open.
****
They make love with the stars as their only witness, slow and sweet.
They make love with laughter when Paul slips and nearly falls off the bed.
They make love with the joy of the here and now, and the future to come.
Notes:
I wrote this snippet just for Paul to ask Hugh to "take me to bed." I also regret nothing.
Chapter 267: Solitude
Notes:
I was in the shower and the phrase "tell me about loss" jumped into my head, and I immediately knew I had to write something heartbreaking with it.
Angst with a happy ending.
Chapter Text
"Tell me about loss," the therapist asks evenly, "describe it to me."
"Everyone knows what it means."
"Tell me what it means to you. Pretend I'm from a species who doesn't understand emotions, asking you how it feels."
Paul sighs.
"Loss...is emptiness."
The therapist gestures for him to continue.
"It's like a part of yourself is missing. Gone."
He stands and turns to face the windows, staring out at the Golden Gate in the distance. Paul can see the man seated on the couch in the corner of his eye, not pressing, but waiting patiently. Something inside him twists at the unpatronizing compassion, splits itself open as words tumble from his lips.
"It's waking up alone," he continues, focusing on the barest hint of his reflection in the glass, overlaying the grounds of Starfleet Academy, "it's brushing your teeth and not looking in the mirror because you can't...because he's not there. It's waking up every day hoping it was all a horrible dream only to realize that you're living the nightmare. It's not being able to drink a latte because he didn't bring it to you in bed."
Paul clenches his fingers, nails digging into his palms.
"It's finding out that he was going to propose with his grandfather's wedding ring, was going to ask you to marry him even though you already promised to spend the rest of your lives together, because he wanted to be your husband."
A bitter laugh forces its way out of his throat, a spike of anger lancing through his chest.
"It's every person looking at you with pity, saying how sorry they are. Talking about him, as if they could poss-" he swallows convulsively, "as if they were the one who loved him. It's every damn place I look, Counselor, what else do you want me to say?"
A pause.
Footsteps, a presence approaching and stopping respectfully outside of his personal space.
"Tell me about love."
The questions are too personal, too distant, too kind, and too harsh. He understands now why Tracy practically begged him to make an appointment, all the more reason he should have refused. The sharp anger drains out of him abruptly, leaving him emptier than before.
"Love is...it's-" Paul closes his eyes, trying to will back the sting of tears and failing.
"Tell me," comes the request after several minutes have passed, "tell me what it means to you."
Paul opens his eyes and faces him, chin tipped up even though he knows it's an obvious sign of defensiveness.
"It doesn't matter now."
"I think you know it does."
He can't do this. He's not strong enough to be this vulnerable, not when he already knows how broken he is inside. Tracy is probably going to comm him as soon as she finds out he's walked out on his counseling session, but he can't stay. Spinning on his heel, he heads for the door.
"Commander Stamets-"
A voice that sounds too much like Hugh's reminds him that the man hasn't done anything to earn his ire.
Nothing besides trying to help.
"Are we done here?"
His words are clipped, and he hates how his voice wavers.
"You're done with this," the therapist replies, and Paul can hear the subtle emphasis on the first word.
"I've passed all the psych tests."
"Completely," he raises an eyebrow, telling Paul without words that they both know that being mentally stable doesn't mean he's fine.
"I'm fit for duty."
"Commander," the counselor says gently, "you'll never be able to move past it if you can't face your grief."
Paul smiles at him, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
"Yes. I know."
****
Paul buries his face in Hugh's pillow, breathing in what remains of his comforting scent. The bed is cold without him, too big and too soft. He can't sleep like this, no matter how much he tries. Too many weeks and months alone, of working to exhaustion until he can't do anything besides slip into blessed unconsciousness the moment he's horizontal, of only seeing one toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet.
It's unbearable.
Swish.
"Sorry babe, things ran ove-" Hugh stops just across the threshold, frowning in the low light. "Sweetheart? Is something wrong?"
Love is Hugh.
Shaking his head, Paul smiles.
"Not anymore."
Chapter 268: Spine
Summary:
Paul’s not the only one who delights in his partner’s body.
Chapter Text
There’s a scattering of freckles over Paul’s left shoulder, places where the sun kissed his creamy skin. Hugh lays a kiss of his own on top of them, just in case he needs to strengthen his claim.
The short hairs at the nape of his neck are feathery-soft, tickling the nose that tries to nuzzle them. Hugh does it anyway, because it makes Paul squirm.
In the dip of Paul’s spine, he finds a few thin lines, nearly faded away with time in the years since they appeared. Hugh traces the silvery scars with the tip of his tongue, tasting the humid air of their love play on a rocky riverbank on Deneva.
”Are you enjoying yourself back there?”
Paul’s amused voice rumbles beneath him, full of indulgent affection.
”Yes.”
”Okay. Just checking.”
”I thought you were asleep.”
A hand frees itself from under the pillow and reaches back with unerring aim to pinch Hugh’s nipple.
”I was trying, but someone keeps licking me.”
Oh.
Hmm.
”Sorry?” he offers, well aware that his tone implies the exact opposite.
Paul pushes up on his elbows, dislodging Hugh from his back. He grumbles in protest, only mollified when he’s tugged down for a proper kiss.
“Much better.”
When the kiss ends, Paul rolls over onto his stomach again, head turned towards Hugh on the pillow with an expectant look.
”Hmmm?”
”Feel free to keep going.”
Hugh chuckles, settling half on top of him and burying his nose against the side of Paul’s neck.
”Okay.”
Chapter 269: Something (Else)
Summary:
Paul's visiting Hugh at Starfleet Medical, and T'Vala has more questions about human behavior.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Tracy."
"Mmm," Tracy glances up from the molecular analysis results, "what is it, T'Vala?"
Her Vulcan colleague has the slightest of frowns. Tracy runs through a mental list of potential causes: they're still trying to determine the structure of the virus she's currently examining, new standards for critical care are expected to be released in the coming week, and-
"It pertains to Hugh."
Ahh.
"What's he done this time?"
T'Vala tilts her head and blinks once.
"I would assume that is a rhetorical question?"
Shrugging, Tracy tosses the results from her PADD up to float over the console. The holoprojection bathes T'Vala's face in cool blue light as she studies the slowly rotating image.
"More or less."
"Indeed. I have a question regarding human behavior, but in light of past experience, have determined that it would be best to explore potential explanations prior to engaging in a discussion with Hugh."
Tracy groans.
"Please tell me you didn't walk in on him and Paul again."
One eyebrow rises fractionally.
"I have not inadvertently witnessed their 'intimate activities' recently."
"Well, that's a relief. All right, what is it?"
"Humans and other species lacking endogenous telepathic abilities whose presence would preclude the action, engage in physical contact on a regular basis. This varies in degree by situation and individual. In the twelve point-seven-nine years since our first meeting, Hugh has remained respectful of what you term 'personal space' and displays admirable professional behavior when on duty. However, even accounting for prolonged distance, he and Paul engage in physical contact at a significantly higher than average rate. I have reviewed the literature, but cannot draw a firm conclusion as to the cause of this, particularly as it is my understanding that bonded pairs' needs have an inversely proportional relationship with time."
The longer T'Vala speaks, the more difficulty Tracy has suppressing her smile.
"Humans delight in not conforming to expectations. Beyond that though, Hugh and Paul are..." she waves a hand, searching for the right word, "something else. Hugh is a tactile person, T'Vala. The more he likes someone, the more likely he is to initiate casual contact."
T'Vala's eyebrow climbs higher.
"I am aware that humans require contact to associate a sense of connection with others. Yet, does their bond not provide a sense of contact regardless of distance?"
"What?"
"The level of awareness produced by their bond would surely have a positive effect in this instance."
"...I'm not sure how to answer that. Hugh's not even psi-sensitive, is he?"
The holodisplay pauses, highlighting a sequence of RNA. Tracy zooms in on it, humming thoughtfully.
"Is that relevant to the matter?"
"You said 'bond'."
She's looking at Tracy with a micro-expression that suggests her question is illogical.
"Affirmative."
"I don't follow."
T'Vala's eyes widen enough to convey surprise.
"You are unaware of its presence?"
"Apparently."
"How do you perceive their connection?"
"T'Vala, I would say they love each other very much, but...?"
"Fascinating. I have often heard the term 'love' described as an interaction of mutual respect, attraction, and harmonious thought processes."
"Well," Tracy's smile is wry, "that too. With Paul, well, it's Paul. It's worse after they're separated for a while, but I think they'd still be like this if that wasn't the case."
"It would seem-"
Swish.
The doors part to admit Hugh, followed closely by Paul. Tracy does her best to really look at them, beyond Hugh's familiar presence, taking in the way his hand hovers at the small of Paul's back, how their bodies are angled towards each other even when they're not touching.
Huh.
"Trace, how's the-"
Hugh's eyes narrow.
"Did I miss something?"
T'Vala is suddenly engrossed in the holoprojection, and Tracy sighs. Paul's frowning at the model as well, stepping away from Hugh to study it more closely. The discussion is apparently over for now, but she's definitely going to pick it back up once Hugh is off shift.
For now, she shrugs.
"You and me both."
Notes:
Random thought grew into this. Oops? It's a bit disjointed, but I needed to get the idea out. The chemistry Anthony and Wilson bring to Paul and Hugh is palpable, and it makes for such a rich source for stories.
Chapter 270: Shock
Chapter Text
Blood. So much blood, soaking the tatters of his uniform and turning the navy blue to black. So much of Paul’s blood everywhere, gloved hands slippery with it.
The ship rocks around them, but Hugh ignores it, singleminded focus on trying to patch up the hole in Paul’s chest because they’re out of stasis pods and he refuses to entertain the thought of losing him again. He reaches for a deep tissue regen, flicks it on and mutters a curse when there’s barely enough charge to heal a skinned knee. Curses louder when the second and third he grabs are the same, looking up as the alarm on the biobed gets his attention with a piercing shriek.
No.
He can barely see with the flickering lights illuminating the sea of crimson slicking his fingers as he hopes there’s enough in the transfusion pack to make up for the volume lost. There's no way he can do what needs to be done from the outside when the usual equipment isn't available. More shaking under his feet as he tears open what’s left of Paul’s jacket, uses a laser scalpel to open his chest and thrusts both hands inside.
Another alarm.
A fluttering against his fingers, irregular and terrifyingly weak. Hugh gives up with containment and carefully slips both hands around Paul’s fragile heart, calls upon two decades of professional calm to perform an emergency procedure he's done perhaps two dozen times in all those years, squeezing to force the erratic beat into some form of rhythm. He glances up at Paul’s face, pale and streaked with red from his wounds. It's far too still, expressive eyes closed and mouth gone slack.
“Come on,” he mutters, “come on, you stubborn- don’t you dare do this to me.”
All around him, people are moaning in pain and fear, and the deck is slippery with blood.
So much blood.
An explosion close enough that he can feel the pressure wave launches equipment into the air and steals the deck from beneath Hugh’s feet. He tries to brace himself against the biobed, cries out in wordless defiance and horror as his hands are wrenched away from Paul’s heart-
****
”No!”
It’s suddenly pitch black, and something is holding him down.
Paul, where’s Paul? I can’t-
Someone is gripping his wrists, and he shoves them away, barely registers hearing a grunt of pain amidst the cacophony echoing in his head.
I have to get back-
Whoever it is returns, arms around his waist as he tries to rise, tries to get away.
”Hugh!”
That’s Paul’s voice saying his name. There’s no way he could be conscious right now, and he struggles to free himself from his captor. He bucks and twists, kicking but his feet only meet empty air.
He’s falling.
Hugh hits the deck hard, eyes flying open as another body lands on his chest with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs. He tries again to get up, but knees clamp his thighs together and he can't get free. It's too dark to see anything, and he pushes against the hands holding him down.
“Let me go, I have to I have to I have to-“
"Computer, lights!"
Twin lances of pain pierce his temples as the overhead lights come on, and his panicked mind screeches to a halt. He's not in the medbay anymore, but on the carpeted floor of personal quarters, and the person panting above him...
Paul.
His eyes are wide and electric blue, blond hair tangled over his forehead as he takes a deep breath and slowly lets go of Hugh's shoulders when he goes still. Hugh is covered in sweat, realizes he's been grinding his teeth together in his struggle. He sucks in a shallow breath, then another, and another while he tries to find his voice.
"Hugh?"
The metallic smell of blood sharpens, doesn't fade away with the remnants of his dream.
"I..."
"You're awake."
It's not a question.
"I didn't- you were, I..."
He can taste it, wet on his lips, sees it smeared across Paul's nose and mouth and chin.
"Shhh, you're okay."
You did that.
"Paul?"
His voice sounds small and scared even to his own ears, but Paul simply nods.
"I'm here. You're safe, it was just a dream."
"...I'm sorry."
Paul's knees loosen their desperate grip on his legs, and he slumps back on his heels.
"Sorry? For what?"
Hugh's hand - his ungloved, clean hand - shakes as he raises it to Paul's face. It comes back red and damp, and he shudders convulsively.
"I hurt you."
"Oh," Paul shrugs awkwardly, "I should tell Rhys your aim with your elbows is improving. My fault for getting too close."
It's not an apology, and he's glad of it.
"Can you sit up?"
He nods at Paul's question, lets himself be supported as he pushes off the deck and leans his back on the bulkhead next to their bed. Paul swipes the back of his own hand across his face, scowling at the resulting mess.
"Hang on. I'm going to clean this up."
Hugh doesn't want to let him out of his sight, but he forces himself to stay calm as Paul rises stiffly and walks into the bathroom. He doesn't shut the door, and Hugh can hear the taps turning on and the rustle of fabric. It feels like an eternity of less than a minute as Hugh stares at the smear of Paul's blood on his fingers.
So much blood.
A shadow falls across him, then Paul's dropping down to kneel at his side, shirtless and bearing a towel soaked in warm water that he uses to gently scrub Hugh's hand clean. When he's done, he dabs at Hugh's face and neck, then discards the towel on the floor in a very un-Paul-like manner.
"What were you dreaming about?"
Paul's habit of failing to dissemble drives others to distraction, but Hugh appreciates it now as he always has.
"The battle with Control. In the medbay, after I put you under. Surgery."
It sounds too clean, too clinical and detached when he says it like that. Paul makes an encouraging noise, and he continues.
"Your...blood. It was- in my dream. Too much of it."
"I see."
Hugh falls silent, and Paul doesn't press for more, just tugs him up to sit on the side of the mattress. Instead of joining him though, Paul steps between his spread thighs and lifts Hugh's unresisting left hand. He kisses the palm once, then presses it to his chest where a curved pink scar cuts through the pale skin. Beneath his palm, Paul's skin is warm and he can feel the steady, strong heartbeat. Paul moves even closer until his knees are touching the bed, then wraps both of his arms around Hugh's shoulders in a fierce embrace. All traces of blood have been rinsed away, and Paul smells of clean sweat and soap. He lets his hand fall, presses his cheek to Paul's chest instead, holding on just as tightly.
They don't speak again until they're back under the covers, limbs tangled together.
"How often do you dream about...that?"
He sighs.
"I don't know? Not...not often. But sometimes."
There's a frown creasing Paul's forehead, one that means he's thinking about what he's planning to say next.
"Did I die?"
To anyone else, the blunt question might seem insensitive.
To Hugh, it's full of love and concern.
"No."
He leaves off the 'not this time', but knows Paul hears it anyway.
"Okay."
The sheets whisper as Paul leans closer, kisses his forehead, his closed eyes, his lips. He tucks Hugh against his side, covers pulled up to their chins. Eventually, Hugh's eyelids grow heavy and he gives in to sleep, knowing that he's safe so long as they hold on to each other.
Notes:
How many ways can I re-visit that scene in the medbay during "Such Sweet Sorrow, Part Two"? Far too many for Paul and Hugh's comfort. I tend to write Paul with nightmares and Hugh comforting him, but I find it difficult to believe that even the most professional detachment would prevent fallout from having to do emergency surgery on the person one loves.
Chapter 271: Space (Dads), Part One Thousand
Notes:
After writing way too much angst - here's some fluffy fluff :) Nella is very young in this one.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Nellita,” Aida calls up the stairs, “are you and your tíos hungry?”
She waits a few seconds, expecting to hear her great-granddaughter’s feet pattering towards the stairs followed by the heavier footsteps of her grandson and his partner. Instead, there’s silence, which isn’t a state that happens often when Hugh brings Paul home to visit.
Nella bounces impatiently, fingers clutching a PADD as she fixes an expectant stare on the front door.
“Nellita, you’re going to wear a hole in my floor.”
”But...”
”Come sit down. Your uncles aren’t going anywhere for a week-“
The door chimes, and Aida shakes her head in fond exasperation as Nella dashes across the living room almost before the echo fades.
”Tío!”
Hugh bends down to pick her up, spinning her into a hug one-handed before he sets her down again and shrugs the travel bag off his other shoulder. Whatever greeting he’s planning to offer Aida is seemingly forgotten at Paul’s surprised huff when Nella leaps at him next with a child’s confident certainty of being caught. He manages to untangle himself from the strap of his own bag just in time, holding her with only a little awkwardness when she doesn't show any sign of wanting to move.
"Abuela," Hugh grins, crossing to kiss her cheek and chuckling as Nella holds her PADD up in front of Paul's face, chattering excitedly about...something related to plant growth. Possibly.
Aida pats Paul on the arm in greeting, then leads Hugh into the kitchen to make tea.
It takes Aida longer than it used to to make it up the stairs, although her joints ache less thanks to Hugh's vigilant correspondence with her own doctor. The door of Hugh's room is slightly ajar, and she knocks before nudging it open further and peeking inside. What she sees brings a smile to her lips.
Hugh and Paul had been napping - genuinely asleep, she'd checked before sending Nella in earlier - and she had assumed Nella's whirlwind of energy would have woken them up. Instead, the two men are still curled up on the bed, limbs twined together to fit them both on a mattress made for one. Nella must have climbed up without disturbing them, because she's asleep as well on top of the quilt between them, head on Paul's bent elbow and holding a handful of Hugh's shirt.
They're still all three sleeping when Aida returns with a PADD, taking a still image of the tableau. It will be a perfect addition to the other holos on the mantle, although she's going to have to check with Paul first (Hugh won't mind at all, but Paul's shyness still rears its head occasionally). Not for the first time, she lets herself imagine her grandsons with a child of their own, Hugh's wide smile and Paul's bright eyes and an inquisitive mind that would probably pester every adult member of the Culber family with endless questions.
On second thought...
Aida laughs quietly, folding the edge of the quilt over Nella and heading back downstairs.
Notes:
I need to make an index of all of my Aida and Nella snippets...
Chapter 272: Squabble, Part One
Summary:
Even the most seemingly confident scientist can be plagued with self-doubt.
Chapter Text
It's a relatively small disagreement in the grand scheme of things - Paul's stubbornness versus Hugh's difference of opinion - and he's ready to apologize less than an hour afterwards.
("That's ridiculous."
"Oh? Well, by all means, go ahead and tell me what to do."
"-what...oh for goodness sake, I can't believe we're arguing about this."
"Who's arguing? I'm right. You're the one- what are you doing?"
"Going for a run. Maybe by the time I get back, you'll get your head out of your ass.")
It only takes two miles to admit that they both were being juvenile, and another mile after that to consider how to phrase an apology without conceding the point. Hugh returns winded, dripping with perspiration and resolve, to find Paul pacing in front of the window, a PADD clutched in his hand that he doesn't seem to be using as more than a prop. He's silent as Hugh pulls his shoes off on the way to the bathroom, waiting just outside the door three minutes later when he's showered off the sweat and frustration.
Paul holds out a glass of water, and Hugh accepts it gratefully, draining it before giving Paul his full attention. He doesn't even have time to open his mouth to start on an apology before Paul speaks.
"Thank you for coming back."
Hugh blinks. Leaving off the fact that he'd left his bag on Paul's bed-
"Of course I was coming back. It’s not like, we were...I needed to clear my head. Why wouldn't I?"
A shrug that seems to indicate the answer should be obvious ends with Paul dropping the PADD onto the table and twisting his fingers together.
"I mean..."
"What?"
"I...I know I'm too much."
That's nowhere on the list of things Hugh might have expected him to say.
"What? Why would you think that?"
"Everyone says so."
It's not a ploy for sympathy - Hugh figured out right away that Paul abhors artifice - nor even self-deprecation, and his stomach clenches with sudden realization.
He honestly thinks that's true.
"Well, they're wrong."
Paul laughs, but there's no humor in it.
“I don’t understand.”
”Understand what?”
”...what you get out of this.”
Hugh carefully sets down the glass and replays the last sentence in his head, trying to identify other potential meanings.
”Say that again.”
”I don’t know what you get out of...us?”
An icy claw of fear clenches around his heart.
”Are you seriously asking me- what’s that supposed to mean?”
Paul breaks eye contact, turning away to face the window again. His shoulders curve down, folding in on himself, and Hugh takes a deep breath, holds it as discomfort is replaced by hurt.
“You put up with me and all of...this,” he shakes his head, “that no one else ever would."
He can't stand the separation, rests a tentative hand on Paul's shoulder and urges him to face him.
"Babe-"
"You listen to me, you’re actually interested in my science. Fuck, you put up with my insecurities. You’re amazing in bed, and, just...you love me.”
His voice catches on the last three words, and Hugh closes the rest of distance between them but can still barely hear what Paul says next.
”You could have anyone, Hugh. Why me?”
”I don’t want just anyone. I want you."
"I..."
"Even when we don't agree-" Hugh sighs, "yes, you being stubborn just then was...frustrating. But I love that about you, Paul, I love that you don't back down on things you believe in."
"You say that now-"
"And I'll say it in a year, five years...I mean it. That's not going to change just because our tempers got the better of us."
"I don't want to fuck this up."
This doesn't feel like it has anything to do with their argument, or rather, not just a simple disagreement anymore. It's so much deeper, so much more than Hugh himself. For a moment, hot anger flares in his chest at the someone or someones who wounded Paul this much.
"We're both going to make mistakes, it happens. It's normal, it's part of a healthy relationship."
"You can't tell me you weren't mad."
Paul's hands are balled into fists, and he winces at the white knuckles. Moving slowly, he lays his hands over the backs of Paul's fingers, squeezing gently.
"I was frustrated, but...no. I wasn't angry with you, I was annoyed. Hell," Hugh huffs, "I was ready to say I was sorry before I even finished my second lap."
Some of the tension drains out of Paul's shoulders, fingers loosening.
"Seriously?"
He leans in, resting their foreheads together.
"Yes."
Paul exhales long and slow, and Hugh sighs again, glancing at the chrono. There's so much more they should discuss, but it's late, and there's no reason not to continue the conversation somewhere more comfortable now that the issue is a little more clear.
"Why don't you shower and we can go to bed-"
"Hugh..."
"-and we can keep talking."
A pause, and he can almost feel Paul weighing the situation in his mind before nodding.
"Okay.”
Hugh kisses him once before stepping back to let Paul head into the bathroom, making his own way over to the bed. He’s put out on Paul’s own behalf that he thinks Hugh isn’t getting just as much from their relationship as he does, and he suspects it won’t be easily resolved. It's a lot to unpack, so much more than the apology he'd expected to offer, but it's important. Although they haven't talked about it much, Hugh knows that he wants to spend the rest of his life with this man, feels it as profoundly as his need to heal and help others. Now isn't the time, but at some point soon he's going to have to address it.
His grandmother had called worthwhile relationships 'the best kind of work', and, as ever, Hugh knows she's right.
Notes:
What do you think they were arguing about?
I started the dialogue for this snippet nine months ago in September 2020, happy for it to finally see the light of day!
Continues in the next chapter.
Chapter 273: Squabble, Part Two
Summary:
Sometimes Hugh seems too good to be true.
Notes:
For the delightful LadyRiona - follows on the last chapter, from Paul's perspective. Also, 1300 words just sort of happened. Not sorry about it.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
If asked to recall the details later, the only evidence that Paul's actually taken a shower would be that he's wrapped in a towel with wet hair in a steamy bathroom.
He came back.
Paul works on autopilot, dutifully scrubbing the sweat from his armpits and groin as if it were his anxiety, trying to process the last few minutes since Hugh returned. He thinks about Hugh's willingness to apologize, his leaving to go on a run not because he couldn't stand to be near Paul, but because he needed to think. Even knowing Hugh is completely different, the sight of his back as the door closed behind him called up memories of other men who were no longer willing to stay.
He doesn't want to leave.
Then there was the honest confusion on Hugh's face, how he didn't seem to have even understood why others would find serious fault with Paul's personality. Not only that, Hugh likes that part of him, his idiosyncrasies, all of the things that meant he didn't make many friends and the source of his multiple failed relationships.
("I love that about you, Paul, I love that you don't back down on things you believe in.")
He's not perfect himself, but neither is Paul, and it's not in the ways that matter most. Hugh's generous and kind, quick to smile with a sunny disposition that should be grating but instead softens the rough edges of burnout from long hours in the lab, that doesn't back away from his irritability. He doesn't play games or manipulate people, but he also doesn't hesitate to voice his opinion or stand in defense of others. And yet, Hugh is almost always willing to compromise - where to go for dinner, which museums to visit on leave, the maximum volume of Kasseelian opera that Paul can tolerate when he's working - and doesn't needle Paul with it afterwards in any way besides teasing. Hugh understands when Paul needs to talk about his science and actually listens, doesn't just pretend to be interested, asks intelligent questions that show he's read up on whatever topic between one instance and the next. Sometimes when he's expounding on his work, Paul has to pause in the middle of what he's saying because Hugh is smiling at him as though he's something amazing.
As if he's the only thing Hugh can see.
("I don’t want just anyone.")
Hugh loves snuggling, gives affectionate touches seemingly without artifice or thought. He's never called Paul clingy or needy, never brushed away Paul's hand with an irritated look or turned his head to avoid a kiss. Moreover, he's made it clear on more than one occasion that it's up to Paul what level of physical intimacy they have (he appreciates it, although it's really a moot point), kissing him goodnight with a gentle sweetness despite the erection pressed to Paul's thigh while they cuddled.
Hugh's so beautiful, inside and out. Of course he'd noticed how devastatingly attractive the annoying stranger was on that fateful afternoon, a twitch below the waist that he hadn't expected to last. He was hardly immune to a passing bit of lust, but actual sexual interest, desire that didn't fade...those weren't things that lingered, even with a lover. Sex was fun, but always left him oddly unsatisfied, as if something unidentifiable was missing. By the time that horrendous humming disturbed his calculations for mycelial density, Paul had long since given up on experiencing the overwhelming urge to be with someone, covering his disappointment with cynicism. Far from being turned away by Paul's blunt complaint, Hugh had come to sit closer. That wit and ability to match Paul with sarcasm for sarcasm left him speechless at first, then became a challenge he didn't mind not always winning. The more he learned about Hugh, the more it started to feel like foreplay, and the more confused he'd become.
He thinks about how desire distracted him during a delightful bit of verbal sparring over a late night comm, exciting and new and a little bit frightening. Thinks of how the motion of ending the call after that turned into shoving a hand down his pants while stumbling to the shower with a desperate need to touch himself to the image of Hugh's eyes sparkling with mischief as he tried to argue the mathematical value of opera, citing from one of Paul's own papers on the fusion of science and metaphysical properties.
Hugh's been the cause for a great many showers since then.
("I want you.")
He'd already known exactly who Hugh was before their first kiss. They'd had so long to talk about it, talk around it, that the first time wasn't nearly as awkward and fumbling as Paul expected his own performance to be. There were only giggles, not a condescending smile when Hugh explained how he liked to be touched. No put-upon sigh when Paul came far earlier than intended, just a moan of enjoyment as Hugh licked his belly clean. Hugh hadn't even seemed to be in any hurry to move beyond the shirtless kissing and groping on the couch that started the evening, not until Paul finally understood the all-consuming need that everyone else seemed to feel and invited him to his bed.
He thinks about the ex who laughed when Paul talked about his desire for a quiet home life, who told him he was asking for too much.
The boyfriend who rolled his eyes when Paul wanted to share his latest breakthrough in the lab.
The last guy he dated who left with the parting comment that the sex wasn't even all that good.
Paul brushes his teeth, trying to rinse the sour taste of fear and uncertainty from his mouth. He knows Hugh is nothing like that, but can't shake the creeping doubt that one day he's going to realize what he's gotten himself into and leave. That he'll get tired of Paul's obsession with fungi, or his shyness around strangers, or how he has to have the sheets tucked in perfectly on his side of the bed. That Paul's skills and experience in that bed are unsatisfying and Hugh needs to go elsewhere for excitement. That-
"...Paul?"
He doesn't realize how long he's been staring at his reflection in the mirror until a tentative knock startles him back to awareness. Hugh doesn't sound anything except concerned, no irritation or impatience in his voice.
He's not breaking up with you.
His internal chronometer has always been good, but right now it's silent as he stares at the door.
("And I'll say it in a year, five years...")
Sometimes he's terrified thinking about the future, because it's so easy to imagine having Hugh by his side. There's no reason why his aspirations to become a flagship's CMO would run counter to Paul's single-minded interest in research, although he hates the thought of the long separations it will very likely entail unless they start sending out Constitution class science vessels. They've managed so far though, and all of that time filled with conversation has shown him so much that he might not have learned otherwise, the rambling conversations about philosophy and stories from their pasts. And in a couple of decades, when Hugh's had his fill of starship life, maybe he'll move Earthside for good. They can share a flat in San Francisco overlooking the Bay, and Hugh can teach at Starfleet Medical while Paul lectures at the Academy. Every day they'll come home to each other, have dinner and talk about their day, complain about the students, sleep in on the weekends and wake for lazy lovemaking before walking downtown hand-in-hand for coffee.
Talk to him.
It takes a couple of tries to wet his dry throat enough to respond.
"Be right out."
Notes:
I will never get tired of seeing Hugh through Paul's eyes (or vice versa).
1000% Hugh and Paul have an intelligence / competence kink. If you haven't already, head on over and listen to episode 2.22 of the Why Here podcast - the hosts discuss Discovery (amongst other things) with Wilson and Anthony. Anthony explains the concept of mycelia in the 21st century, and Wilson's reply is: "If I were Hugh right now, that right there would be foreplay."
Chapter 274: Squabble, Part Three (Conclusion)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul opens the door to find Hugh waiting for him on the edge of the bed, cross-legged with covers turned down and pillows fluffed. His outstretched hand is warm and a little damp when Paul squeezes it briefly before retrieving his pajamas, and it's oddly comforting to feel Hugh watching him as gets dressed. He stalls for time by returning his towel to the bathroom, but eventually settles on the other side of the mattress as Hugh turns to face him, scooting closer until their knees touch.
Hugh takes his hands again, lacing their fingers together as they rest on his pajama-clad thighs. He's shirtless as usual, and Paul focuses on the notch of his collarbone, the shadows between abdominal muscles, the pulse beating in his throat while he stares into the distance over Paul's left shoulder. The air is still around them, waiting. He rubs his thumbs over the underside of Paul's wrists, a soothing motion that seems wholly unconscious. Paul counts the rise and fall of Hugh's bare chest with every breath - forty-six - until he closes his eyes and inhales deeply, returning his attention from wherever his mind had been.
"Hugh?"
There's a frown creasing his brow, a slight downturn to his mouth that's out of place on lips more likely to curve up, but his eyes are soft and full of concern.
Hugh always sees you.
"I'm hurt that you would think I-" Hugh abruptly closes his mouth and huffs out a negation, "no, that's not it. This isn't about me."
Paul shifts against the sheets, not used to him sounding so uncertain. Guilt heats the back of his neck, flaring over his throat and drying his tongue.
"I wasn't...I'm sorry you have to deal with my issues."
The frown deepens.
"If it's bothering you, then what just happened, or what you thought or I thought...is there something I'm doing that makes you think that I...?"
Partial sentences or not, Paul knows what he's trying to say. It's so very Hugh to worry that he's somehow at fault, instead of Paul's own history. He shakes his head adamantly, swirling anxiety coalescing into resolve around something he's sure of.
"No. No, you- you're wonderful, everything, this is...I've never," he bites his lip, looking for the right words, "it's not you, it's me. Okay, that didn't sound like it, but I shouldn't think- I know you're not that way. You haven't done anything wrong, Hugh. I'm just still not used to-"
Paul shrugs helplessly with one shoulder and squeezes Hugh's hands, hoping that he understands.
"Are you expecting me to leave?"
The question is quiet, and although he can tell Hugh is trying his best to keep his voice neutral, there's a quiver to it that makes his chest ache.
"No."
"But earlier, you thought I might?"
"It's- I know you aren't, but sometimes...I don't want to be afraid of that happening, but it won't go away."
"Because it's happened before?"
He nods. The concern in Hugh's eyes turns to empathy even as his lips press together and his chin rises in challenge. It doesn't seem to be directed at him whatsoever though, and his next words confirm it.
"I wish I could go back and tell every person who's made you feel this way exactly how wrong they are."
"I mean, the thing is...they're not, are they? I'm not easy to be with, I know that."
"That's bullshit."
"You can't pretend that it doesn't bother you that I'm..." he glances at the floor, seeing Hugh's clothes dropped carelessly in a pile, "picky about stuff that doesn't bother other people."
"Does it bother you that I'm a morning person? Or that I love opera?"
The last sentence makes his lips twitch in an approximation of a smile.
"Well..."
Some of the tension drains out of Hugh's posture. He leans forward for a kiss, releasing one of Paul's hands to cradle his jaw in his palm. The brush of fingertips over his evening stubble makes Paul shiver, and the next thing he knows, Hugh is urging him to lie down beside him, pulling the duvet up around them both.
"Sweetheart?"
Hugh's voice is soft, but there's a hint of insistence under the question. Paul chews his lower lip. He's told Hugh more about his past relationships than anyone else knows, except maybe Justin, but the details haven't always felt right to share. He could try to play it off, shove it all back into the vault he's banished to the back of his mind, except for the fact that Hugh knows him too well to believe any excuse at this point.
("I...okay. You know I haven't had a lot of relationships. That I don't do...casual."
"It's relative."
"Hugh," he grimaces, "I could count the number of people I've had sex with on both hands and not use all of my fingers."
While Hugh hasn't given Paul anything so specific as a number - not that he expects or needs one - he's certain that his experience is at least double Paul's own.
All Hugh has to do is smile, and people would throw themselves at his feet.
"There's nothing wrong with that."
"When I was in my senior year at the Academy, my boyfriend broke up with me because he said the sex was terrible."
A raised eyebrow.
"I do beg to differ."
"It wasn't like this with him."
Or with anyone else. I never dreamed it could feel this way.
"His loss," Hugh states with finality, "and any other person who didn't appreciate you.")
"We don't have to talk now," he finally replies, all too conscious of the countdown to Hugh's inevitable departure once his leave ends.
Don't fuck this up.
"No, we don't have to, but I want to. Unless...is that okay?"
The question is simple and anti-climactic, and Paul nods slowly.
"Okay."
Hugh nods as well, resting their foreheads together. Paul watches as he licks his lips, opens his mouth to say something before closing it, and he's left counting breaths again - ten, fifteen, twenty. All the while, Hugh's fingers never stop their idle stroking of his collarbone and chest, circling back and forth over the fabric of his shirt. For once, Hugh seems to be having trouble maintaining eye contact, gaze flitting away. It doesn't feel like he's avoiding looking at Paul so much as being distracted by his own thoughts. He seems to be gathering himself, but Paul isn't sure what for. The usual anxiety at not knowing wars with the grounded stillness that being held in Hugh's arms always produces, and he wrestles it back down viciously.
When Hugh finally speaks, it's slow and quiet.
"I know I have a lot to offer, that I want to offer someone. And I have, and it's-" Hugh sighs, "it felt like being used. They didn't always know they were doing it, but that's how it felt. You asked me what I get out of being with you. It’s...because I've finally found someone who deserves it. Who isn't ever going to take advantage of me. And I want to give you everything."
His hand slides up Paul's neck, curving around his cheek again as he continues.
"I'm not going to walk away from you, from us, just because we have a disagreement, or even an argument. My abuela always says that relationships that matter are the best kind of work. I don't mean that...being with you isn't challenging, or an obligation, or something. It's times when we have to figure out how to handle things, or when we don't- it's...Paul, I can't imagine not loving you."
He's aware of his mouth falling open at the urgent intensity of Hugh's statement. In the years to come, Paul will use the memory of this moment, the conviction and sincerity of Hugh's love, to silence his doubts. He'll replay it when they're separated for months, when the war drags on and he takes his fears to bed at night. Even when Hugh is gone, he can see his face and hear his voice reminding him of it, bittersweet and pained.
Tonight, he swallows down the lump in his throat and responds the only way he ever could.
"You- I love you too, Hugh."
Notes:
I hope the ending isn't too abrupt; I played with a few variations, but it felt like additional story took away from that last moment.
LadyRiona requested cuddles after the angst...they're on their way next!
Chapter 275: Scandalous
Chapter Text
Paul departs from the breakfast table with a squeeze of Hugh’s hand, and he can’t help but appreciate his retreating backside as he heads out of the mess hall. It can’t be more than a few seconds, but when he turns back, Detmer and Owo are snickering into their mugs, and Rhys has an amused expression.
”Did I miss something?”
He’s expecting to hear the punchline to an inside joke amongst the bridge crew, or maybe someone’s breakfast getting away from them to humorous effect.
“Guys?”
Adira is side-eyeing them all with a bemused look. They glance at Hugh, but all he can do is shrug.
Rhys leans forward, grinning.
”Someone got lucky this morning.”
His stage whisper sets Owo off again, sputtering into her coffee. Hugh doesn’t mind a bit of gossip, although a quick glance around the room doesn’t offer any likely candidates.
“Oh? Who?”
For whatever reason, Detmer seems to find his question incredibly funny, and he waits patiently for her to stop giggling before giving his best bemused smile.
”Nice try,” Rhys elbows him good-naturedly, “we all saw the way you were staring at Stamets.”
Adira sets down their spoon, seemingly perplexed.
”But he always looks at him like that.”
“Exactly,” Detmer nods, and suddenly it all makes sense.
Groaning, Hugh levels a look at Rhys.
“You do realize that we’re not always having sex, right?”
“Suuuure.”
”Uh huh.”
”Don’t be embarrassed, Doctor C.”
He can feel Adira’s confusion, and shakes his head at the other three.
”I’m not embarrassed.”
“Come on, Hugh, I know you two…” Rhys wiggles his eyebrows, “shower together in the morning.”
Adira’s scowl is universal to teenagers even a millennium later.
“Wait…you mean they’re- eewwwww, I did not need to know that.”
Hugh sighs.
“Do you really think Paul’s awake enough before coffee for anything like that?”
Disturbingly, Rhys, Owo, and Detmer seem to be giving his question serious thought.
“Huh.”
”No?”
”Oh.”
Hugh can only imagine what they all think he and Paul get up to before breakfast. Age has caught up with them in some regards, and it’s usually just maneuvering their way around each other with the ease of long practice, avoiding elbows colliding with noses or knees in unfortunate spots. Sometimes they talk, but most mornings that they share the shower, it's in companionable silence.
He’s definitely not going to mention how much Paul likes having his hair washed, or the occasions when one of them does drop to his knees for a very personal morning treat.
“I,” Adira’s chair squeaks as it slides on the deck, “am going to go to Engineering and pretend none of this happened.”
”None of what?”
Tilly’s still yawning as she sets her tray down at Adira’s vacated spot.
”Hugh’s love life.”
Hugh gives Adira a rueful smile as they retreat, and wonders if he ought to warn Paul. Fork poised halfway between her plate and mouth, Tilly makes a face that’s remarkably similar to Adira.
“Umm.”
“Oh look,” Hugh ostentatiously raises his PADD and checks the time, “time for me to go.”
”Have a good day, Doctor.”
”Bye!”
He’s almost out of earshot, carrying his tray to be recycled, but can still hear Detmer.
”He and Stamets are totally…you know.”
A snort that could only come from Tilly follows.
”Well, duh.”
Chapter 276: Shame
Notes:
So I did a re-watch of "Su'Kal" and "There Is A Tide", and I have to brace myself for the gut punch every time. I've explored Hugh comforting Paul after the events at the end of Season Three, but what about Tilly?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tilly's avoiding him, he's almost sure of it...except he can't be certain at all. She's on time for every shift, works just as diligently on their projects as ever, smiling and explaining things to Adira. Sometimes everything seems as it always has at the breakfast table, and other times it feels like she's avoiding his gaze, deliberately arranging it so that she's never alone in Engineering with him. It's not the same nervousness he saw when Discovery launched, but he can't put his finger on it either.
("Maybe she's still processing everything," Hugh suggests, fingers combing through Paul's hair, "give her some time."
"It's...it feels different. I don't know."
"Do you want me to try to talk to her?"
Sighing, Paul shakes his head.
"No, I'll do it.")
He finally gets his opportunity late into ship's night a few days later. Hugh is snoring quietly beside him while Paul lies awake, counting the stars and trying to will himself to sleep. It's not happening tonight though, so he gives up after twenty minutes, careful not to jostle Hugh where he's sharing the pillow when he reaches for his PADD and calls up the latest reports.
That's odd.
Tilly's report arrived a few hours ago, but the system shows her still inputting data. Frowning, he checks the time - 0215 - and refreshes his feed in case there's a glitch somewhere, but the sensors still insist that she's in the cultivation bay. His restless energy combined with the need to find out what's been bothering her drives him to gently ease his way out from under the covers instead of just using his comm badge to ask. Hugh stirs a little, settling again when Paul nuzzles his temple and kisses his cheek, and he leaves a note on the PADD just in case he wakes up before Paul gets back.
Dressing quickly, he's in the bay less than ten minutes later. The lights are dimmed for night cycle, just a few rows illuminated, and they help to pinpoint her location when he catches a flash of red in front of the condenser.
"Tilly?"
She lets out a startled yelp, fumbling her PADD and whirling around to face him.
"-Commander! Wh- what are you doing here?"
She's still in uniform, although the unzipped collar suggests she hasn't gone home and returned.
"I was going to ask you that."
"Oh. Umm. Just-" her gaze darts nervously around, avoiding eye contact, "you know, had an idea and umm, yeah."
A year ago, Paul probably would have chalked it up to nothing more than her overachieving drive and accepted the explanation at face value.
"Okay. I can't sleep either," he smiles ruefully, "can I join you?"
It’s carefully worded so that Tilly could actually refuse, but her sense of appropriateness probably won’t allow it.
”…sure,” she mumbles, picking at a bit of lint on her sleeve as he wakes up the tricorder function on his badge, then swiping over her setup.
Calibrating the condenser valves down to hundredths of a millimeter is excessive, but he doesn’t say anything, just taps into the holo display and starts tweaking settings. Contrary to what others might think, Paul is more than capable of patience. He’s aware of her fidgeting beside him, keeping his focus on the controls rather than acknowledging the furtive side-eye. The silence drags on, until Tilly clears her throat and sets down the PADD, twisting her fingers together.
“Commander.”
“Paul,” he corrects her, tone light.
”…Paul. I- umm. You…I don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
She takes a deep breath, chewing her lower lip as he does his best to project receptive neutrality.
“Why aren't you mad at me?"
It comes out in a rush, so fast he nearly can’t understand it. He takes a few moments to parse it, then frowns in confusion.
”Why would I be mad at you?”
Pursing her lips, Tilly stares off at the far wall.
“The nebula.”
It seems a bit anti-climactic, but he takes it as seriously as Tilly seems to be feeling.
"Technically, I should probably apologize for arguing with you while you were in command.”
A huff.
”That’s not what I meant. After, I mean, all of it…you getting,” she waves her hand vaguely, “that.”
Tilly’s growing agitated, foot twitching in a way that says she’s controlling the urge to pace. Maybe he should have let Hugh talk to her first. He always seems to know the right thing to say to others, but he’s not here right now.
“You shouldn’t have a sense of misplaced guilt. You did everyth-"
Shaking her head, Tilly closes her eyes and sinks down to sit, back against the condenser and head level with Paul’s thigh.
"I let Osyraa take Discovery. Saru left me in charge. I had the conn, it was on me to keep everyone safe. If Michael hadn't..."
Paul feels his teeth grinding together and takes a deep breath, deliberately relaxing his clenched jaw.
Now's not the time. This is about Tilly.
"It worked out in the end."
Oh good job being soothing there.
"I should have known, I should have figured it out sooner, we could have gone to warp, or...something. Something else."
Tilly turns away from him, hugging her knees to her chest, every bit of her posture radiating self-recrimination.
"Tilly..." he crouches down beside her, squeezing her shoulder, "hey, look at me. Please."
He can only make out one eye through the tangle of her hair, reddened and suspiciously moist. There’s a dark circle under it speaking of a distinct lack of sleep, and he kicks himself for not noticing before.
"You almost lost Hugh again. Because of me."
It's going to be a very long time, if ever, that he can think about it without his stomach clenching and an icy blade of fear and betrayal piercing his heart. No amount of holding Hugh as they fall asleep, of his kisses and love, is going to fully erase the horror of those few hours. None of it though, as far as he’s concerned, should be laid at Tilly’s feet.
With a sigh, Paul levers himself down to sit with his back against the condenser.
"Tilly. Look at me, please."
When she raises her head, he can see a slow but steady stream of tears dripping off her chin, and the silent crying unnerves him more than anything.
"Listen to me. It's not your fault. You can't blame yourself for it."
"But-"
"If I'm going to blame anyone for that, it would be Osyraa. And, last I checked, she's dead, so there's not much we can do now."
"I should have..."
"It was your first time in command, and you know what? It was your plan to blow the nacelle that saved everyone."
"W- we shouldn't have had to."
He understands guilt all too well, the flip side of Tilly's brilliant drive to succeed, and he can't let that stand. Lifting his arm, he waits for her to get the message and hesitantly rest her head on his shoulder. Paul carefully folds her into a hug, cheek pressed to the hair at the crown of her head as she shakes with more eerily quiet tears, gathering his thoughts and considering what he's about to say. When she's down to the occasional hiccup, he eases back and gently lifts her hair away from her downcast face.
"No, we shouldn’t have. But we did.”
“I’m sorry.”
Paul summons up a tired smile, shaking his head. Her confidence had taken a huge hit, and he knows platitudes aren’t going to cut it.
Not that he was ever good at them.
He takes her unresisting hand, squeezing it tight.
“Hugh is alive because of you, Tilly. We all are. I need you to believe that.”
She doesn’t look convinced in the slightest, and he mourns the (hopefully temporary) loss of her usual optimism.
She needs to hear you tell her the truth.
“You lead with your head and your heart. That ingenuity? That's why you're going to make a wonderful captain. And I would trust you with my life, with Hugh's life, in an instant."
”But…”
“No buts,” he sighs, “now I’m asking you to trust me on this one.”
Tilly sniffles once, scrubbing a hand across her face.
“I-“
”Just say yes,” Paul urges with gentle firmness, a deliberate echo of everyone’s support for her serving as first officer.
She searches his face for several breaths, and seems to find whatever it is that she’s looking for, because he receives a single nod in return. It’s barely a dip of her chin, but it’s enough.
”Okay.”
Notes:
It’s almost 3 am and my brain is fried from too much caffeine, so I hope the speed is right.
Chapter 277: Scorn
Notes:
Takes place shortly after Discovery returns to HQ at the end of "That Hope Is You, Part Two".
Angst ahead.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They're just sitting down to dinner, barefoot in undershirts and pants, when the door chimes. Paul sets down the bottle of wine and raises his eyebrows in question at Hugh's similarly surprised expression.
"Are we expecting company?"
"Not that I'm aware of. It's probably just Adira."
"Didn't you give them the door code?"
Hugh folds his napkin onto the table and stands.
"They're trying to be better about not just letting themself in," he shrugs, "I'll get it. Door."
The doors are keyed to a variety of voice commands, but Paul smiles a very private smile that always accompanies a reminder of the word choice.
("I'm changing that."
"What?"
"Doors."
"Sure, babe. But why?"
"Do you really want it to open when one of us says 'come'?"
"...mmm. Probably not."
"Exactly.")
He reaches for the carafe of water instead of the wine and glances around to make sure they have enough glasses, expecting Adira to blow in in their usual whirlwind of energy. Hugh's body partially obscures doorway, but there's no mistaking the sound of his indrawn breath.
"Mister Aurellio."
The carafe falls from fingers gone numb, and he's too shocked to even notice the water spilling over the edge of the table onto his lap.
"...ahh. I was looking for Commander Stamets?"
"I'm Hugh. His partner."
Confusion flashes through him, swiftly followed by a sense of cold anger.
"Ahh! It's a pleasure to meet you-"
From the table, he has a perfect view of Hugh's shoulders stiffening when he folds his hands behind his back in response to Aurellio's own outstretched hand. The perverse sense of satisfaction at witnessing the gesture does little to calm Paul's racing heart, but he stands and makes his way over to the door.
"What do you want?"
"May I come in?"
Hugh answers before Paul can.
"If it's all the same, I'd rather you didn't."
"Hugh-"
Aurellio holds up a hand, forestalling him.
"I understand."
Nails digging into his palms, Paul offers a cold smile.
"Do you?"
He steps in front of Hugh, shouldering him back further into their quarters.
"Paul..."
"It’s fine."
Hugh's frown suggests he doesn't believe him, but he nods and takes another step back.
He's safe.
Crossing his arms, he stares hard at Aurellio.
"Why are you here?"
Technically, 'here' could be Discovery, but he knows he's understood.
"Commander Stamets. I came here to apologize. To you and your partner."
He can't suppress the disdainful snort.
"Well. It's a bit late for that."
"I'm sorry that I didn't see what Osyraa was doing. But she and the Chain, I thought-"
"The man I love almost died. Saru and Adira - my child- almost died.”
"I know. I hoped I could make amends for that."
The counsel of his conscience spends a moment presenting a case for accepting the apology, rejected almost immediately by the jury of his feelings.
"I don't think you can."
Aurellio's shoulders slump, but he nods.
"You have every right to feel that way. And I am truly sorry for my part in it."
Paul shakes his head. He can feel Hugh at his back, a silent strength that compels honesty.
"I do understand your perspective, and I...appreciate," he forces the word out, "your hypothesis that allowed Discovery to jump. I can even respect your science in itself, despite the auspices it was practiced under and the harm it caused. But the fact remains."
He meets Aurellio’s eyes unflinchingly, sees him glance over Paul’s shoulder and wonders what expression Hugh is wearing that makes him swallow hard.
"Yes. I'm...I won't disturb your evening any further. Commander, Doctor Culber."
He doesn't move until Aurellio's chair glides into the turbolift at the end of the corridor, swaying on his feet and landing against the solid support of Hugh's chest. Wordlessly, he pulls Paul back to let the doors close, then turns him until they're toe to toe. His face is impassive, and Paul sighs.
"Are you going to tell me that I shouldn't have said that?"
"No. I'm not."
"But...?"
Hugh's hands settle on Paul's waist, warm and steadying while the pulse beating in his neck starts to calm.
"The Starfleet doctor in me would like to point out that the two of you may need to work together in the future."
That summons a tiny curve of his lips, not quite a smile, and Paul slides his hands up Hugh's back to rest just below his shoulders.
"Commander Stamets would like Doctor Culber to know that I will do that if it comes to it. What about Hugh though?"
"I think the universe owes us a break. And I love you."
"It does. But we're in this together, and I love you too."
"Always."
Notes:
Oh yeah. I went there. Paul and Hugh's reactions might seem out of character, but I considered three things when writing this:
1. Hugh is fundamentally a kind person, quick to forgive and heal, a consummate professional who's slow to anger.
2. Hurting Paul is a bad idea.
3. Facing a traumatized Paul after hurting Hugh is even worse.
Chapter 278: Sapiosexual
Chapter Text
“Can you believe he said that to me?”
Hugh gives up pretending to be reading the reports on his PADD, the novelty of coming home to Paul every night for the last few weeks still sending a thrill dancing over his skin.
Well, when the captain isn’t demanding he work so hard that he falls asleep in Engineering.
He doesn’t bother asking who ‘he’ is, not based on the stormy expression on Paul’s face as he paces in front of the coffee table.
”Said what?”
Paul curses under his breath as he unzips his uniform jacket.
”Lorca asked if my degree was good for anything except propping up my ego!”
It’s a bit of a struggle to suppress a highly inappropriate smile, particularly when his partner is so riled up and won’t take it as it’s meant.
“Did you remind him that you have two of them?”
The jacket lands in the laundry pile, quickly followed by Paul’s pants.
”I’ll tell you what I wanted to say- ughhh!”
His briefs get caught on the socks he failed to take off first, and Hugh’s treated to the sight of the universe’s most beautiful backside as he struggles out of the offending garments.
”He’s such a, a…” Paul huffs, “a dick.”
Without waiting for a reply, he stomps into the bathroom, hair askew and radiating resentful indignation. Hugh turns slightly on the couch to face the bathroom doorway, and starts counting down from fifteen. Right as he reaches one, Paul’s head pops back out. He’s wearing a sheepish expression that really shouldn’t make Hugh want to kiss him as much as it does.
”Umm. Did you want to come in too?”
Hugh glances down at his pajama-clad legs and smiles.
“I already cleaned up babe, go ahead.”
Paul vanishes again, and he hears the shower start up shortly thereafter. Sighing, Hugh stands and relocates to the bed, dropping his PADD on the nightstand and fluffing the pillows against the headboard. He considers waiting inside the bathroom, but it’s probably best to give Paul a little room to cool off - figuratively and literally. Paul’s forgotten his pajamas, still folded neatly on his pillow, and Hugh leans over to give them a sniff. Not quite as good as the real thing of course, not when he and Paul no longer have to cuddle up with shirts exchanged during their brief reunions whose scent always faded too quickly.
He’s waiting (mostly) patiently when the shower stops and Paul emerges, skin glowing pink with heat and wrapped in a towel. Paul plucks his clothes off the bed, then bends down to give Hugh a belated kiss hello.
”Sorry,” he murmurs, damp hair tickling Hugh’s skin.
”Don’t apologize, I get it.”
He follows Paul back into the bathroom, enjoying the brief nudity as he dresses. They brush their teeth in silence, then return to the bed.
Our bed.
Hugh’s not too tired yet, and he thinks Paul’s probably still too wound up to be ready to sleep either. His guess is borne out when Paul doesn’t lie down, instead sitting and fidgeting with the sheet.
”What brought it on? With Lorca, I mean.”
Paul groans, head thumping back on the headboard.
“I was trying to explain the current probabilities for calculating jump coordinates. Apparently they don’t teach captains that a probability differential of half a percent with a point-three degree of skew off the heading is significant when it could land us in the middle of a neutron star. He keeps bringing up the Glenn’s nav system,” Paul’s head bounces again, “like I haven’t been talking to Justin about it myself. I’m worried he’s not giving himself enough of a safety buffer.”
Hugh’s not an astromycologist, but his medical training and over a decade of listening to Paul expound on his research are enough to understand that it’s not a trivial figure. His partner was never meant to be rushed like this, not put under so much pressure that he’s expected to operate without rigorous experimental results.
”Lorca doesn’t strike me as the type to be cautious.”
“If he thinks he’s so much smarter than the best researchers, I’d like to see him program even five percent of the system. My cadets could do it faster and better, and they aren’t going to risk an entire ship on unreplicated results.”
He’s not going to argue with that assessment. Hugh knows Paul's team from Deneva, and the new additions from the Academy seem to be just as capable.
Paul continues on, and Hugh makes appropriately affirmative, negative, and sympathetic noises. He goes past the range of Hugh’s knowledge when he starts expounding on a new idea about quantum flux, melding theoretical physics with soil sciences, and Hugh doesn’t bother trying to follow. Instead, he watches Paul’s fingers draw intricate patterns in the air to illustrate his points, the way his eyes shine with conviction. His tone goes up a little, rising into what Hugh privately considers his Professor Stamets voice, animated and confident and clear.
He’s so hot like this.
Eventually, Paul seems to run out of steam. He grumbles a bit more about parallel calculations, then joins Hugh under the covers, snuggling into his side and throwing a thigh over his hips.
“…are you hard right now?”
Hugh smiles.
”Mmhmm.”
Not for the first time, Hugh marvels at how long it took before Paul noticed how eager he is to drag him off from the flocks of fellow scientists after he presents at conferences, before he picked up on the number of times they barely make it back to their room before Hugh pounces.
“Not that I’m complaining.”
He wiggles enough to generate some enticing friction, reeling Paul in for a kiss that lasts until they both need to surface for air.
”You know what you being brilliant does to me. Tired?”
”Not particularly.”
Hugh casually slips his hand up from Paul’s waist and pinches a nipple.
”Oh good.”
Paul’s eyes close briefly, a playful smile curving his lips. He shifts his leg in an entirely too deliberate motion to be coincidental.
“What are you thinking?”
Chuckling, he rolls them until Paul’s straddling his hips.
“Talk science to me, babe?”
Not going to sleep any time soon.
“Mmm,” Paul’s fingers start to sneak down his pants as the smile turns into a wicked grin, “that can definitely be arranged.”
Notes:
“If I were Hugh right now, that would be foreplay.”
Couldn’t resist being inspired again by that wonderful quote from Wilson & Anthony on episode 2.22 of the Why Here podcast.
Chapter 279: Solve
Chapter Text
“Babe?”
“…”
”Sweetheart.”
”…mmm.”
”I need to get up.”
”Nuh uhh.”
”Please?”
”Stay.”
”I promise we can snuggle more as soon as I’m back, okay?”
“Hrmph. Fine.”
****
”See? Not long. You kept the sheets nice and warm.”
”You abandoned me.”
”Don’t you think you’re being a little melodramatic?”
”No.”
”Babe, I just needed to check on some post-ops. You could have gone back to sleep.”
”Mmmphh.”
“What’s this really about?”
“…”
”Love?”
”Nothing.”
“Paul.”
”Do we have to do this now?”
”Yes.”
”I just…”
”Just what?”
“I don’t like waking up alone. I- it reminds me of you being gone.”
”Oh sweetheart. Is that why you started getting up so early?”
”Yeah. Sounds dumb, right?”
”No, it doesn’t. I’ve always loved you in the morning, all warm and sleepy and cuddly. But I didn’t think about it, always seeing you and not the other way around.”
”Sorry.”
”Don’t be. What can I do?”
“I’ll be fine.”
”Why don’t I believe you?”
“…”
“How about…what if I wake you up before I go on my run? Just so you know I’m leaving.”
”That could work.”
”Okay. And next thing like that that bothers you? Please tell me, sweetheart.”
”S’not your fault I’m being so…yeah.”
”It’s not your fault either.”
”Yeah?”
”Yes. As your doctor, I suggest you listen to your partner.”
”When has that ever worked?”
”When we’re both naked.”
”Ha ha.”
”Seriously though. I mean it.”
”I know. I-“ yawn, “…thank you.”
“Ready to go back to sleep?”
”Mmhmm. I love you, Hugh.”
”I love you too, sweetheart. Sleep. I’m right here.”
”Okay.”
Notes:
Started as a lighthearted bit of dialogue about Paul mock-complaining about having to let Hugh get up and use the bathroom when they’re cuddling. Took a left turn towards serious, and I couldn’t stop.
Chapter 280: Sport
Summary:
Hugh and Detmer have that conversation post-"Forget Me Not".
Notes:
References Hugh's prologue in "Forget Me Not", and Chapter 141 ("Sanguine") where Keyla goes to the medbay after Discovery crashes and encounters Hugh with Paul. She and the rest of the bridge crew try to coax Hugh into coming to Game Night on multiple occasions in When Sorrow Turns to Joy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Conversations with Keyla, Hugh's learned, are best had when she's doing something else. He's witnessed her talk about the origin of spaceflight controls with Captain Pike while piloting the ship through a tricky patch of nebula, discuss gravity wells with Michael and Tilly over kadis-kot on Game Night, and have an entire debate with Rhys on the merits of Antarean brandy while jumping rope. Thus, when they schedule time to talk, he wisely reserves the Velocity court for an hour and asks her to meet him there.
"...Doctor C?"
He turns from setting up the disks and 'phasers' to find Keyla just inside the door, wearing workout clothes and an uncertain expression.
"Hi - come on in."
"Umm. I thought we were going to talk?"
Hugh hands her one of the game phasers and smiles.
"We are. Which variant do you want?"
Keyla frowns, pulling her hair back and bouncing the phaser.
"Low grav, three disk?"
It's on the higher end of skill level for the game, but rather than taking it as a deliberate challenge - he's got more than a decade on Keyla and knows his coordination isn't as sharp - it's telling about how seriously she's treating the conversation.
Good.
He nods, waiting for her to secure a hold on one of the wall grips before programming the system and initializing. There's a low hum, then the brief sense of vertigo that accompanies a gravitational shift as the disks rise and float in the center of the court.
"Ready?"
Keyla aims her phaser at the disks, waiting for the forcefield containing them to drop.
"Ready."
Swish.
Whir.
Buzz.
It takes them a couple of minutes to get into the rhythm of the game, and the only sounds in the court are the whir of phaser fire, the disks buzzing past, and the occasional grunt of exertion. Gravity is turned down enough that they're able to run partway up the curved walls with the help of grips, launching themselves across the floor in a way that would have guaranteed a sprained or broken ankle in normal gravity. Keyla nimbly bounces from one wall to another, switching hands with the phaser as necessary, but Hugh decides it's in his best interest to stay lower and not risk an injury. The game phasers won't strike the players, but he'd rather concentrate on avoiding the disks than worrying about losing his hold on the wall. He's just dodged a particularly clever double collision that Keyla set up with the help of a ricochet when she finally breaks the silence.
"Should I-" she pauses to duck and fire at an oncoming disk, "is Stamets okay?"
Hugh leaps and catches one of the grips, using his foot to deflect.
"Paul's fine. Not what you meant though, is it?"
"Yeah. Should I apologize again?"
"I can't answer that."
"Right. I meant, I still feel awful for saying all of that."
"Well," he twists out of the way of one disk but the second strikes him full in the chest and the scoreboard lights up with a point, "-oooph! Nice one. Paul's fine. Is this more about you needing to feel better?"
Keyla groans. They both pause as the game resets for the next round, catching their breath.
"How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
He slaps a disk away with his hand, spinning and sending another hurtling at her.
"Know what I need."
"Want to know a secret?"
"Sure."
"I don't actually know."
"Wha- mmmphh."
Her surprise must have slowed her reflexes, because she should have been able to dodge. This time, he pauses the game before it resets, pointing at the water bottles in the corner.
"That doesn't make sense."
"All I did was ask a question," he smiles at her to soften what could be taken as an insult, "and you gave us both the answer."
A thoughtful hum.
"True."
"Ready to go again?"
"Yeah."
Keyla takes another few minutes to think, brow furrowed in concentration. Hugh doesn't press, trying to set up a clear shot and enjoying the burn of exertion different from his usual workout.
"I told you pilots are pretty macho."
"Mmhmm."
She swings up and kicks two disks away with both feet, and he whistles in acknowledgement.
"Wow! You'll have to show Rhys how to do that. And the psych profile needed to pilot an entire starship generally maps pretty well on stoicism."
"Is that a nice way of saying we pretend we're fine when things are fucked up?"
Hugh drops his phaser to haul himself up the wall and out of the way.
"You said it, not me."
"I just...I've had my license since I was twelve. It's always been, not easy, but it just feels right, you know? It makes sense. I can feel the ship."
He retrieves the phaser just in time to deflect.
"Why am I sure you were flying long before you got your license?"
That earns him a wide smile.
"When I was eleven and a half, I got grounded by my parents for sneaking the flitter out for a drive."
Privately, Hugh wonders if the appeal of Discovery being an experimental vessel is only reason she and the rest of the bridge crew didn't seek out posts on a Constitution class ship.
"There's a story there, I can tell."
He swings off his feet, letting the disk swoop between his knees and firing at it.
"Well," she kicks it towards the opposite wall, "I waited until they were at work and went to my friend T'Shan's house. We convinced her parents that it was illogical to prevent me from developing my skills when I was planning to be a pilot, and they let me fly around the Grand Canyon."
He wonders how many Vulcan adolescents would be considered rebellious by human standards if they weren't able to formulate creative logical reasons to do things.
"Go on."
"That went fine, and they said I could come over and practice any time if my parents couldn't see the logic in letting me do it at home."
"And did they?"
"Agree? My parents?" Keyla laughs, "They were horrified, but couldn't really argue. I don't think they thought I'd actually pass the test the first time."
Hugh misses his shot and takes the disk in the shoulder. The sting is worth seeing Keyla's eyes shine with remembered joy.
"And no one's been able to keep you from flying since."
"Yeah."
Her smile dims a little, and she lets go of the grip, sliding down the wall to sit. Hugh joins her, watching as she runs her thumbnail along the invisible seam on the game phaser.
"So, I guess I thought I could save us from crashing. Even though the systems were haywire, I thought I could make Discovery respond. And when I couldn't, I just...it was easier to concentrate on flying, when Control was firing on us. Then we landed, and I hit my head, and everything just hit me."
Keyla doesn't have to explain what 'everything' is.
"I understand."
The phaser makes a metallic clunk as she sets it down, drawing her knees up and resting her elbows on them.
"I didn't think I could talk to anyone about it. I didn't even want to admit it. And how horrible is that, a ship full of people - my friends - and I felt that way. I was afraid..."
She trails off, staring at the far wall.
"Of what?" he prompts gently.
"I thought if I couldn't hold it together, maybe people shouldn't trust me to fly. And at dinner, I just-"
He squeezes her hand.
"Take your time."
Hugh stands and retrieves their waters, then waits patiently as she seems to be having a discussion with herself. He counts to a hundred in Standard English and Spanish, keeping his expression neutral and encouraging until she seems ready to talk again.
"When...after we landed. I went to the medbay for my head, and everything felt off somehow. And I just wanted to get back to the bridge, but everyone was busy, and it felt like...I mean," she chews her lower lip, "I thought, people are dying, and here I am."
"You were hurt too. I'm sorry I had my hands full with Paul," Hugh's lips quirk into a small smile, remembering Paul curling into his arms, so trusting as he carried him across the corridor, "I wasn't trying to dismiss you."
Keyla's head jerks up from where she's been studying the deck between her feet.
"No! I know that. Not- I'm not...it just stuck with me."
"What did?"
She closes her eyes, and he wonders if they've gone far enough for the day. Uncovering trauma is tricky, and trying to find the balance between facing it and being overwhelmed is a fine line that he's all too familiar with. Keyla though, just like the rest of the crew, pushes on.
"I stepped in it. In the medbay. The...blood."
His eyes widen. At dinner, it had seemed like a strange thing for her to fixate on, but it's starting to make sense. Hugh says nothing, just nods.
"So if Stamets almost died and couldn't even walk, I thought, why was I in there at all to waste someone's time? If I couldn't fly, I mean, a pilot isn't much use on the ground. This probably sounds- I know I'm being stupid..."
Hugh sighs, taking her hand.
"Look who you're talking to."
A frown creases her brow, deepening. He briefly debates whether what he's about to say next will undermine her confidence in him as a source of help. His grandmother's voice echoes in his memory - "If you want someone to share something, you have to give them a little of yourself." - and he knows he's making the right decision.
"I felt alone. I felt so lost. I was so angry that things didn't feel right, that I didn't feel right, that nothing made sense."
"I'm sorry I kept bothering you."
"You," Hugh squeezes her fingers, "were never a bother. You were all reaching out, and I wasn't ready to let you all back in yet."
Keyla falls silent again, but doesn't loosen her reciprocal grip. He lets his mind wander a little, back to the antibody project he and Tracy have been working on, then his mental list of crew he's flagged as potentially needing another quiet check-in.
"How did you do it?"
He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, organizing them carefully. Hugh hasn't had this exact conversation with anyone else (yet), so it's a good opportunity to put in perspective what he's spoken to Paul about with the lights off, the things he's discussed with Tracy, and his own conclusions.
"One, I got back to work. For me, medicine is like flying to you. It reminded me of who I was, and who I still wanted to be. Particularly in the middle of a crisis. Second...I did have all of you willing to be patient while I figured it out. Really though," he sighs, "I wasn't willing to lose two of the people I love the most, permanently."
I wasn't going to lose Paul again. Not if we had even the tiniest fraction of a chance.
She's nodding along slowly, the pieces falling together.
Get to the most important part.
"And...and I'm not actually okay all of the time. None of us could be expected to be. But I learned that I couldn't do it all myself, and I needed to let others help. Or ask for help, because this here, on the surface?" Hugh gestures with his free hand, "Doctor Culber knows who he is and his duty of care. Hugh, on the other hand...I'm proof to myself that you can survive something like that and come out the other side. But I couldn't do it alone."
He can see her processing, takes time to digest it himself.
"Can I tell you something?"
"Of course. That's what I'm here for."
"That day. At dinner. You had your hand on the back of Stamets' chair. It made me think about my nonna and papa, the way they would look at each other. Like you do. And I don't know why, but it made me feel so...so mad. That sounds horrible."
"No," he shakes his head, "it doesn't. It's human. It means you're alive, and hurting, and all that needs to go somewhere."
The panel on the wall chimes a reminder that he has fifteen minutes left on his allotted time. Keyla starts a little, and he carefully doesn't call attention to it.
"Do you want to play some more?"
"Not right now, if that's okay? I...I've got a lot to think about."
He smiles as she stands and helps pull him to his feet. Keyla snaps their game phasers back into the holder and sets the disks on top.
"I'll see you at Game Night tomorrow then. And if or when you want to talk some more, comm me. Any time."
Hugh raises his arm enough that the invitation is clear, but also that she's not obligated to accept. Keyla doesn't hesitate at all, hugging him and ignoring the sweat covering them both.
"Thank you, Doctor C."
Notes:
2,200 words later and I'm really pleased with how this one turned out. Certain chapters feel "good" after writing them, like what I envisioned in my head all came together and it feels plausible. My Detmer voice isn't as confident as Paul, Hugh, or Tilly, so it was a fun challenge to think about what she might say and how she would say it.
Chapter 281: Split
Notes:
Ideas for Paths Not Taken that haven’t made it into full stories (yet?).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The network is full of endless possibilities. They branch out from every moment in time, every choice and action creating parallel realities, each of them just as real as the others.
He lives a thousand, million other lives and deaths between one heartbeat and the next each time he steps into the spore cube. Paul catches glimpses of them as his mind hurtles Discovery through the mycelia, snippets out of time and space that he doesn’t understand, flashes of memories that aren’t his but are his and are at once familiar and foreign. His brain can’t process them all at once, but sometimes it untangles them in his dreams.
A universe where Paul decides to leave a cafe on Alpha Centauri, annoyed by someone’s humming. Carrying out his research with Justin, fulfilled but alone.
A place where the Federation doesn’t go to war, living together on a starbase.
A time when Tilly doesn’t save him, and he and Hugh are laid to rest in a single casket, never to be separated again. Aida collapsing at the funeral, Nella’s tears mixing with the rain.
Hugh asking Paul to marry him on Deneva, giving up his dream of being a CMO to stay planetside with his husband.
A moment where Dr. Kashkooli decides not to hike Cabo Rojo, and the news agencies carry the story of a teenager’s tragic death after a fall from the cliffs.
Growing old together in an apartment in San Francisco, teaching generations of cadets about science and medicine. Watching Hugh accept the mantle of Surgeon General, heart full to bursting with pride.
The Terran emperor plunging a knife into Paul’s neck, Hugh unable to help as he bleeds out on the deck.
A universe where he congratulates Tilly on her doctorate, his brilliant protégée grown into her own confidence.
Paul never remembers when he wakes, dreams melting away like fog over the Bay until only the barest sense of unease or joy remains as his eyes open. If he did, he would come to understand that Hugh is the one constant, the shining thread that weaves the tapestry of his life through space and time. Sometimes that thread is broken, lost, frayed, a million Pauls left without their Hughs. Infinite possibilities, but just one universe where they’re given a third chance to find each other and carry their love across the centuries.
Notes:
Borrowing and modifying Hugh’s line to Paul in the network about it being “the thread that weaves life through space”.
Chapter 282: Social (Cues)
Summary:
Cultural misunderstandings in a society where scientific acumen is prized.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“…would like to ask, honored physician, if you would consent to allowing me the privilege of bedding your partner?”
For the three dozenth time that evening, Hugh pulls out his best professional smile and reminds himself that such a request is the very opposite of disrespectful. Rilonian society venerated scientific ability, and the council had insisted on a banquet to thank Discovery’s away team after Tilly, Adira, and Paul were able to successfully repair their beta particle shielding with a mix of innovation, improvisation, and accidental good luck. As the guest of honor, Hugh’s watched with affectionate amusement as Paul’s grown steadily more flustered at the earnest attention of the Rilonians, moreso even than his conference talks used to generate. He’s fairly certain no few of them have been propositioning his partner as well, evidenced by the amount of times his fair skin flushes pink.
”I thank you for the compliment, revered professor,” he inclines his head, “but I regret that my partner is…unavailable for such activities.”
Explaining monogamy to a culture with vastly different mores isn’t something he wants to delve into, and it’s the most polite declination he’s been able to come up with. The Rilonian bobs their crest in understanding, although he thinks they look more than a bit disappointed.
“May I inquire,” Professor Sala begins in a tone rendered as tentative by the universal translator, “and I mean no insult, but is Adira not your offspring?”
Hugh’s not sure exactly where the question is coming from - Adira is really the one he’d like to ask for more context on the Rilonians - but doesn’t see the harm in answering truthfully.
”No insult taken, I assure you. Adira is not our offspring by genetics. They were not gestated by myself or my partner,” he adds, trying to choose words whose meaning is universal, “but in all other ways, we consider them our child.”
The professor tilts their head to the side, tail swishing.
“Then- oh. Oh revered physician Hugh, my apologies! Please forgive our presumption, we intended no disrespect.”
That’s a new reaction he hasn’t experienced this far. Sala flushes a bright blue, then turns and makes a rapid exit from the hall. Hugh’s still puzzling over their behavior when they return with another Rilonian in tow.
”First Academic Gila,” he greets the planet’s leader.
”Honored physician,” Gila sounds even more apologetic and flustered than Sala, who rushes off towards Paul and his crowd of admirers, “I must apologize for the grave insult we have offered you and your partner!”
Hugh frowns in confusion.
”I’m sorry if there’s been a misunderstanding, your hospitality has been most gracious and respectful.”
Gila’s crest rises in apparent mortification.
”We had assumed Adira was your child, which- oh, had we known otherwise, I assure you than no one would have dared to- please, allow me to apologize to both yourself and the revered scientist.”
He does his best to convince Gila that no terrible deed has been committed, and eventually the First Academic leaves him with another round of apologies. If anything, he’d worried that the continual refusal would be seen as a slight to their hosts, so this is something else altogether.
Thankfully, he spots Adira on their way back from the buffet table and intercepts them, tugging them into the shadow of a pillar.
”Hugh?”
”Can you explain why Gila and Sala are suddenly acting like they’ve insulted my grandmother?”
Adira gives him a sideways look that reminds him all too much of his niece.
”Your grandmo- oh. Umm. I don’t know?”
”Sala asked if you were related, then the next thing I know, Gila is apologizing like they walked in on someone naked.”
”They what?”
”Wanted to know if you were our child.”
Of all the reactions he could have imagined, Adira giggling isn’t on the list.
”Oh wow. You- oh, hah! They think…oh yeah.”
”Can you explain that using a few more words?”
Adira grins even as they shuffle their feet.
”Rilonians umm…mate once. To have kids, I mean. One kid. All the rest of the time, they…you know.”
Their gesture looks like an upside down, abstract number four.
”Free love?” he offers, eyebrow raised.
”That. So uhh, the worst thing they could do is intrude in the middle of that. When two of them are…expecting.”
”Expecting what?”
”You know. A kid.”
Hugh nearly drops his glass.
”Wait, you’re saying they think that the reason I’m not letting them drag Paul off is that he’s pregnant?”
“Uhh huh.”
“I…should someone tell Paul?”
”Oh, I’m not doing that,” Adira shakes their head, stuffing half of a large green fruit in their mouth, “thass yer prah- problem.”
“Thanks.”
”Yer wil’ome.”
He gazes across to where Paul is still surrounded by a large group that now includes Gila and Sala, a relieved but puzzled look on his face. Hugh blows him a kiss when their eyes meet, smiling.
This is going to make one heck of a log entry.
Notes:
This is what happens when I drink pear cider and think up story ideas. Thinnest excuse for a plot, but I couldn’t resist :P
Chapter 283: Sort
Chapter Text
“Sir? Is everything all right?”
”Fine, Tilly.”
Tilly doesn’t particularly believe him, but just nods and goes back to work on the sim.
Two minutes later, movement in her peripheral vision proves to be Stamets once again acting oddly. He’s standing with one hip canted against the console, frowning at the screen while pressing his fingers and the flat of his palm against his stomach just below the waist. At first she’d assumed it was just indigestion - and tendency to talk a lot or not, some things aren’t polite to call attention to - but now he seems to be rubbing at his hip.
They’re alone in the drive bay, so there’s no one else’s opinion to ask. He stills again, but a minute later Stamets sets down his PADD and tugs at the hem of his jacket. Whatever it is doesn’t seem to be any better, because he actually slips his fingers beneath his jacket and appears to be fussing with the waistband of his pants before sighing loudly.
”Commander?”
Stamets’ hand is back at his side between one blink and the next, and Tilly wonders if it’s just her brain telling her that she’s had one too many espressos.
”I’m…going to check on somethi-” Stamets mutters, retreating into his private lab so quickly that the doors swish shut on the last syllable.
”…okay then.”
****
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Hugh?
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Hi babe.
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Are you wearing underwear?
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] You’re not usually in the mood this early.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Not that I’m complaining.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Do you want me to be?
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] That’s not what I meant.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] >:(
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Did you sort the laundry last night?
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Is that supposed to be a metaphor for something?
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] No.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] I thought you already had?
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] So no?
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] No.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] What’s with all the questions?
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] …I think I’m wearing yours.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] What?
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Your underwear.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Oops?
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] How do you breathe in these?
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] You’ve never complained before.
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Ha ha. My balls feel like they’re caught in a forcefield.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Need me to come do an exam to be sure you haven’t damaged anything important?
[Stamets-Paul-LTCDR/ENGR] Only if you bring me ones that actually fit.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Be there in a few minutes :)
Chapter 284: Select
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
While he might have a high opinion of his own scientific competence, Paul knows better than to interrupt innovation in progress. Adira and Tilly have their heads together in front of the main display, alternatively gesturing animatedly, frowning in thought, and exclaiming at the other's idea. Instead of interjecting, he takes a step back and watches them rapidly re-program the simulation and flick bits of the model to different analyses with a growing sense of pride.
He glances up when a flash of white catches his eye to find Hugh leaning on the railing. Paul wonders how long he's been standing there, was too immersed following the discussion to even notice the bay doors opening. It's always a pleasure to look at his partner, and seeing the smile playing across his lips makes his chest fill with happiness. They're both on duty, so he merely nudges their shoulders together after climbing the stairs.
"What are they discussing?"
Paul chuckles.
"It started off with dark matter and quantum flux, but I lost it somewhere around using it to create an expanded warp field."
"What, Paul Stamets admitting he's out of his depth?"
Teasing makes Hugh's eyes crinkle at the corners, and Paul resists the urge to kiss those little wrinkles.
"Only to you."
An excited whoop gets their attention, Tilly and Adira bouncing with excitement and completely ignoring everyone else in the room watching them with varying degrees of amusement and bemusement. Nilsson pops her head out of the Jefferies tube junction, receiving a cheerful shrug from Paul in response to her inquisitive look.
"You know," Hugh murmurs, "it's a wonder that the universe hasn't simply re-ordered itself to accommodate them working together."
"They're something, aren't they?"
He doesn't bother suppressing the proprietary pride in his tone.
"You always did pick the best, Doctor Stamets."
"Thank you, Doctor Culber. Although," his tone softens, "all three of you actually picked me."
That earns him one of Hugh's looks that feels like a warm blanket wrapped around his shoulders.
"We have impeccable taste."
Down below, some of the exuberant glee has vanished. Tilly is shaking her head, running two strings of calculations in parallel while Adira mutters something and starts dismissing variables.
"You know who they remind me of?"
Hugh leans into Paul a little more.
"Hmm?"
"Nella."
There's a hint of sadness in the name, tempering the usual fond affection for Hugh's niece.
"I-" he pauses, swallows past the sudden tightness in his throat, "can you imagine the three of them together?"
"We'd never survive it."
"Probably not."
Hugh blinks slowly, gaze directed into the bay but light years away.
"Abuela would have loved Adira and Tilly."
Sighing, Paul rubs his pinky against the back of Hugh's hand where it's resting next to his on the railing.
"Your grandmother's a force to be reckoned with, but I'm not sure even she could stand up to the three of them if they set their minds to it."
"You know, she told me after the first time I brought you home that I'd finally found someone who deserved me."
He stares at the deck until he feels like he can answer without his voice wavering.
"I try."
"You don't have to try, it's who you are. Abuela and Nella both loved you, I'd say that's the best endorsement."
"Thank you for letting me spend so much time with your family."
A rustle of fabric as Hugh turns towards him. They're close enough that he can feel his warmth, but not quite touching.
"They're your family too, sweetheart."
It's a rare use of an endearment on duty, and Paul carefully files away the memory of Hugh standing here with Tilly and Adira working diligently behind him.
"I'm glad we have one here."
He doesn't have to explain, just smiles as they go back to watching the scene below.
"Me too."
Notes:
The whole second half of this chapter wasn't planned, but it only seemed right to keep going.
Chapter 285: Salt
Summary:
Sensual Culmets (not completely graphic) smut.
Notes:
Continuing on with the theme of verbal foreplay...
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Mmm.”
Hugh sits back on his heels and admires one of the most delicious sights in the universe. In front of him, Paul’s spread out over the rumpled sheets on his stomach, hair a tousled mess and his back covered in a sheen of sweat. He squirms a little, wiggling his ass enticingly.
”Trying to tempt me?”
”I think,” Paul’s reply is a little muffled in the pillow, “I already have.”
He can’t quite see Paul’s face from this angle, but can picture it from his husky tone of voice - eyes heavy-lidded with arousal, cheeks flushed and lips curved in a self-satisfied smile. Grinning, Hugh lets his open palm meet that perfect ass, enjoying the indignant squawk.
“Behave.”
”What do I get if I do?”
Past lovers had complained of Hugh’s tendency to talk in bed, but the playful back and forth between him and Paul takes it to new heights. It’s as much a part of foreplay as anything physical, something he’d been endlessly grateful for during their long separations. Other people complained of boredom and routine after a while, but here they are fifteen years later still enjoying each other.
”Well,” he pretends to ponder, walking his fingers up Paul’s inner thigh, “I was thinking of fucking you.”
”Only thinking about it?”
The pout is audible.
”I could do with some more convincing.”
Paul arches up enough to reach under his own body, fingers creeping towards the place where he's slick and ready.
“If you wait any longer, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of this myself.”
Hugh intercepts the roaming hand, uses both of his to pin Paul’s wrists to the mattress, and drapes himself over his partner’s back.
”None of that.”
“Oh?” Paul tugs against Hugh’s restraining grip, clearly not trying very hard to escape, “I suppose you have a better idea?”
He takes the opportunity to rub himself against the back of Paul’s thigh, enjoying the tickle of fine hairs and the damp friction.
”It does involve me doing quite a bit of work though.”
Paul pulls his face out of the pillow, turns his head enough to glare in mock affront.
”Excuse me, who just went down on you for the last seven minutes?”
Technically, Hugh had also taken the opportunity to slip his fingers between Paul’s legs, but it's been over a week, and he's too impatient to drag it out further. Delaying any longer to continue the “argument” is only going to waste time they could be doing something much more pleasant. Instead of replying verbally, he nips at Paul’s earlobe and then releases his wrists. He lifts Paul’s hips long enough to shove a pillow underneath, and fumbles around the covers looking for the all-important bottle.
It was right here...
”Looking for this?”
Paul tosses it back over his shoulder without looking, and it hits Hugh in the middle of his chest before landing on Paul’s back.
”Ouch.”
”Really?”
”You were supposed to catch that. I-”
Flicking the cap open, Hugh makes swift work of getting ready and silences his partner by the simple expedient of pressing inward. It’s a temporary silence, followed by a low moan.
”...fuck."
"Getting- oh! Getting there."
As he bottoms out, Paul's fingers tighten, rumpling the pillowcase.
"Ohhhhh. Hugh, I..."
"Sweetheart?"
Paul's foot lifts off the sheets, knee bending and heel tapping Hugh's thigh. Message received, he eases himself down again, slipping his hands beneath Paul's chest to wrap his arms around him.
"Mmm, that what you want?"
He keeps as much of his weight on his elbows as possible, made a bit more challenging when Paul releases the pillowcase and curves a sweaty hand around the back of his neck to pull him around for a kiss.
"Yes," he murmurs against Hugh's lips, "now move."
There's less leverage in this position, just sinuous, sensual rolls of his hips. Paul meets him halfway, every thrust punching the breath out of him in a whimper or moan and feet hooked over Hugh's calves.
"So good...fuck, I missed you."
"Are- mmmm. We...uhhh, I was. Right. Here."
Hugh licks the back of his neck, rubs his cheek on Paul's shoulder in a way that's going to leave beard burn.
"Missed this."
Paul's lips are bitten red, but he manages a nod between gasps for air.
"Me too."
They stop talking after that, and Hugh concentrates on not coming when Paul tightens in response to Hugh rubbing his nipples. Both of them are dripping with sweat, the salt stinging his lips as he works a love bite into the side of Paul's neck. He'd really, really like to be able to kiss his love properly and see his face, but Paul's not as flexible as he used to be, and rolling over would mean he can't hold him as close. Hugh makes up for it by lavishing his shoulders with kisses, sucks Paul's fingers into his mouth and presses his tongue between them.
He loses track of time - and really, what's the point of keeping an eye on the chrono when he has Paul naked under him? - until the elbow against his ribs makes him ease up a little, enough for Paul to slip his own hand between his body and the sheet.
"Getting- oh! Fuck...getting close."
"Mmmm. Sweeh- sweetheart, yes."
Fingers sliding on damp skin, he pinches a nipple at the same time his hips snap forward, and Paul cries out, back arching with orgasm. Hugh holds on just long enough to be sure, then rears back and grabs Paul's hips, driving into him again and again until his own climax races over his skin and turns all of his muscles to liquid. He lands heavily on Paul's back, feels his chest heaving and just manages to roll to the side as he slips out.
"...wow."
"I- I'll say."
They're silent for a couple of minutes, eyes closed and trying to catch their breath. Paul's hand slides across the damp sheets, finds his and laces their fingers together.
"Sorry."
"Hmmm?"
He turns his head to face Hugh, hair plastered to his forehead and eyes sparkling with sated mischief.
"Your pillow. We forgot the towel."
Groaning, Hugh chuckles ruefully.
"You distracted me."
Paul raises himself up on one elbow, locating the aforementioned towel on the nightstand and uses it to wipe up the worst of the mess.
"Oops?"
Hugh reels him until until Paul's sprawled more or less against his side, then leans up for a proper kiss.
"Love you."
Eyes closed, he feels Paul smiling against his lips.
"I love you too."
Notes:
**fans self** Thought about saving this for either Seven Days on Risa or When Sorrow Turns to Joy, but decided I've written too much angst here lately and wanted to make up for it. Really pleased with how this one turned out.
Just received the Season Three blu-ray yesterday, and jumped straight to the special features. There are some AWESOME blooper reel moments, so if you have a chance, definitely get it!
Chapter 286: Strife
Summary:
Some conversations shouldn't be overheard. Hugh's said his piece to Michael, but what about Paul?
Notes:
Follows on Chapters 175-178 ("Sever") with the much-requested conversation between Paul and Michael post-Season Three.
References Tilly’s conversation with Hugh in Chapter 179 (“Sour”).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Pass me the spanner?”
”One sec- here.”
”Thanks.”
For once it’s not the condenser that Tilly and Adira are working on. Instead, they’re setting up sensors in one of the cultivation bay’s experimental plots, carefully partitioned off from the main grow beds. Adira had been eager to use programmable matter for the design, but Tilly had smiled and assured them that ‘sometimes the actual old-fashioned way makes sense’, so she’s currently working on the lower supports while Adira floats on an antigrav a meter or so above her head.
Relief in the form of dilithium and much-needed supplies to the far-flung planets that remained in the Federation meant that worlds were finally able to begin cultivating produce again, and the last colony they stopped at had a hybrid hydroponic solution that might accelerate growth of their stock. They’d tried it in one of the other plots, but given the muttered commentary she overhears Stamets giving one of the stella, the finicky fungus isn’t taking to it as well as they’d hoped.
Oh well.
Tilly’s concentrating on calibrating an infrared monitor when the bay doors open and close again.
Probably Dr. Culber.
It’s fairly late, and she’s surprised that he didn’t show up earlier to drag them off to dinner.
Or show up with a picnic like he did last week.
She’s still smiling at the memory of him introducing Adira to asopao when they nudge her shoulder with their fingertips.
”Tilly!”
It’s an urgent whisper, and she looks up in with a frown. Adira has their finger over their lips and is leaning so far off the edge of the antigrav that she’s surprised the safeties haven’t kicked in and lowered them.
“What’s wrong?”
This time the platform does descend to about waist height, and Adira tugs her sleeve. They shake their head when Tilly goes to say something else, so she gives in to curiosity and climbs up beside them. The antigrav hums, stopping four meters off the deck in the midst of a dense thicket of stems.
Tilly follows Adira’s gaze down through the fungi, and blinks in surprise.
That’s not Dr. Culber.
Rather, Michael has stopped a meter behind Stamets and seems uncharacteristically lost for words. For his part, Stamets continues methodically scanning fronds and comparing the readings with a floating graph. She’d almost think he doesn’t know he has company, but his shoulders are stiffer than duranium hull plating.
”Captain.”
It’s not accompanied by any additional greeting, and Tilly’s frown deepens at the formality of address.
”Paul. Can we talk?”
Stamets makes a noise that’s neither agreement nor denial, shrugging.
”What,” he addresses the readout, “is it?”
Michael shifts her weight from one foot to the other, seemingly weighing her words.
”I need to apologize.”
”Really.”
Beside her, Adira cringes at the flat tone. Tilly reaches over and squeezes their hand reassuringly even though her own stomach is twisting.
This doesn’t seem good.
No one’s come out and said exactly what happened between Stamets being held captive in Engineering and Michael getting him off the ship, but she swears the air goes icy and sharp whenever they’re in the same room together. Detmer doesn’t know, and all Dr. Culber did when she asked was shake his head and say, ‘It’s complicated.’ The terseness of the Lorca days hasn’t returned often since their jump to the future, mostly, as far as she can tell, because he’s no longer regularly working eighteen hour days. This feels completely different somehow.
“Yes,” Michael’s voice grows a little stronger, “getting you off the ship and away from Osyraa was the right thing to do. I just-“
“Clearly.”
The stem he’s gripping in his left hand trembles, spores dusting his sleeve cuff. His fingers are still inputting data, but Tilly can tell that it’s got nothing to do with anything he’s observing.
“Tilly,” Adira whispers out of the side of their mouth, “what-“
She cuts them off with a shake of her head.
”I don’t know.”
”Paul, could you please look at me?”
Michael’s quiet entreaty - barely audible over the bay’s irrigation switching on - has quite the opposite effect. Stamets gives a sharp burst of humorless laughter, and both Tilly and Adira jump. The platform sways, compensating for the sudden shift, but the whir of the antigravs doesn’t conceal the bitterness in his voice.
“You couldn’t manage it when you strapped me into a force field and blew me out the window.”
“Paul-“
“Oh,” Stamets adds as if just remembering, “can’t forget how you didn’t even bother to let me know Adira’s plan, how you were too busy playing hero to think that just maybe I’d want to know that Hugh gave you a message for me.”
Tilly watches Michael recoil as if struck, feels her own jaw dropping open.
What the fuck?
”I- I wasn’t…there wasn’t time.”
Stamets finally turns around, eyes narrowed and face flushed.
“The least you could have done was act like condemning him to die again along with my child? Was to look me in the eye while you did it. Like you cared how I felt.”
Her knuckles are turning white around the edge of the platform.
”That’s not- of course it hurt me!”
A head shake.
“The price of command, right?”
Michael opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. For a moment, it feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room, negative pressure in the calm before a storm looming on the horizon. Then Stamets exhales hard, shoulders sinking.
”See, I understand that making sure Osyraa couldn’t use me to jump was what needed to happen. You were right. Are you happy?”
”It’s not about…I didn’t want to do it like that.”
Stamets collapses the display back into his badge, jaw working as he seems to be holding back.
”Paul, you have to believe me, there wasn’t a better way.”
He’s blinking rapidly, eyes faraway.
“It doesn’t matter whether I believe you. It’s done. And Hugh and Adira are safe, and it all worked out. But I don’t think you understand.”
”I do understand.”
They stare at each other, silent.
Michael didn't deny any of Stamets' statements, her responses defensive but not disputing events. Her stomach flips, and she must make some sort of noise because Adira scoots closer and leans into her shoulder. She loves Michael, truly, but the last few months have tumbled her from the pedestal Tilly hadn’t realized she’d placed her on. Bit by bit, it had become more obvious that the distance between them was growing, that sense of understanding weakened.
I'm not sure I know this Michael now.
Stamets nods as if confirming something to himself.
“Well then.”
He starts to walk away, is halfway to the doors when Michael finds her voice.
”Paul…I need you to trust me to lead Discovery. Please.”
The scuff of boots as Paul turns around.
“Michael,” he doesn't look at her, but his quiet voice seems to echo in the bay, “I don’t like feeling like this.”
”What can I- is there…how can I…”
”Change that?”
Michael nods.
”Yes.”
”You can’t. I don't- I understand why you think your way is right. And I don't agree, but I don't think you were trying to be cruel. That's the worst part. If you’re asking me to follow orders, Captain...you don't have to worry about that.”
The unspoken implication makes Tilly bite her tongue.
“And my friend Paul?”
Adira’s tense, seems to be holding their breath too.
“Michael. You’d disobey a direct order for Book. But it still feels like you don’t understand why I feel this way about a man I’ve loved for fifteen years.”
Fuck.
“What you did to me isn’t the point.
Michael moves towards him, eyes bright with unshed tears and reaching out to lay her fingertips on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, I-“
While he doesn’t pull away, he also doesn’t acknowledge the gesture.
"I've already buried him once,” his voice catches, “and I won’t survive doing it again.”
“Paul…”
”I need some time. Don’t ask me how long.”
She takes a step back, hand falling away.
”I understand.”
This time, she doesn’t try to stop him leaving. As the doors close behind him, Michael turns first one way, then the other, arms at her sides and fingers clenching and unclenching. Tilly’s first instinct is to go to her, but she also knows this intensely private conversation never should have had witnesses.
Below, Michael sighs, then makes her own way out of the bay.
”…Tilly?”
Adira sounds as shocked as she feels.
”I…I-“ she shakes her head, “I can’t.”
”I didn’t know. What Paul…he didn’t, Hugh never said…”
“I didn’t know either.”
”What do we do?”
For all their brilliance, Tilly’s reminded just how young Adira actually is.
“We can’t tell him we know.”
”But- you heard-“
“He forgot we were here, or thought we’d left.”
There's zero chance Stamets would have bared that kind of honesty with a chance of being overheard. Maybe not even by Dr. Culber.
”But he can’t. We have to do something.”
Adira’s lower lip is trembling. She sits up, hugging them tightly.
”What do you think we should do?”
Eventually, Adira’s hold loosens.
”Hugh. He’ll know.”
Tilly isn’t at all sure of that.
”Okay.”
Notes:
Massive mood shift from the previous chapter. Whew.
Chapter 287: Strife, Part Two
Summary:
Tilly and Adira need to talk to Hugh. Now.
Notes:
Continues from the previous chapter.
Chapter Text
They stare at each other for a few breaths, platform still floating placidly amongst the glowing fronds. Tilly tries to clear her mind, but keeps returning to what Stamets said to Michael at the end of their conversation.
"I've already buried him once. I won't survive doing it again."
It's something she understands all too well from the months after Dr. Culber's death, watching Stamets lose himself bit by bit to grief. She never would have imagined taking on the role of listening to him, offering comfort as he hid from everyone else but still let her in, but it isn't something she would trade now even for a captaincy.
They belong together.
She shakes her head again to clear it, then reaches for the antigrav controls and lowers them to the deck. Adira swings their legs over the edge, fiddling with their comm badge. Despite their decisive insistence moments ago, Tilly's not sure they're convinced that talking to Dr. Culber is the solution. On one hand, she's uncomfortable with revealing even accidental eavesdropping on such a private matter; on the other, if anyone is going to know how to help Stamets, it's going to be him.
It's your best option.
Tilly gives them a hand down, quickly moving to pack up their tools while Adira calls up crew locations. Her first concern - that both men would be in the same place - turns out to be unfounded, as Stamets appears to be in his quarters while Dr. Culber is in one of the operating suites with a do-not-disturb notation.
"Tilly to medbay."
"Medical, Pollard."
"Umm. Hi Doctor Pollard. Is Doctor Culber available?"
A click, like Dr. Pollard setting down a piece of equipment.
"He's in surgery, won't be out for another thirty minutes or so."
"We really need to talk to him," Adira interjects, "soon."
There's a brief pause.
"Is there something wrong?"
"No."
"Sort of?"
"Okay," Dr. Pollard's voice is sharp with the focus that Tilly recognizes from every single medical professional she's ever met, "now you've got me worried."
"We're fine. Full health, I promise. It's just..."
"Tilly?"
Adira waves their hands in a helpless gesture as Tilly shakes her head, frowning. She knows Dr. Pollard is Dr. Culber's best friend, is fairly close to Stamets as well, but still hesitates.
"It's about Commander Stamets. He's fine," she hurries to add, "but it's kind of personal."
Dr. Pollard mutters something that sounds an awful lot like 'it usually is' before clearing her throat.
"All right. Hugh is just finishing up, but I can go in and take over. Do you want him to comm? Or come down to Medical."
"We'll go there, if that's okay?"
"Go ahead and wait in the CMO's office, I'll send him in as soon as I can."
"Thank you, Doctor."
"Pollard out."
Tilly exhales, wiping her hands on her pant legs.
"Medbay it is then."
"What if Paul goes there looking for him?"
It's a possibility, but Tilly doesn't think it's likely right now.
"If there's one thing I've learned about him, it's that he tries not to mix personal stuff with work. He might comm Doctor Culber, but given...what just happened, I don't think he's going anywhere."
Adira nods. They glance around the bay, then head towards the door with Tilly a step behind.
****
The main part of the medbay is empty when they arrive, probably not unusual for this time of night. Neither Tilly or Adira take any of the chairs in the CMO's office, fidgeting and pacing. Under other circumstances, she could find humor in them acting like perpetual motion machines, but today she doesn't bother suppressing the urge to move.
Swish.
"Tilly, Adira," Dr. Culber steps into the office, "Doctor Pollard said you needed me?"
He sounds a little tired, but offers them both one of his usual smiles. His uniform jacket is on but unzipped, and Tilly can't help noticing the patch of sweat in the middle of his chest showing through his undershirt.
Surgery. Right.
"Sorry to bother you, Doctor. We...kind of wanted your advice?"
Dr. Culber leaves off fastening his cuffs to level an inquisitive look at her.
"Was that meant to be a question?"
"Umm."
"It's Paul," Adira blurts, "and Michael."
A shadow crosses Dr. Culber's face, and he sighs.
"I know you're both worried, but I promise they'll work it out. That's all I can tell you."
"That's not it," Tilly chews her lower lip, "we sort of accidentally were there - the cultivation bay - and Michael came in and...yeah. I think he forgot we were there, because they- well. Michael wanted to say something."
"Something?"
"We know why he's mad. I think," Adira twists their fingers together, "you guys didn't say anything, but...yeah. Michael said she was sorry, but I don't think Paul believed her. He kept saying she didn't understand."
Dr. Culber's face undergoes a transformation from surprise to worry, before finally settling on pensive.
"I see."
Adira swallows hard.
"Hugh, what do we do?"
He sits down, pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
"Paul believes her. That's why it's so difficult."
Something clicks into place for Tilly.
"Oh. Shit."
She doesn't think she needs to apologize for cursing this time.
"How do we help him?"
"We can't," Dr. Culber shakes his head, "it's not- trust takes time to build. Longer to fix. And-"
Swish.
Both Tilly and Adira jump when Stamets appears in the doorway, his own jacket open and moving as if exhausted. Stamets' expression is unguarded, deep frown lines creasing his forehead, and she knows the last thing he probably needs right now is to have to pretend to be anything other than how he's feeling for their sakes.
"Hugh, I- oh."
He clearly expected to find his partner alone, and guilt prickles at Tilly's ears.
"Umm. Hi sir."
The haggardness disappears in a moment, concern obvious.
"Is something wrong?"
Good job Sylvia, now he's worried.
"No?"
Adira pastes on a blatantly fake smile, but Dr. Culber is already rising from the desk.
"They just came by to chat. Speaking of- thank you for getting me out of there, I think we're all due for some dinner."
"What- oh. Yes. Dinner! Except..." Tilly searches for an excuse, "Adira and I have this...thing...we're working on. We'll see you for dinner tomorrow?"
"You're not going back to the lab at this hour," Stamets starts, "it's late."
Dr. Culber slips a hand under Stamets' jacket, resting at the small of his back, and Tilly pretends she doesn't see him leaning into it.
"No, they're not. Are you?"
She elbows Adira under the guise of turning for the door.
"...no."
Tilly's hands itch. She considers the fallout, then tells that voice to shut up before moving.
"Okay. Hugh, I- umm. Tilly?"
Stamets returns the hug, and she can feel his confusion but decides he's probably used to her social awkwardness and won't ask too many questions. Over his shoulder, Dr. Culber looks first surprised, then smiles and mouths 'thank you'.
Adira is still standing there blinking, so she snags their elbow on the way out and pulls them along.
"Err. Night guys..."
The door swishes closed on the responses. She lets go but keeps moving, and Adira follows her not to either of their quarters but a bend of Jefferies tube beside the turbolift. They climb inside, sitting side by side at a dead end junction.
”Tilly?”
"You can't tell him. It'll be worse for Stamets...for Paul if he knows we heard. Doctor Culber's right, it's something- I can't believe I'm saying this, but I don't think we can help."
Adira looks like they're about to protest when both of their badges chirp with an incoming message.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Thank you both.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Leave it though, please?
[Tal-Adira-NR/SCI] Are you sure?
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Yes.
They look far from happy, but Tilly knows Adira will listen to Dr. Culber. Hopefully.
[Tilly-Sylvia-ENS/ENGR] Okay. Goodnight, Doctor.
[Tilly-Sylvia-ENS/ENGR] Hugh. Sorry.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] :)
”Come on,” she hauls herself to her feet and waits for Adira to do the same, “let’s…do you want to finish that holo from the other night?”
“I guess we can.”
Sighing, Tilly wraps her arm around Adira’s shoulders.
”What does Tal have to say?”
”Tal doesn’t…we don’t talk, talk.”
“You know what I mean.”
”They think Hugh’s right.”
”Well.”
Adira scrubs a hand across their face.
”All right. I still, I don’t like it. It doesn’t feel right.”
They climb down the ladder together, and step into the turbolift. Silence reigns between them all the way back to Adira’s quarters, but it’s a thoughtful one.
Swish.
Adira waves her towards the couch and heads for the replicator.
“Asopao?”
”Doctor Culber really got you hooked on that, didn’t he?”
”Sort of.”
”That’s fine.”
The replicator whirs.
”Sometimes,” Tilly unzips her boots, “there’s no right or good answer. Just the best decision we think we can make.”
”Did Michael say that?”
“Saru.”
Chapter 288: Social (Cues), Part Two
Summary:
Paul and Hugh's conversation after the banquet with the Rilonians ends. Read part one here.
Notes:
Dialogue-only follow on from Chapter 282 ("Social (Cues)") by request from a comment thread with the amazing Watchingds9forbashir.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Ready to go?"
"Yes."
"What's wrong?"
"I'll tell you when we're back home."
"...all right."
****
"Well?"
"Why does everyone here want to have sex with me? Me!"
"Because you're brilliant, sweetheart."
"I know that. Usually that doesn't make people horny."
"Present company begs to differ."
"Hugh, someone offered to 'worship my intellect all night'."
"Well. I can't say I disagree."
"..."
"You're hot babe, get it into that pretty head."
"You're...ugh, I hate it when you do that."
"Give you a compliment?"
"See what I have to put up with?"
"Who are you talking to?"
"The universe in general. Everyone...out there."
"Mmm. Okay."
"What did you say to make them stop? Gila sounded like they'd caused some sort of diplomatic incident and started apologizing for being rude with 'my condition'."
"Ahh. That."
"Yes?"
"Well, so, according to Adira..."
"Why do I not like where this is going?"
"I don't know."
"You just scratched your neck."
"It was itchy."
"Hugh..."
"Rilonians have one offspring, and the only time it's completely inappropriate to invite someone for sex is- well."
"When?"
"When a Rilonian is pregnant."
"Huh. Interesting, I wonder- wait. Pregnant?"
"Yeah."
"So they stopped propositioning me because you told them I was pregnant?"
"I didn't tell them that."
"You didn't...pregnant, Hugh? And they believed it?"
"All I said was you weren't available and that Adira wasn't our biological child. They don't have a gender binary, so I'm guessing they might not even realize that human males don't generally have a uterus. Or that there's any reproductive differences between humans at all."
"I- okay."
"I only share up to a point, love."
"I thought I was the insecure one."
"Oh this isn't insecurity, this is me being the only one allowed to worship your body."
"What about my intellect?"
"Is that what we're calling it these days?"
"You're trying to distract me with sex."
"Is it working?"
"...yes."
Notes:
For the neck scratching tell, watch that one scene with Georgiou, Tilly, Paul, and Hugh when he walks into Engineering :)
Chapter 289: Spices
Summary:
Paul and Aida discuss Hugh’s niece Nella.
Chapter Text
He frowns at the pan intently as Aida adds spices from unlabeled jars with the ease of long habit and without any obvious measurements. It’s probably not appropriate to go get his PADD to take notes, but he’s not sure he can remember all of the ratios properly, and she'd promised that it was Hugh's favorite. It’s particularly difficult to focus on the cooking when Hugh’s grandmother isn’t only narrating the recipe, but also sharing family stories as she chops and stirs. Paul hangs on every word as she starts in on Hugh bringing Tracy home for Christmas during med school, and shares a laugh over the fact that her no-nonsense approach included him.
All of the women in Hugh’s life are like that, even the small ones.
“What are you thinking?”
Aida pauses, spoon in hand, and points at one of the bowls on the counter for Paul to retrieve it for her.
“Nella’s very special to Hugh.”
She smiles, turning up the heat on the old-fashioned range. The heady aromas of oregano and garlic are starting to make Paul’s mouth water.
”From the very beginning.”
”Did he...” he wracks his brain for an explanation, “-deliver her?”
The oven chimes, and Paul is pleased that Aida lets him take the large casserole dish out for her before reclaiming the oven mitts.
”No, he was in surgery when Meera went into labor. She was seven weeks early,” Aida laughs quietly, “Nellita was impatient from the start. His friend Tracy delivered her.”
She holds out a spoon for him to taste. It’s hot enough to nearly burn his tongue, but the explosion of flavor in his mouth is worth the sting. He thinks he sees her smiling when he licks the spoon, caught up in analyzing the complex interplay of spices as she continues.
“Hugh spent every minute of his breaks sitting with Nella until she was ready to go home.”
It’s an oddly appealing visual, now that he thinks about it.
“Really?”
Aida laughs, setting the lid on the pan and turning to face him.
"He was so enamored. At least until he decided to grow his beard and Nella made her disapproval clear.”
"What happened?"
She shoos him away from the stove, over to where their cups of iced tea are waiting on the counter.
"He kissed her little hand, and she swatted him. Right on the nose."
Paul's glass hovers halfway up to his mouth. He’s fairly sure Hugh was clean-shaven in his graduation portraits, hasn't really thought about when that would have changed.
"Ouch."
"Mmhmm."
She nudges Paul out into the living room and points at one of the holos on the mantel. In it, Hugh has an infant in his arms that must be Nella, smiling up at the photographer with eyes full of happiness. His face is bare of even a shadow of stubble, and it makes him look impossibly youthful.
"I..." Paul's words desert him, a strange sensation tugging at his chest.
Aida doesn't push, just drinks her tea and keeps talking like Paul isn't staring off into space.
“She’s named after Hugh’s grandfather, Antonio.”
There’s something in the way Aida says his name that makes him blink back to the present.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
He stumbles over the words, unsure if it's the right thing to say even though he knows Aida's husband passed away over a decade ago. The way she says his name...it’s simple, four syllables, but filled with so much affection that he can feel it.
Aida's smile doesn't dim, looking at a mantel full of memories.
"He's still with me. With us, in our family."
("I'm close to my family," Hugh says one night.
"Oh," is all Paul can offer, "what's that like?"
There's silence for a moment, and he glances up to find Hugh chewing his lip and lost in thought. When he speaks again, there is no hesitation.
"Come home with me for Christmas."
"I...are you sure?"
Hugh's hand is warm on Paul's cheek.
"My grandmother's been waiting to meet you.")
A flash of bright yellow catches his attention, and Paul glances out the living room window to where several of Aida’s great-grandchildren are flying kites under watchful adult eyes. It’s easy to pick out Nella’s kite, floating at least three meters higher than the others.
Apparently you did manage to explain turbulent flow properly…
"That child..." Aida shakes her head fondly, "I dread to think what to do when she's older."
“She’s brilliant.”
She really is, a fact that's forced Paul to reevaluate his long-held belief that he's terrible at interacting with children.
”You know, Hugh was her favorite uncle until recently.”
He frowns, failing to determine which of Hugh’s other brothers or cousins might have taken his place. Paul is admittedly biased, but he can’t imagine any of them being more interesting than the man he loves.
“What happened?”
Aida chuckles.
”He brought you home for Christmas.”
“I-“ Paul feels his cheeks heat in a way that has nothing to do with the warm Puerto Rican air, “umm…”
He's saved from trying to find a reply when the patio door slides open and Hugh steps back into the house. Hugh's a little sweaty (likely from chasing his nieces and nephews), skin glowing gold from the sun and laughter still on his lips as he kisses Paul's cheek before following Aida back into the kitchen. Watching him lean over the stove with his grandmother, Paul's hit with a thought he's had before - so many times before - but it's never been so close to the surface that he almost says it. In this moment though, instead of terrifying him, it fills him with conviction.
I want to spend the rest of my life with him.
Notes:
When I picked Nella’s name (Antonella) I didn’t “know” yet that she would be named after Aida’s husband, I just wanted it to shorten to something that sounded sweet and impish. I hadn’t consciously made it a callback to Anthony, but uhh…oops?
Also, thinking back on the look on Hugh’s face when he’s going toe to toe with Georgiou at the beginning of S3E8 and says, “if I had the time, I’d have children” really stuck with me.
This felt so good to write. Any requests for the next installment of Hugh's family being amazing?
Chapter 290: Shadow
Summary:
Paul met a very different Hugh while lost in the network.
Or did he?
Notes:
Warning: Contains a bit of violence that may be disturbing, and references to events in Goodbye, Sweetheart.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Who’s there? Paul?”
A familiar figure coalesces from the mycelial haze, shoulders and a profile that he’d recognize anywhere. He doesn’t stop to think how, only that Hugh is here, is alive-
“Hugh!”
He runs to him, buries his face into Hugh’s neck, inhaling deeply, greedily. His lungs fill with the scent of musk and woodsy citrus. The network must do things to their senses, because there’s a strange metallic undertone that he considers for less than half a second before ignoring it. Hugh is solid and real and nothing else matters.
Alive, he’s alive.
“I missed you so much,” he whispers into Hugh’s ear, nuzzling frantically at the tender spot beneath it, “so much.”
Hugh stiffens in his arms, draws in a breath as Paul kisses his jaw, his cheek, his chin, before cradling Hugh’s face between his palms and pressing their lips together. He moans quietly as Hugh’s tongue dances with his, as teeth tug at his lower lip-
“Mmm,” he pulls back a little at the sting of a hard nip, “I’m not going anywhere.”
Hugh’s eyes narrow, hands sliding up Paul’s ribs. It’s a familiar, probing touch, the kind that checks for injury or as a precursor to foreplay, but his fingertips dig in harder than he’s used to. One arm circles Paul’s waist, and he melts into the contact, even as he wonders why Hugh’s other hand is at the back of his neck instead of the familiar curve around his cheek. It’s a minor thing, easily dismissed as Hugh sucks on his earlobe, humming in pleasure and shivering at the scratch of his beard as he kisses down the side of his throat. The sigh turns into a moan when Hugh licks at his pulse, then-
“Owww!”
He pushes back, hand coming up to slap protectively over his neck.
“What was that for?”
He winces as his fingertips dab gently at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.
“Paul,” Hugh’s voice is sharp, a harshness he’s never heard before, “what are you playing at?”
There’s a slick of wetness that doesn’t feel like saliva though, a hint of redness on Hugh’s lips and teeth that doesn’t make sense. He and Hugh occasionally play rough, get lost in the heat of passion after a long separation, but even at their most uninhibited, Hugh’s love bites never involved actual biting.
“…what are you talking about? And why did you bite me?”
Hugh takes a half step back, shoulders squaring and face going impassive in a way that screams wrong on every level. He raises a hand again, and Paul freezes as that powerful grip circles his neck, squeezing hard enough that his lips tingle.
”Who the fuck are you? And where’s Paul?”
His fingers scrabble uselessly at the corded muscles of Hugh’s forearm, the tendons of his wrist.
“Hugh…what- I…” he gasps, “it’s me.”
Blood pounds in his ears.
”You're not him.”
“I-“
The edges of the not-world start to go dim.
”You’re not Paul.”
Suddenly, Hugh releases him and shoves him away, back colliding with a wall. He sucks in lungful of air, tries to find his feet in more ways than the physical.
“Of course I am, what the-“
He finally gets a proper look at Hugh, and what he sees makes his stomach twist.
Instead of the crisp, clean white that so suited his partner, Hugh is dressed in a deep red, some sort of half-armor strapped over his chest and shoulder. There’s a dagger at his hip and a phaser holstered at his thigh, and he moves with a menacing surety. His face is just as handsome as ever, but there’s an ugly scar bisecting his left cheek from eye to jaw. The furrows are deeper, his smile lines missing, and his eyes…
Paul stumbles back. Those dark amber eyes are icy cold, none of the deep tenderness and love that always made him feel like being wrapped in warmth. They’re hard, staring at him as if they could bore through his skull.
“I don’t…”
Between one blink and the next, the air rushes out of Paul’s lungs as he’s slammed back into the wall again. He blinks stars from his vision as the razor edge of that dagger kisses the skin of his throat and a knee digs into his groin with wicked precision.
”Who. Are. You?”
In fourteen years they've argued and been angry with each other, but he’s never been scared of Hugh like he is now. He knows struggle is useless, that Hugh can easily overpower him, but his bulk and strength have always only ever been a turn-on, a solid and grounded presence that effortlessly lifted him onto counters and against walls for pleasure.
This…isn’t your Hugh.
”Paul Stamets.”
A humorless laugh.
”Fine. You’re not my Paul.”
He swallows, feeling the blade against his Adam’s apple.
”Obviously.”
”But you know who I am.”
Paul doesn’t dare shake his head.
”I know who Hugh Culber is to me.”
”And what’s that?”
He searches not-Hugh’s face for anything but impassive, calculating threat. He doesn’t find it.
”My partner.”
The arm barring his chest twitches the slightest bit.
“So where is he?”
“He’s…gone.”
A sneer that has no place on Hugh’s face.
”Gone?”
“He was…” the words choke him, “he’s dead.”
Not-Hugh freezes, expression gone even harder.
”Did you kill him?”
”-what?”
”Did you wrap your hands around his neck and strangle him in your bed?”
Paul's jaw works, but nothing passes his lips. Not-Hugh laughs again, chilling and ugly, and steps back.
“No? Well then.”
Without the weight pinning him in place, Paul slides down the wall.
“I- never, I’d never…what-“
Not-Hugh sheathes the dagger and crouches in front of him.
“No?”
”I love him.”
A muscle twitches in his cheek.
”So did he.”
****
****
Air burns his lungs as he inhales, muscles clenched and back arched in tension. Consciousness steals his breath, makes his heart pound until Paul forces his eyes open, searching the darkness.
Where am I?
Discovery’s walls gleam pewter in the starlight filtering in, and he focuses on the water glass he’d set down on his nightstand before falling asleep. A few bubbles cling to the side beneath the surface, effervescent.
There was something- someone…
The shreds of a dream melt away, leaving only a lingering sense of fear and the pajamas soaked with sweat.
Fear.
Uncertainty.
Paul nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand finds his shoulder, slides to rest against the back of his neck. Shards of ice seize his spine.
“…sweetheart?”
Hugh.
Of course it’s Hugh, who else would it be?
He tries to get his breathing under control as Hugh’s sleepy murmur turns into something more alert.
”Babe? Are you okay?”
Why am I scared to turn around?
“C-compuhh…computer. Lights.”
He winces as the room is illuminated, a spike of pain lancing through his temple.
“Paul.”
The hand tightens just a little, Hugh’s muscles shifting as he moves to sit up. An arm slowly makes its way around his waist, a gentle kiss pressed to his hair.
”…Hugh.”
”Sweetheart…you’re wet.”
Glancing down, he can see Hugh’s fingers splayed apart over his chest, over his pounding heart.
”Did you have a bad dream?”
In the light, whatever irrational terror had hold of him recedes. He lets Hugh’s hand urge him to roll over.
”I…” Paul finds Hugh watching him with concern, eyes heavy with sleep but tender. “I don’t know?”
“What do you need?”
It’s a simple question, but it communicates a receptive willingness to undertake whatever task Paul desires.
“I don’t know.”
Hugh frowns, and the down-turned lips seem out of place on a mouth meant for smiling.
“Okay. Let’s at least get you out of these?”
He punctuates the question by tugging at the hem of Paul’s shirt. Usually, he’d have a quip about Hugh wanting to get him naked, but humor feels just out of reach right now. Hugh’s efficient as ever, touch firm and not meant to arouse as he skims the damp fabric up and off Paul’s arms, does the same with his sleep pants. Instead of getting up to fetch a fresh set though, Hugh kicks off his own pajamas and cuddles Paul to his chest naked. He throws a leg over Paul’s hips, anchoring him, hands petting his hair and back in a familiar rhythm.
”Better?”
He doesn’t reply immediately, not until he’s sure of the answer.
A deep breath.
Another.
The feeling of Hugh’s heart against his bare skin is a balm against the ragged edges of his nerves.
”Yes.”
The hand in his hair pauses, slides down and cradles his cheek. He raises his own hand to meet it, the triangular ridge of scar tissue firm beneath his fingers.
”Do you want to talk about it?”
Does he?
”No. I mean,” he sighs, “I don’t remember it.”
Hugh’s eyes are understanding.
”Okay.”
He tips Paul’s chin up and kisses him gently.
“Hugh?”
”Sweetheart?”
“I love you.”
Hugh’s lips curve into a smile, and this kiss is longer and sweeter.
”I love you too.”
Notes:
I explored Hugh meeting Mirror!Paul in When Sorrow Turns to Joy, and decided it was time to see the flip side of that. This is the Goodbye, Sweetheart tragic Mirror!Culmets, not the “Terra Firma” universe in Survival.
It should be a dream because Paul doesn’t know Hugh’s dead until they meet in “Vaulting Ambition”, right? Right…
Chapter 291: Setbacks
Chapter Text
As far as bed play goes, tonight's turning into a comedy of errors.
The evening begins promisingly, with playful kisses in the shower turning into groping that eventually morphs into full-blown rubbing off together...until Hugh reaches for the waterproof lube and slips on a slick of suds from the overturned bottle of shampoo, narrowly avoiding falling against the shower wall.
Face first.
Paul catches him and they laugh off the mishap, then dry themselves and brush their teeth before moving to the bed to continue. An impromptu wrestling match ends when Hugh decides the expedient route to victory is simply going down on Paul until his eyes cross. His fingers have just started teasing more intimate areas when Paul's heel connects with his back - courtesy of a sudden cramp - and Hugh nearly bites something very important off. The reproach dies on his lips when he sees the way Paul is clutching his leg, and he has to retrieve a mild muscle relaxant from the medkit in the bathroom. A few minutes of massaging Paul's thigh does the trick, and a thank you blowjob seems in order.
Paul's enthusiastic (and completely obscene) slurping is heading towards a very satisfying conclusion. The covers are kicked down, Hugh's pawing at his shoulders, and-
Chirp.
Buzz-BEEP.
SCREECH.
The priority medical alert cuts through Hugh's moans. Having one's horribly hot partner going down on oneself doesn't override a physician's oath, which means the only response to Tracy's summons to help deal with the unfortunate victims of a prank war in the biochemistry lab is a groan and promise to be there in five minutes.
"Sorry love," he sighs, wincing as he maneuvers himself into his pants in a way that won't leave an obvious bulge, "I'll be back as soon as I can."
A naked, pouting Paul is one of the most difficult things in the universe to resist, but he manages.
"Should I keep myself busy?"
"Do you have to ask?"
Hugh's gone with one last parting leer over his shoulder, and Paul sets to work keeping things at a simmer.
It takes a very messy twenty minutes to get everything under control and a reprimand for synthesizing a topical itching agent that accidentally went airborne, but Hugh is a man on a mission and won't be waylaid on his way home after receiving Paul's private message with an awkwardly angled shot of his hand doing things that Hugh wants to be present for. He's already half-hard by the time he reaches their quarters, concealing it with a bright, distracted smile every time someone passes in the corridor. If they wonder why he's grinning while fast-walking at 2215, no one asks.
Stepping back inside to find Paul getting reacquainted with Hugh's favorite toy is an extra treat, and he kicks off his boots while stumbling towards the bed, unzipping as he goes. He pounces, Paul spills lube on the sheets trying to be helpful, and the offending piece of vibrating bioplastic rolls out of Paul's nerveless grip when Hugh drives home the evidence of his interest. The next few minutes are a litany of gasps and cries of pleasure, Hugh working out his frustration with the suitably chastised cadets and Paul's eager anticipation heating the air between them.
"...want to..." Paul pulls his face out of the pillow, "-Hugh."
"Mmmm?"
"Do you- ohhh. H-hang on, I can't...can't think when you're doing that."
Hugh grins and licks the back of his neck.
"That's the idea."
"Do you want to switch? My knee-"
"Okay."
Unfortunately, he forgets about the pants still around his ankles when he goes to flip them over and stand, ending in an ungraceful windmilling of arms and his bare ass making contact with the very cold deck.
"Fuck!"
"...Hugh?"
Paul's mouth is hanging open and his cheeks are pink with arousal, but he looks like he's trying very hard to not laugh while Hugh sputters and untangles himself from the garment. He strips off the sweaty, rucked-up undershirt as well (just to be safe), then crawls with predatory grace back up between Paul's spread thighs.
Chirp.
The comm notification is barely audible under the towel thrown carelessly over the nightstand, and Hugh really can't be bothered to think about it. Two fingers later, he's a moaning mess on Paul's lap, humping his leg and generally encouraging his partner to Get On With Things. Paul twists those clever fingers just the right way in response, and-
Ding.
Ding-ding-DING.
"...Adira."
It takes a moment for the three syllables to process, mainly because Hugh's higher brain functions have taken a vacation below the waist.
"...mmuhh?"
Paul's mutters something, but it seems far less vital than the fact that he's stopped moving his fingers. A moment later, he retrieves the comm with his unoccupied hand and flips it open.
"Adira?"
"Can I come over?"
"Umm. Now?"
He squirms, but Paul leans his forearm on Hugh's thighs instead.
"Sorry, I know- I hate bothering you. But I sort of...I think Gray's mad at me. And I don't know what to do."
Sighing, Paul withdraws his fingers, wiping them on his thigh.
"Okay. Give us...we were just about to shower. Ten minutes?"
"Okay. Thanks."
The comm snaps shut, and Hugh pushes himself up on his elbows to glare at Paul over his shoulder.
"Seriously? You know I adore them, but..."
Paul rubs his lower back, expression contrite despite the bed-hair and flushed chest.
"They've got a special notification if it's important."
"Ten minutes isn't a lot of time."
"For a shower?"
"To finish up here."
"That..." Paul's shoulders slump, "is probably going to have to wait for later."
He follows the glance down to Paul's lap, and groans.
"I could wake him back up pretty fast."
"I was planning on taking my time with you."
Frowning, Hugh weighs immediate gratification with the thrill of potentially being interrupted against the fact that all three of them would be mortified for Adira to be the person doing the interrupting and that Paul 'taking his time' was always worth it. He says a silent apology to his own dick, and sits up.
"All right. But after? We're putting up a do not disturb, and not leaving the bed for anything short of a red alert. Deal?"
"Deal."
Hugh climbs over Paul and absolutely does not take a certain amount of glee in his expression as he leaks slick onto his thigh.
"Come on, let's get cleaned up before Linus accidentally transports himself in here or something."
They're both in pajamas when Paul lets Adira in eight minutes later, and Hugh puts on his best sympathetic expression even as he casually kicks the vibrator under the bed and pushes the lube under a pillow, wondering if the universe is conspiring to keep them from getting laid.
Hopefully not.
Chapter 292: Scan
Summary:
Another science lesson when Nella is out with her uncles.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tío Hugh and Tío Paul are holding hands again.
The fact of it doesn't bother Nella - Tío Paul has nice big hands and he doesn't squeeze too hard when he's holding hers while they cross busy streets - but it does mean they're not climbing up the tree behind her when she spots an interesting looking clump of purple lichen on a bough.
"Where did she go?"
She shimmies further out onto the bough until she's just over their heads, waving until they notice.
"Nellita, be careful up there."
Her uncles are far less stern about her possibly getting hurt when Abuela Aida isn't nearby, although they do seem to get worried when she starts moving onto branches that are too small to hold them up if they follow.
"Come see, it's purple!"
Tío Hugh is smiling and shaking his head the way he sometimes does when she's busy telling Tío Paul about her science fair project or that time Abuela gave her a copy of a real paper book on fungus.
"Go on, babe."
"Umm."
"Want me to give you a boost?"
Nella scoots back towards the trunk and climbs over to another branch to give them space. He lifts Tío Paul by the waist when he jumps to grab the bough, then puts his hands under his bottom to help him swing up.
"Aren't you coming?"
Tío Hugh hands Tío Paul his tricorder and puts his hands on his hips.
"Nope, I'm here for medical assistance in case you get splinters though."
Tío Paul mutters something under his breath that Nella can't quite understand, but it makes Tío Hugh laugh.
"Go on."
She waits patiently while Tío Paul slowly works his way over until he's close enough to see the patch of bark she's pointing at and opens the tricorder. Nella already has her own scanner out of its pocket (a gift from her tíos for her birthday), but the picture showing up on its small screen shows something green.
"It's the wrong color."
"Mmm..." Tío Paul squints at his screen, then nods, "I see."
"Is it supposed to be green?"
"Well. Why do you think it's that color?"
"Plants are green from ummm...chlorophyll."
Down below, Tío Hugh is seated on a rock and examining the fallen leaves.
"Right, but chlorophyll isn't the only thing in plants. Have you read about anthocyanins?"
"Anth-" Nella frowns, "they're purple."
She's fairly sure that's what the book said, but she can't remember exactly why.
"Exactly," Tío Paul smiles the way he does when she answers a science question correctly, "but do you know when it can be green?"
Nella shakes her head.
"Well," he continues, "they used to use anthocyanin as a way to tell the pH of things. They're purple when it's neutral, but turn red or green depending on if it's an acid or a base."
Tío Paul's explanations are always better than her teacher's.
"Why didn't they just scan them?"
"This was before scanners could tell right away."
That sounds awful.
"Oh."
"Does it say," he nods at her scanner, "where the photo was taken?"
"Near a hot spring."
"And what do hot spring waters have in them?"
She frowns again, trying to remember what the sign said at Yellowstone Park when her class visited last summer.
"Minerals...? But- oh. Oh!"
"Minerals make water..."
"Basic."
"Much as I hate to interrupt," Tío Hugh is looking up at them, "Abuela says dinner is in an hour, so we should start heading back now."
Nella makes a note on the file with a location of the lichen - Tío Paul is always so interested when she shows him her maps - and waits for Tío Hugh to stand up and hold out his arms before she hops off the branch. Tío Paul is a bit less graceful, but manages to land more or less on his feet.
She looks at Tío Hugh expectantly, giving him her best smile.
"Come on Nellita," he laughs and lifts her up to ride on his shoulders, "you're getting too big for this, you know."
"You carry Tío Paul," she points out, poking at the hand holding her knee, "and he's a lot bigger."
"She does have a point."
"I'd say I'm getting too old for this then, but-"
"Abuelo still carries me, and he's old," she adds helpfully.
Tío Hugh groans, but it doesn't sound like he's mad.
"What am I going to do with the two of you?"
It seems like one of those questions grown ups don't expect a response to, but she does anyway.
"Come back here tomorrow? Please?"
They exchange a look that she doesn't understand, before nodding at each other.
"Okay."
Nella loves all of her uncles, but Tío Hugh and Tío Paul really are her favorites.
Notes:
I was totally the geeky, nerdy kid who read a lot of science books when I was growing up (having a sibling five and a half years older gave me a head start), who liked to ask questions :)
Writing as Nella was fun, trying to frame things in a way that make sense to her.
Chapter 293: Steer
Summary:
Teenage Nella wants some advice from Tío Hugh.
Chapter Text
>> Recorded message for Culber, Hugh, Lieutenant Commander, Chief Medical Officer, Starbase 12
>> From: Culber, Antonella
Hi Tío Hugh, I hope everything is okay, Abuela keeps telling us that you'll be fine but I'm worried. Sorry, I know you probably don't need to hear that from me.
Umm, I wanted to ask what to get Tío Paul for Christmas? Are you bringing him home? Abuela said he might want to spend it with his family, but he only stayed there for two days last year and I really want to show him the incubator I'm building for class.
I kind of wanted to ask you something else too. There's- you know how I told you about that guy I liked? He was my lab partner, but he's not as smart as I thought he was. He just wanted to talk about Parrises Squares, and didn't even know the safety protocols. He said he thought fungus was dumb. Why are boys so stupid...sorry, I don't mean you. Or Tío Paul.
Anyway, I need to go finish this report that's due next week.
Oh! Can you please tell Doctor T'Vala that I really like the meditation sculpture you sent me from her? I put it on my bookshelf next to the suncatchers.
Love you, Tío.
>> End recorded message
>> Recorded message for Culber, Antonella
>> From Culber, Hugh, Lieutenant Commander, Chief Medical Officer, Starbase 12
Hi Nellita, I'm so sorry it took me a few days to reply. Things here- yeah. They were busy, but I'm safe.
T'Vala says to tell you that she 'finds your dedication to scholarship most praiseworthy', and she can recommend some centering techniques if you're interested.
I hope...I mean, we're planning to be home for Christmas if we can. Me and Paul. Discovery should be finished in a couple of months, and it's going to be a few weeks of shakedown but I've already got a request in for leave. Don't worry about getting him a present, you know he'll love anything you find. Although, there is this book I want to get him, maybe if I send you the details you and Abuela can have a look in one of the antique booksellers? It can be from both of us if you want.
Nellita, boys that age aren't that different from girls or your non-binary friends, they're just...well. Don't waste your time on ones that aren't interested in the same things you like, and especially not the ones that don't pay enough attention in lab. I promise, just be yourself.
I'm about to fall asleep, it's been a long week, but I'm glad you commed.
Hugs and kisses from me. Tell Abuela I love her please, and I'll hopefully see you in a few months.
>> End recorded message
Chapter 294: Sendoff
Summary:
He lives a thousand, million other lives and deaths between one heartbeat and the next each time he steps into the spore cube. Paul catches glimpses of them as his mind hurtles Discovery through the mycelia, snippets out of time and space that he doesn’t understand, flashes of memories that aren’t his but are his and are at once familiar and foreign. His brain can’t process them all at once, but sometimes it untangles them in his dreams.
...a time when Tilly doesn’t save him, and he and Hugh are laid to rest in a single casket, never to be separated again.
Notes:
Expansion from Chapter 281 (“Split”).
Contains references to Chapter 54 (“Sparkle”) and Chapter 267 (“Solitude”).
Warning for heavy, heartbreaking angst with a hopeful ending.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It's overcast and raining when Hugh's friend Tracy brings her grandsons home. Olivia Stamets and her husband are on their way back from off-planet, but civilian travel is still delayed in the middle of a war, so Aida doesn't bother putting on any show of composure in front of the woman who delivered her great-granddaughter. Nella is at her side, clutching Aida's hand and face still impassive with shock at the news, eyes wide and lips trembling. The rest of the family are gathered at her youngest son's home - despite their protestations - and will join them later, although she could tell David had misgivings about leaving them to it.
Tracy is accompanied by a red-haired young woman in a Starfleet cadet's uniform. Her nose is pink and the mascara is running a little at the corners of her eyes, but she's solemn and respectful when Tracy introduces her as "Cadet Sylvia Tilly, Ai- Abuela. She's...Paul's protégée."
"Professor," Cadet Tilly bows her head, taking Aida's hand gently. She looks like she's about to say something else, but instead closes her mouth and swallows convulsively.
"My great-granddaughter, Antonella."
"Call me Nella."
"Tilly."
Nella shakes the cadet's hand, then shares a long hug with Tracy even as her eyes are fixed on the sleek silver stasis pods in the back of the groundcar. Silence descends, heavy and dull despite the rain soaking their clothes. Aida's throat aches, yet she manages to dredge up a hint of a smile.
"Let's get you inside."
A nod, then Tracy carefully detaches Nella from her side and reaches into the vehicle, handing her a medium sized case with the emblem of Starfleet Medical emblazoned on the front. Tilly joins her, and they activate antigravs, guiding the stasis pods up the walkway and into the house. Once inside, Aida goes to make them all hot tea, hands moving on automatic in the ritual of preparation. She's shaking and nearly drops the cups as she stacks them, hearing quiet voices from the living room.
"Abuela..." Nella takes the tray from her, "you- your chair?"
Normally Aida would protest, but a hundred and three years have felt like a millennium in the last days since receiving Tracy's message.
(>> Recorded message for Echevarría, Aida from Pollard, Tracy, LT, Acting Chief Medical Officer, U.S.S. Discovery
"Aida. I- I don't know how to tell you this. We're coming home, but...something happened. I'm so sorry. H-Hugh...and Paul- I'm so - we lost them. I can't. Paul's parents...Saru will notify them, but I asked to tell you. I'm bringing them home."
>> End of recorded message.
The antigravs whir nearly inaudibly as it takes her weight, and she watches Nella carefully pour the tea. It's too hot, but everyone drinks, although the sting of the liquid barely seems to register.
"I..." Tracy exhales long and hard, "I can't tell you what happened. I'm sorry. It's...there was an accident-"
"It's my fault," Cadet Tilly blurts out, setting the china cup down with a clatter, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I should have been able to- to save him."
"Tilly," Tracy's voice is firm, "it wasn't your fault. There was nothing anyone could do. You tried, more than anyone else could have, but he was already gone."
The cadet shakes her head, silent tears streaking down her cheeks. Aida sends her chair drifting closer, reaching out and tipping her chin up.
"Sylvia. Hugh..." she clears her throat, "they spoke well of you. And since Paul was never one to exaggerate, I'm certain that you did not fail. Do not blame yourself."
Nella coughs.
"Tía, why can't you tell us?"
It's a child's plea at odds with the young woman Nella is becoming.
"It's...classified."
"That's bullshit."
"Nella-"
Aida cuts herself off, reprimand dying on her lips with the stasis pods beside them.
"I'm sorry Abuela, but I- how can Starfleet not tell us? How come Tía Tracy isn't allowed to say?"
Cadet Tilly and Tracy exchange a look, but Nella doesn't notice.
"It's because of the war, isn't it?"
"Yes."
Nella lurches to her feet, arms hugging herself.
"I want to see them."
Tracy pushes her teacup aside, lifting the case onto the coffee table.
"Nella, I need to talk to Aida first."
Surprisingly, it's Cadet Tilly who responds, standing and guiding Nella back down to sit beside her on the couch. Nella's hands are clenched in fists in her lap, spine rigid. The emotions she's been denying are breaking free, and Aida's too exhausted to do anything other than lay a hand on her arm.
"Tracy."
She thumbs open the case, fingers gripping the molded plastic edge.
"I- I packed up their things. I hope that was okay?"
Tracy waits for Aida's nod before continuing.
"I...most of it is back in storage. But I wanted to ask you about a few things before the-" Tracy closes her eyes, "before the service."
"Of...of course."
Lifting out a few small cases, Aida recognizes them as housing Hugh's badges and his grandfather's cufflinks. Tracy sets those aside, then produces a small box that makes Aida's chest ache.
Oh Hugh.
"He didn't have time, did he?"
Tracy shakes her head.
"I wanted to make sure you got it back."
Aida opens the lid, running her fingers over the worn gold band.
"Abuela...?"
"Your great-grandfather's wedding ring."
Nella frowns.
"Why did Tío Hugh..." she shakes her head, "I thought you kept it."
"It was for Paul."
Cadet Tilly's eyes are wide and shining with moisture.
"Wait. Was Doctor Culber going to, to..."
"Hugh came home before Discovery launched. He told me he wanted to talk to Paul after-" Aida swipes at a tear that's broken free, "after the war was over. Hugh was going to ask Paul to marry him."
"I..." Cadet Tilly covers her mouth with her hand, face crumpling, "I didn't know."
Nella tries to draw a deep breath and fails, a hitched cough becoming a sob.
"Nella..."
"Why? Why them? It's not fair, why...why do so many horrible people get to live, but they-"
Tracy pulls Nella into a hug, letting her hide her face against her shoulder.
"I don't know, Nella."
****
After her family has arrived, after David brings Paul's parents from the spaceport and they spend time alone with their son and his partner, after everyone has long gone to bed, Aida sits up with her grandsons.
("We can't..." Nella chokes, "they should be together."
Aida squeezes her hand.
"Is there somewhere for Paul?"
Olivia Stamets twists the edge of her tunic between her fingers, a small velvet bag in her lap.
"There's- we never talked about it."
"I've made arrangements for Hugh," the stasis pod's surface is cool under her fingers, "but I can, with your permission...?"
Olivia pauses, then nods.
"Please.")
Nella is silent beside her, unwilling to go to bed with everyone else, and Aida doesn't have it in her heart to insist. Tracy's already taken care of moving them, firmly refusing Nella and Aida and even Cadet Tilly's assistance. The service will be the day after tomorrow, but Aida wants to see them settled tonight. The contents of Tracy's case are still laid out on the table, together with a few more items retrieved from the crates waiting outside.
"Are you ready?"
Aida tries to smile.
"Yes."
"Nella," Tracy turns to look over her shoulder, "you should probably-"
"No."
"Nellita..."
"I want to see them."
The stubborn set of her lips pressed together reminds Aida so much of Hugh that she has to will back another wave of tears. Tracy catches her eye, and Aida nods.
"All right. Tilly?"
"I'll stay."
Tracy nods, then places her hand on the stasis controls.
"Lower stasis field. Medical override, Doctor Tracy Pollard, Acting Chief Medical Officer, U.S.S. Discovery, disable timer."
"Acknowledged."
A beep, then the blue glow fades, leaving the silver casket free. She takes a deep breath before tapping a sequence into the side, and the lid retracts. Cadet Tilly gasps and Aida holds out her hand, waits for Nella to help her stand from the chair, and slowly makes her way over.
They're in their dress uniforms, but that's not the part that makes Aida's chest ache again. Instead of lying side by side with hands folded in the traditional manner, Tracy's placed them so that they're angled together, limbs arranged in a way that Aida's seen more than once over the years peeking into Hugh's room to wake them for breakfast. Hugh's head is resting more on Paul's shoulder than the satin pillow, forehead touching Paul's cheek and lips slightly parted. His left hand and Paul's right are joined in the space between their chests, fingers laced, with their other arms folded beneath their bodies, knees touching and ankles crossed in their boots. One of the tiny diamond studs that Olivia declined to keep is visible in Hugh's left earlobe, glittering in the low light.
It hits her that Tracy must also have seen them this way as well, to know, and there are no words to express her gratitude for the loving care in the gesture.
Tracy very gently fastens a gold chain around Hugh's neck, laying Paul's Academy ring on his chest. She nods at Tilly who holds out a folded bundle of fabric that Aida takes, and together with Tracy she covers them to the waist under the quilt she gave Hugh when he shipped out on his first mission, tucking the edges around them. Nella's crying again, but she still notices when Aida picks up one more thing from the table.
"Abu- abuela?"
She opens the box, stares long and hard at the gold band with its tiny scratches from over five decades of daily wear. Then she lifts her husband's ring out, and carefully reaches forward. Their skin is cool to the touch, but she slips it between Paul and Hugh's palms, making sure it won't fall.
"I- we should finish up soon."
Aida knows why they shouldn't leave the stasis field down for a multitude of reasons, understands the wobble in Tracy's voice as she takes a few steps back to allow Tilly to approach. She's carrying a small canister that Aida recognizes as containing some of Paul's beloved spores, placing them at his elbow.
"May the sun and moon watch your comings and goings in the endless nights and days that are before you. Goodbye, sir," she whispers, "I'm sorry. I hope you and Doctor Culber are together."
Tracy is next, and Aida blinks away a haze of moisture as she bends down and murmurs something into Hugh's ear, then Paul's. One of her tears lands on Hugh's collar, and she wipes at it with her thumb before kissing them both on the cheek.
"Nella? You don't have to..."
Her great-granddaughter shakes her head.
"I want to."
Aida releases her hand, watching as she takes a flat sheet from her pocket. Nella sniffles, head bowed, but keeps her composure long enough to tuck the object under the quilt. She doesn't have to see it to know that it's Nella's favorite holo: her uncles swinging a nine-year-old Nella between them on the edge of a pool, Paul's neck red with sunburn but all three with matching smiles. Aida can almost hear their laughter, remembers Nella pulling them into the pool with her, Paul's surprised expression as he hit the water and one of Hugh's sandals floating to the surface.
Tracy is there when the tears overtake her, hugging Nella tightly before urging her back to the couch with Tilly and leaving Aida to say her farewells privately.
Her grandsons truly appear to be on the verge of waking, and she wishes with all of her heart for it to be true instead of the horrible reality. She straightens a fold of the quilt, brushes a few stray hairs back from Paul's forehead, and ghosts her fingers over Hugh's cheek.
"Mijito," her lips move despite being barely able to voice the words, "I remember watching you sleep as a baby. I remember the day you decided to be a doctor, the day you graduated. The day you called to say you'd met someone. The day you told me you wanted to spend the rest of your life with Paul, and I told you to bring him home for me to meet. Seeing you two smiling at each other...I knew."
She's glad of her pacemaker, of Hugh's insistence that she slow down just a little past her hundredth birthday.
"Paul. Thank you for loving my grandson. For teaching Nellita. For being who you are, and the one person in the universe worthy of Hugh loving you. Remember to take care of each other always. I love you both."
Aida kisses their foreheads, tugs the quilt up just a little higher.
"Sleep, now."
"Abuela?"
Aida wakes slowly, opening her eyes to find Nella peering at her with concern.
"Mmm?"
"You asked me to wake you up before dinner."
At a hundred and eight, Aida thinks she deserves the privilege of naps.
"Thank you, Nellita."
"You...you said something. Before I woke you up."
"I did?"
Nella nods, helping her out of bed and into her chair.
"Tío Hugh's name."
Ahh.
"I was dreaming of him. With Paul."
Nella chews her lip.
"I miss them."
"I know."
"Abuela? Do you think...they're together?"
There's the expected pang of loss tugging at her chest, but Aida remembers Captain Christopher Pike's visit, remembers him sharing her grandson's final farewell as if it were yesterday. Despite not being able to tell her more, she knows in her heart that Paul and Hugh - wherever they are - have found each other again. Shaking off the remains of her troubled dream, she smiles.
"Yes."
Notes:
Stumbled across this gorgeous piece of art that - while intended to be joyous - also would work here.
For more on Hugh's intended proposal, see Chapter 47 of When Sorrow Turns to Joy. To read Captain Pike's visit with Aida, head to Chapter 138 ("Secret"). Tilly's farewell 'blessing' is taken from what she says when she and Michael release the tardigrade in S01E05 "Choose Your Pain."
I hope it reads true to character at the end of Season One, before Tilly really has a chance to get to know Paul. When Tracy brings Paul and Hugh home to Aida, I debated over whether she would have placed them together already (perhaps with Aisha's help), but decided to add the snippet about Aida talking to Paul's mom. After that, it only seemed right for Tracy to be the one to take care of them, and the description of how they're in the casket grew from there.
This should probably have gone into Paths Not Taken, but that's really meant for fix-its. At just under 2,300 words I thought about making it a standalone too, but it really needs all the context here. I couldn't not tell this story.
Chapter 295: Sand
Summary:
She doesn't have to see it to know that it's Nella's favorite holo: her uncles swinging a nine-year-old Nella between them on the edge of a pool, Paul's neck red with sunburn but all three with matching smiles. Aida can almost hear their laughter, remembers Nella pulling them into the pool with her, Paul's surprised expression as he hit the water and one of Hugh's sandals floating to the surface.
Space!Uncles part one-million.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Nellita, be careful," Aida firmly instructs her great-granddaughter who is bouncing on her toes, clearly impatient to run to the water's edge.
They're at a gorgeous villa on Risa for a rare off-planet vacation with as much of the family as possible, a sprawling high-ceilinged affair full of sunshine and all the food anyone could want. The villa has plenty of space for eight of her great-grandchildren to play as well, and for once there are enough adults to keep an eye on the mischievous cousins that Aida is taking advantage of the lull to relax. It's been too long since the last time they were able to do this, and never with almost all of her grandchildren and their families.
Most everyone is sleeping in the covered pavilion outdoors, enjoying the evening breezes, but Hugh and Paul had claimed one of the huge bedrooms on the second level overlooking the tropical forest, and she suspects the enormous bed has probably seen plenty of use that doesn't involve sleeping. Aida's already had to carefully explain to Nella that she can't burst in on Tío Paul and Tío Hugh if the door is closed, doing her best to give her grandson and his partner as much time alone as they seem to crave.
( "They've been apart for a long time, and sometimes people want to only be with the person who is the most special to them for a while and not have anyone else around."
"Why?"
"Because-" Aida searches for a reason that will satisfy her, "they might be kissing."
Nella's scowl makes clear what she thinks of that.
"But they kiss outside on the swing all the time."
"Your Tío Paul is a little shy, Nellita. Sometimes he wants to kiss Tío Hugh in private."
"Tío Hugh told Tío Paul he was going to play with him later when everyone else is asleep," Nella looks disappointed and Aida manages not to sputter into her iced tea, "and make him scream. How come they get to wrestle and have tickle fights and be noisy, but we're not allowed to?"
It's definitely t ime to deflect.
"Your tíos will still play with you before bedtime, and I'm sure if you ask you can sleep in their room for a night or two. But they're...you should knock and wait for one of them to open the door. Okay?"
"Yes, Abuela.")
Privately, Aida's glad that Nella hasn't yet connected what she's learned in science class with what her beloved uncles have been up to behind closed doors.
Think of the questions then.
Laughing quietly to herself, she watches as Nella runs up to Paul and Hugh, probably explaining that Aida had given her permission to swim in the large infinity pool if she has adult supervision. They both rise, Paul donning a wide-brimmed hat and buttoning up while Hugh does the opposite, shedding his shirt on the chaise lounge. She suspects her grandson is reminding Paul that the Risan sun's UV rays have been filtered out, confirmed when he discards both garments under Nella's impatient stare. Aida shakes her head at Hugh's extremely brief swim trunks and the way Paul's eyes follow him as he walks toward the pool before Nella tugs on his hand to follow.
Vacation or not, she moves closer to keep an eye on the children splashing in the shallow end, sitting next to Meera who seems to be taking a well-deserved nap while her husband is teaching them to hold their breath under water. Although the pool has failsafes meant to prevent accidental drowning, it can't hurt to have another set of eyes.
"...play with Tío Hugh?"
Aida only catches the tail end of Nella's question, but Paul turns nearly as bright red as the sunburn on the back of his neck (courtesy of their excursion outside the climate-controlled region yesterday).
"I..." he looks wide-eyed at Hugh whose mouth falls open.
"We ummm-"
A burst of laughter draws everyone's attention as Nella's cousins take turns sitting on the edge and hopping into the water, and she seems to forget her question a moment later.
"Can we get in?"
"How about here? It's not that deep."
Nella gives Hugh a withering stare that Aida can tell he's struggling not to smile at.
"I can swim, Tío."
Aida thinks about how she's been pestering her parents to let her take diving lessons, something Meera and Hugh's brother have thus far managed to avoid answering. Of all of her great-grandchildren, Nella is the strongest swimmer, which is why she's even allowed past the one-meter mark. The holodisplay tags the pool as just over a meter and a half deep, meaning Hugh and Paul should be able to keep their heads above water and also deep enough for Nella to safely jump in.
"We weren't sure how far you could go," Paul smiles in a way that's not condescending in the slightest, "but your uncle is a good swimmer too."
Nella bends down to dip her hand in, then wrinkles her nose.
"It's cold."
"Well," Hugh shrugs, "the best way is to jump right in then."
"I don't know if I can."
Undeterred, he drops to squat beside her, miming a tossing motion.
"Want some help?"
"Okay."
"Hugh, we can't throw her-" Paul's worried glance moves from his partner to Aida, who waves full dispensation with her glass, "...umm. Never mind."
Her grandson winks at him over Nella's head.
"Ready Nella?"
"Yes."
Hugh stands again, taking one of Nella's hands and waiting for Paul to grab the other before stepping closer to the edge and raising his arm. She grins and pulls her feet up with a child's confidence that her uncles won't drop her, looking down at the water. There's something in her impish smile that makes Aida reach across to retrieve Meera's PADD, thumbing it on and switching to the holocapture.
"On the count of three, okay?"
"Okay."
"Babe?"
"Ready."
"One-" they swing her back and forth gently each direction.
"More!"
"-two-"
The second swing has more height.
"-three! Wha-ahhhhHH!"
Three things happen in short order as Aida starts recording:
...Paul and Hugh swing Nella up over the water in an arc that should have her well clear of any walls...
...Nella laughs and doesn't let go of their hands...
...surprised and overbalanced from the momentum, for a split second Hugh and Paul teeter on the edge before tumbling into the water with an enormous splash that wets Aida's feet from three meters away.
Nella comes up first, giggling as Paul gets his feet under him while spitting water and Hugh's flip flops bob to the surface one after the other. The commotion wakes Meera, who doesn't look the least bit surprised to find her offspring wreaking havoc, taking in Aida's smile before closing her eyes again. All of the others have piled onto the edge to watch, and Aida stands so she has a perfect view over their heads to see when Hugh pops up behind Nella and lifts her clean out of the water over his head.
"Boo!"
Their laughter fills the air, and Aida knows she'll hear it again every time she looks at the holocapture in the years to come.
"Gotcha," Nella proclaims proudly, "did you see that, Abuela?"
In response, Aida waves the PADD and Hugh sets Nella on his shoulders as he goes to retrieve his footwear. One of them is in easy reach, but the other's floated out to the three meter mark, carried on the tidal wave of their entry.
"Babe?"
Paul coughs once more - overly dramatically - pinches Nella's toes where she's poking at his arm, and swims after it. He returns shortly thereafter, using the errant shoe to scoop water that he upends right over Hugh's head before tossing it onto dry ground.
"Come here, you-" Hugh reels Paul in for a kiss, appropriately chaste but long enough that Nella frowns from her perch above them both.
"Tío Paul?"
He takes a step back from Hugh, slicking back the hair plastered to his forehead.
"Hmmm?"
"Abuela said you like to kiss in private."
"...yes."
"Why?"
Notes:
Consider this an apology for the horrible angst in the last chapter. I'm not sure what well of darkness it came from, only that I couldn't stop seeing it in my head until I wrote it.
Like Aida, I both can't wait for and dread when Nella puts two and two together and realizes her tíos are doing in private. (I would hope by the twenty-third century we'd have gotten past our sex-as-a-taboo-topic hang ups, but I can't imagine any child's reaction to be that much different.)
Read the prequel in Chapter 644 ("Squeak" / "Sand, Prequel").
Chapter 296: Stories
Notes:
Okay, it's a ridiculous premise to set up the circumstances, but this is Trek and ridiculous things happen every other week.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Christopher Pike sits back in the (very) comfortable chair, surveying his fellow crew members currently scattered around the room. They've reached the ninth hour after a bout of solar wind fried half of Discovery's systems, trapping them in the ready room during a briefing and kicking the environmental controls up to 31ºC and fifty percent humidity. It's not an unbearable temperature, and at least they're stuck in a place with a working synthesizer and (more importantly) private bathroom. Communications are still spotty, but Saru assured him that life support was otherwise unaffected, the warp core hadn't sustained damage, and the most pressing problem was unsealing all of the doors on the ship whose circuits had fused. Theirs isn't even at top priority, not when a dozen crew members were stuck in Jefferies tubes and maintenance spaces.
Across from him, Nhan is perched on the other chair, foot up on one of the small side tables and absently rubbing a section of hair between her fingers as she scrolls through something on her PADD. Her sprained ankle, sustained when the gravitational controls briefly malfunctioned, is thankfully among the worst of the injuries reported. At her side, Detmer has one of Chris' books open on her lap, poring over star charts and astronomical calculations. Every now and then, he catches a look of wonder as she turns a page, fingers lingering on the texture of the paper. It's a modern reproduction, but paper books are a rather old-fashioned affectation, and rare enough that he doubts she'd handled more than a few in her life.
Tilly is fidgeting her way around the open space - she'd only worked up the nerve half an hour ago to accept his offer to take a tour of the various items he'd brought from Enterprise. Most of the time prior had been spent with her nose buried in a PADD that he strongly suspected contained Command Training Program protocols. Stamets occasionally looks up from where he's staring out the viewport when she passes, sharing some sort of silent communication that seems to take place in a language of frowns, shrugs, and raised eyebrows. At least, that's what he can see on Stamets's face; Tilly has her back to him so Chris isn't sure what kind of expressions she might be making. Like Chris, Stamets is down to his navy undershirt - and with skin that color, going dirtside must be a nightmare anywhere without UV shielding.
His gaze lands on Michael next, sitting cross-legged on the floor and apparently practicing a Vulcan meditation technique. She's still in full uniform, long after the others had abandoned professionalism. Chris shed his jacket three hours in ("It's roasting in here, I'd rather Starfleet Command be scandalized by a breach of uniform protocol than any of you come down with heat stroke"), Detmer has her sleeves rolled up, and Tilly's bun is getting higher up her head every time she redoes it.
Chris has already caught up on the week's reports, composed a comm to his parents, and reviewed all of the sensor logs. Saru indicated that it could be another three or four hours before they managed to pry the doors open, and he's struck with an idea. It should help to pass the time, and ought to give him a bit more insight into his current crew. Also, Chris still wants to know the significance of the look Una and Spock exchanged when he originally proposed the diversion. He taps out a quick message to Una's personal frequency to that effect, expecting another deft evasion.
Despite their relaxed poses, everyone's eyes snap to him when he clear his throat.
"Who's up for a round of 'I'm not the worst'?"
He's met with blank looks from everyone except Nhan, who lets out an audible snort. Michael, predictably, is the first to speak.
"I don't understand the purpose of the question, Captain?"
"It's a game where you try to tell the most outrageous but true story, and whoever has the best gets a drin-" Detmer corrects herself mid-word, "wins a point."
"Human bonding customs," Chris stage-whispers, winking at Tilly who goes bright red, "you wouldn't have been exposed to them at the VSA, but it's pretty common at Starfleet Academy."
"Yes, sir...but aren't those games played among a group of peers, generally with a level of intoxication?"
"Well, there's plenty of alcohol, but I don't think Saru and Reno and the others trying to get that door open would appreciate us having that good of a time without them."
That gets a stifled giggle from Detmer, who covers it with an awkward cough.
"A couple of years ago, we were on a diplomatic mission on Iota Horologii, and got caught in a typhoon that just happened to coincide with the worst ion storm the planet had seen in a decade. Una, Amin, Nhan, Phil, Spock, and I were stuck in a cave for a week, and by day three, even Spock ran out of shop talk. Amin and Phil were arguing over the subtext in ancient Andorian poetry, and I was worried Una and Nhan were plotting to take over the planet. So, I thought I'd dust off that old game, minus the drinking, and it ended up keeping us entertained for the next three days until Enterprise was able to beam us out."
"It's fine," Nhan chimes in, "you can trust the Captain with anything. We're off the clock, right sir?"
He nods, pouring another glass of iced tea from the pitcher on the table. There are noises of agreement all around, although Michael is still frowning a little.
"Participation is completely voluntary," he hastens to add, "no one has to play."
That seems to assuage Michael's reluctance, and everyone relocates to the carpeted area.
"Nhan, set the rules?"
"One," she holds up a finger, "no shots across the bow. You can't ask questions to get at someone. Two, same as one, no really personal or humiliating things. Three, it has to be real, but no one is going to dig through your history to check. Four, anything anyone says does not get used against them afterwards. That's it."
"Yep. Anything I hear in here, Captain Pike doesn't know when we get back out there," Chris points at the door to the bridge, amused by Michael's concentration while Nhan was reciting the rules. "Sound good?"
"Yeah! I mean, yes," Tilly blurts out.
Chris drains his glass and gets comfortable.
"Most ridiculous or funniest injury you ever sustained. Any time is fair game, bonus points if you made a 'fleet doctor roll their eyes at you when you explained how it happened.”
”Who goes first?”
“I’ll start. One of the few times I didn’t listen to my first officer - I’m not saying Number One is always right, but she’s almost never wrong - I ended up with a concussion and a very bruised ego. That same trip that stranded us in the cave? Well, the Iota Horologiians are bipedal humanoids, but about a meter tall with long tails. Between negotiations, the First Minister’s children asked me and Spock to play a local game with them while Phil and Amin talked to their priestly class.”
Michael’s chin jerks up at the mention of her brother’s name, and Chris files away that thought for later before continuing.
”It was a combination between a memory test with patterned tiles and moving pieces around a board. I thought it would be good to spend some time with the kids, let their parents see that we weren’t all that different from them. But,” he smiles wryly, “I couldn’t follow the way the tiles were shuffled and I lost. Horribly. Spock was polite enough not to say anything, but Una thought it was hilarious. Anyway, after that they invited me up to their - I guess you’d call it a treehouse? Una told me it was a bad idea, but it didn’t look that far and I didn’t want to say no. I always love getting to know a new culture from their children, and I spoil my nieces and nephews rotten.”
Stamets abruptly stands and mutters something about getting more drinks, and Chris wonders if he and his partner were planning on having a family of their own.
“Well, the First Minister and her clan decided to come out and watch, so I very casually tried to follow the kids up the tree. We were maybe five meters off the ground when one of them pushes the other off a branch. I went to catch the kid, but I slipped and hit every branch on the way back down. Landed right at the First Minister’s feet, and that’s when I learned their tails are prehensile. Kid number two was hanging upside down and laughing at the ridiculous human. Anyway, I managed to give myself a nasty lump on the back of my head, and Una didn’t say ‘I told you so’, but she and Phil entered it in the mission report as ‘Captain Pike sustained a concussion falling out of a tree.’ Command isn’t always glamorous, but apparently no one had a wager on that for the betting pool Enterprise’s crew swears doesn’t exist.”
"It really doesn't, Captain," Nhan's smile is entirely too innocent, "no betting pool."
"That...sounds painful," Detmer grimaces.
"The real damage was my ego."
Smiles appear all around, even Michael, and Chris counts it as a win. He's never believed in maintaining the so-called 'mystery of command', would much rather his crew see him as human and therefore able to make mistakes that might need their creative thinking to avoid. Chris considers who to pass the baton to next, thinking about who might benefit most from a chance to tell a ridiculous story.
"Mister Stamets? Want to go next?"
The man freezes, glass halfway to his lips.
"I..."
"Come on Stamets," Detmer cajoles, "Doctor C must have-"
Stamets' face goes impassive, and Detmer looks stricken.
"Oh my- I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking..."
The clink of the glass being set down seems to echo in the suddenly silent room. He musters what might pass for an attempt at a smile, but it looks more like he's about to be sick.
Wrong call, Chris.
"It's fine."
Way wrong.
Chris would love to blame the heat for making that miscalculation, although he suspects Una wouldn't accept that reasoning whatsoever. He doesn't think Stamets would appreciate a supportive hand on the shoulder, not in front of everyone and maybe not in private either. There's not much he can do to apologize at the moment - he makes a mental note to find a way to do so later - and the next best thing is probably to direct everyone's attention elsewhere.
"Nhan, want to go next?"
"Sure. When I was in the Academy," she picks up the thread, "I broke three fingers setting up a prank on one of the instructors. The lieutenant teaching biochemistry was being xenophobic, so we programmed the computer in his office to only respond to commands in languages other than Standard. It changed randomly every five minutes, so he never did figure out how to get back in. We got the Commandant to come down when the lieutenant had to call a tech, and when he made a comment about Andorians being 'blue-faced idiots', the Commandant chewed him out for an hour."
Tilly's eyes go wider with every word, and Chris chuckles quietly.
"That was you? Oh my god, I heard about that, Paris made him write a thesis on the value of IDIC."
Nhan grins wolfishly at Tilly's expression.
"We all got a warning from the Commandant, but she didn't put it on our records."
"But," Detmer frowns, "how did you break your fingers doing that?"
"He came back early from a cancelled class and we had to leave in a hurry. We climbed down through the ventilation shaft, and someone stepped on my hand while we were trying to get out."
"Ouch."
"We'd just finished the third-year survival course, and thought we were being resourceful borrowing the rappel kits," Nhan shakes her head and sighs, "didn't consider that we could have probably just used the breezeway door on the other side of the room."
Tilly frowns.
"Why didn't you just hack into his system remotely? I mean, you can bypass the mainframe pretty eas- umm. Not that I've ever done that."
She's more than just a rule-follower, Chris admonishes himself for not picking up on it, definitely worth getting to know more about.
"It was my group from Tactics. We didn't exactly have any programming experts. And we might have been a little drunk."
"Did the doctor roll their eyes?" Chris interjects, even though he already knows the answer. He's heard it before, and it's a good one.
"No, but she did give us a lecture on safety certifications for equipment used outside a course. I guess the lieutenant had said something about the doctor's Trill husband, so she was pretty entertained by it. Invited us all out for drinks after she was done patching me up."
"Did you go?"
"Oh, she definitely went," Chris shakes his head, "least rowdy group of drunken cadets who ever stumbled into the that little bar on Mason Street."
"Wait," Detmer looks confused, "you were there?"
"I was between assignments. Decided to catch up with one of my former instructors who was still at the Academy, and Rita wanted to have a drink there because she had to discipline someone who wasn't happy about it."
He can see Tilly obviously running through a list of instructors at the Academy in her head, trying to match the name.
"Marguerite Paris."
"Hang on-"
"But that's-"
"The Commandant."
Notes:
I started this over a year ago in July 2020, and got distracted by too many other multi-chapter works. It was supposed to lead into another story (hence the abrupt ending), but I lost steam and I hope it works well as a one-shot.
...rolling towards 300 chapters, omg!
Chapter 297: Sundae
Chapter Text
“What are you doing?”
”Exactly what you wanted - having dessert.”
”…so why are you on the bed?”
”So we can eat it here.”
”It’ll make a mess.”
”So we’ll put a towel down.”
”It’s still going to get on us.”
”If you’re that worried, we can get undressed first.”
”You want to eat dessert naked?”
”Is there a rule that says we can only eat a triple fudge caramel brownie sundae if we’re wearing clothes?”
”That would be ridiculous.”
”Well then.”
”Hugh, it’s still going to get everywhere.”
”Exactly.”
”But- oh. Ohhh. You mean, you want to…?”
”You’re lucky you’re so pretty.”
”To you.”
”Mmhmm. Only opinion that counts. Now hurry up and get naked, before the ice cream melts.”
”I’m coming.”
”Not yet you aren’t.”
“Haha. Let me get a towel.”
”Oh, babe?”
”What?”
”Bring the whipped cream.”
Notes:
I’m convinced that a significant amount of the conversations Paul and Hugh have could be considered foreplay.
Chapter 298: Snuggle, Part Two
Summary:
Follows on from Chapter 210 ("Snuggle"). Post-Season Three, Paul's feeling a little insecure again, and Hugh isn't having it.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“…Hugh?”
It takes a moment, but the wet noises stop and he hears an inquisitive hum. He looks down at his groin and watches Hugh’s eyes slowly open as he lets Paul slide free from his lips with a pop. His pupils are wide with arousal, and Paul briefly debates simply saying ‘never mind’ or ‘I love you’ and letting him get back to work.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
Hugh’s gentle voice is roughened, and he gives Paul’s tip a friendly lick before pushing up on his elbows.
"Umm."
Being cradled soft in Hugh's mouth is devastatingly intimate, but he knows that's probably not the only thing Hugh is looking for tonight. In the usual course of things, Paul loves how much his partner gets off on sucking him, their mutual pleasure in pleasuring each other creating a feedback loop that leaves them both well-loved and satisfied.
Hugh's stroking him now, thumb rubbing just under the head. His partner is stripped down to just his briefs, the shorter ones he wears off-duty that make his already perfect ass look even more delicious. Watching the muscles flex as he unconsciously rubs himself against the sheet usually sends a bolt of desire down to his balls, stokes the desire building. Paul's dick gives a weak twitch, not quite half-hard despite the skillful touches, which leads him back to the cause of his current predicament.
"Babe?"
"I..." Paul fumbles for something to say that isn't going to either seem like an insult to Hugh's skills - nothing could be farther from the truth - or otherwise ruin the mood, "you. Uhhh. It's nothing."
Frowning, Hugh pets his dick one more time, then crawls up Paul's body until he can straddle his thighs. He unselfconsciously adjusts himself, shifting the bulge to one side. There's a damp spot on the front of his briefs, the grey fabric darkened with evidence of Hugh's body behaving exactly as it should.
Unlike yours.
"Are you- sweetheart, do you feel okay?"
Oh great, now you're making him worried.
"I'm fine."
The look he receives says Paul’s one step away from finding himself in bed with Dr. Culber instead of his lover Hugh. Fifteen years of experience is generally one of the things about their relationship that Paul snuggles into like a cozy blanket on a chilly night. Right now though, it means Hugh can read him as easily as the reverse.
"Okay, now I know something's wrong."
Warm hands land on his shoulder and jaw, Hugh's eyes now only full of concern.
Good job, you just ruined the mood.
“I don’t…” Paul throws his forearm over his eyes in a futile attempt to hide his embarrassment, “I don’t think I can.”
He can practically see the question mark forming over Hugh's head.
”Can what?”
It isn't that talking about anything besides sex is an issue. Pausing in the middle of a blowjob isn't the dealbreaker he'd heard others claim, not when Hugh understands he needs to get the thought that's wandered in out of his head so it's not a distraction. They've had whole conversations while making love, even, picking up the thread between kisses and sighs. No, this is definitely squarely Paul's problem, and he huffs out a sigh.
It’s Hugh. Tell him.
“Sweetheart-“
”Get hard.”
"Oh."
Paul peeks out from under his arm just in time to see Hugh's face go blank for a breath or two.
"Yeah."
"Is that it?"
Hugh sounds more confused than annoyed, which is a relief.
"Yeah."
"You...I didn't think you were afr- you're not usually this hesitant to say you aren't in the mood."
Exhaustion or illness were clear culprits, something he could reference for a lack of a physical response or a desire to have one. Finding solace in Hugh's arms was a long-standing cure for any number of other negative things, as much as it was to celebrate the positive ones. A frustrating day could be soothed away, Paul able to temporarily clear his mind of anything else while they petted and stroked and fondled each other to mutual orgasms. This troubling new development is worrisome precisely because he doesn’t have an actual reason for it.
"It's not that. I mean, I want to be, and your mouth Hugh, I just...well. It's not happening."
"Babe," Hugh tugs his wrist away from his face, "it happens."
He’s wearing a half-smile that invites Paul to make light of it, ducking in for a kiss.
"But you," Paul glances down at Hugh's groin, "and I'm not."
"We both came at lunch already, there's nothing wrong with your body wanting to recharge."
Two orgasms in one day isn’t uncommon for them, although it takes a bit longer than it used to, to turn interest into an erection. It’s been that way for them both the last few years, or at least it was. Before.
"I thought we discussed this years ago. You're never, and I hope I've never made you feel like you're obligated to have sex just because I want to."
”Of course not. That’s…not it.”
His body is less than a year old, and yours is almost fifty.
It’s okay now, but what if that changes?
What if someday he needs more than you can give?
Hugh tugs the waistband of his briefs away from his skin for a moment, peering down inside.
"I'm not going to die of blue balls. Need I remind you that we also have an extensive collection of things - which I will deny we own in the presence of anyone except Tracy - if I really needed to get fucked? Which I don't."
What if you can’t keep him satisfied?
What if he gets tired of toys and you aren’t going to be able to keep up with-
”Sweetheart. Stop.”
His voice is quiet but tinged with firmness. Hugh traces Paul’s lips with his thumb, uses the pad of it to gently pry the bottom lip from between his teeth.
”Sorry.”
”Don’t be. What’s this about though?”
”I…” Paul rests his hands on Hugh’s thighs, “I have the love of my life sitting in my lap, the man who can still make me want him so bad that we’ve used all the supply closets in the medbay and the storage locker in Engineering to have lunchtime quickies, sucking my dick…and for reasons unknown, today it doesn’t make me hard.”
“But-“
”He’s so good to me, came back from…from being dead,” he still stumbles over that word, “left everything behind to give me another chance to love him, and he deserves - you deserve everything, more than I could possibly give you. And I worry that this body of mine, that you seem to like, isn’t…isn’t.”
Face heating, he focuses on a point below Hugh’s chin, the strong tendons of his neck leading to the dip of his collarbone.
“Okay. Before I say anything else, I’m going to have to come to the defense of the man that I love, beautiful body and all. He’s still worried that he isn’t enough for me, that he’s somehow lacking, and that’s a disservice to how good he is to me.”
”Hugh…”
“I’m not done. I have the privilege of being the one who takes him to bed, who’s been given his trust unconditionally. Who is still scared that maybe someday I’ll accidentally hurt him, because he deserves everything too. I want to give him what he needs, because he won’t ever stop doing that for me.”
Paul swallows against a tightness in his throat that shouldn’t be there, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever not be awed at the enormity of Hugh’s love.
”So,” Hugh laces their fingers together, palm to palm, “he doesn’t have to worry, because there isn’t anyone else or anything else I’m going to want besides him.”
He looks back up to find Hugh’s face unguarded, sincerity in every word. And for that, he has to pull him close and kiss him, has to feel that sense of rightness when their lips touch.
”I am sorry I killed the mood.”
”You didn’t. But if you still want to make it up to me, you can cuddle with me and we’ll see how we both feel in the morning? Say oh-nine-thirty since we’re off shift.”
Paul steals another kiss, nodding.
“I think I can manage that.”
”Besides,” Hugh climbs off of him and sheds his briefs, stepping into his pajama bottoms, “we already brushed our teeth, and I’d have had to do it again.”
This time Paul does chuckle, and it turns into a content hum when Hugh decides to dress him too, easing the soft fabric up his legs. He pauses mid-thigh to give Paul’s dick one last suckle, then tucks him into his pants and they both climb under the covers.
Hugh’s a warm weight snuggled up to his left side, head on Paul’s shoulder and idly stroking his bare chest. The tension slowly leaves with each exhale, bit by bit, until all he’s left with is that calm sureness that belongs to Hugh and Hugh’s love.
Notes:
"Equipment failure" happens, no matter what your plumbing looks like! For me at least, once I start worrying in an intimate situation, it's a downward spiral that usually kicks me out of whatever mood completely, mainly because I'm busy analyzing why I feel that way and kicking myself for "doing something wrong". The problem with being a perfectionist is that it also translates into looking for a fault in oneself when there really isn’t one. I see that in Paul, the inability to shut off thinking completely in most situations, and this story took off from there.
Chapter 299: Singularity
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul might try to do (or not do) - remembering to compliment Tilly's work because she doesn't understand that his criticism is praise for her hard work, spending time reading up on what Nella is interested in before a visit home so he can have good conversations with her - but he never pretends to be someone he isn't.
His partner is abysmal at pretense, doesn't lie as well as he can change the subject or misdirect, and cannot fail to tell the truth. It gets him into sticky situations, makes others see him as irritable and pedantic, and yet it's also the magnetic pull of honesty that made Hugh sit down beside a handsome but rude stranger at a cafe. That authenticity of character makes it easier (not easy) for him to weather disagreements and idiosyncrasies, because he knows Paul isn't usually being deliberately argumentative. He might be particularly obtuse, but if push comes to shove, he admits when he's at fault. He can only ever be himself, and Hugh loves him for it.
(That's the reason his behavior after Hugh is rescued from the network is so very wrong, when he tries to construct an image of the partner he thinks Hugh would have wanted. He's too storm-tossed in disconnection and chaos that he doesn't have the words to tell Paul that, which might have made a difference. Instead, all he can do is lash out and push back, to flee the presence of a stranger with his lover's face.)
Hugh, on the other hand, is many things to many people. Each of them is still him, but always one layer up, another facet of his existence. The man underneath, imperfect and human, is who Tracy sees. Who he brings home to his family, who makes late-night comms to Aida and plays tag with Nella, who sometimes needs to retreat to the gym where he doesn't have to think beyond the next rep or the rhythm of his feet hitting the deck. Most of all, it's who he is with Paul.
It's never in question that Paul doesn't expect Hugh to do or to be anything in particular. When they're together, he feels so much more himself in a way that not even his grandmother can evoke. They bicker over Hugh's messy domestic habits, disagree on what constitutes too much caffeine for one day, and annoy each other with stealing the covers and snoring. They exist in each other's space, and it's imperfect and challenging and beautiful.
Paul is who he is, and Hugh feels safe in his embrace, anchored against the dangers and wonders of a future he hadn't even conceived of. He's sheltered in Paul's arms, and it reminds him that he doesn't have to be the strong, sure physician or the calm and confident CMO, is no longer T'Vala's project in understanding humanity (and he misses her terribly). Hugh has the single constant, the fact of Paul's existence as solid as duranium and with the inescapable pull of a sun whose gravity captured his wandering comet and whose orbit he would never want to leave. Paul's heartbeat beneath his ear is the pulse of the universe, is life and its joys and sorrows, and most of all, its love.
Notes:
I was watching a painting tutorial of all things, and the statement "Paul might try to do things, but never tries to be anyone but himself" appeared in my head together with "Hugh doesn't have to be strong with him". I regret nothing.
The chapter title can be interpreted as Paul's character, Hugh's unique existence as an individual, or his relationship with Paul.
Chapter 300 is next - and I promise that it will be part two of "Space Family Goes Camping", dammit.
Chapter 300: Shore Leave, Part Two (aka Space Family Goes Camping)
Summary:
Culmets cuddles.
Tilly telling awkward stories.
Adira being too modest.
Hugh teaching everyone how to make perfect s'mores.
Deep, meaningful conversation.
Chapter Text
The first thing Tilly hears after the holosuite doors swish closed behind her - and vanish into thin air - is the sound of her boss’s annoyed voice.
"...why do we have to sleep on the ground?"
Leaves rustle, followed by the susurrus of something being snapped open.
"We'll be inside a tent. I even brought an air mattress."
A Stamets huff.
"Which goes on the ground, Hugh."
She can practically see the scowl he’s probably wearing.
"It's not like there's bugs programmed in," Dr. Culber's tone is reasonable, but it sounds like he's smiling, "I won't even tell Adira that you're scared of moths."
"Not the point."
"I don't remember you complaining that night on Deneva. We didn't have a tent. Or a mattress, or even a blanket."
Mindful of past experiences, Tilly edges around a tree trunk, peering into the clearing to find a circle of rocks in the center of a circle of bare ground and the beginnings of an open-fronted tent - more of a pavilion than anything enclosed - draped halfway over its frame. Stamets has his hands on his hips, expression one of deliberate long-suffering disgruntlement. Neither of them seem to have noticed her arrival, and she’s still wondering if she ought to announce herself when Dr. Culber glances over and throws a smile her direction before going back to hammering a peg.
"That night was...different."
He sets down the folded fabric and turns to Stamets, eyes shining and soft. It’s said in a much quieter tone of voice, one that makes Tilly look away from Dr. Culber's exposed biceps and examine the moss growing around the nearest gnarled root.
"Yeah?"
“Yeah.”
She grins at a patch of lichen when she hears them kiss.
The doors swish open again, creating a very bizarre negative space in the middle of a large boulder, Discovery’s corridor briefly visible before Adira steps inside. They’re carrying a rolled-up quilt under their arm that Tilly doesn’t remember seeing before, as well as a couple of portable light sources.
(“I...the dark. I don’t- it reminds me of, of...”
Tilly takes Adira’s hand and shakes her head, moving the palm light closer to them in the darkness of the enclosed Jefferies tube while they work on fixing the power failure.
”You don’t have to tell me. I was afraid of the dark till I was twelve.”
"What happened then?"
"My aunt gave me my first tricorder."
”I don’t…?”
”I figured out how to program it for a continuous scan and motion detection, and I hot-keyed a thousand-lumen light if the sensor detected anything.”
”Huh.”
”My parents weren’t thrilled, but I slept better.”)
She waves them over, even though she's sure they probably were the one who put the clearing where it is to begin with. Adira sets down their burdens next to the large wicker basket in front of the tent, hangs the lights off the support poles, and promptly heads for the tree behind it. Grinning, they use a boulder as a ladder to reach the bottom branch and beckon insistently.
"Come on."
Tilly spares another glance for the other two, apparently now bickering over the correct way to fold sheets on an air mattress, before following Adira up a rope ladder to a small platform that seems to be balanced precariously in a cluster of branches. It's a lot more sturdy than expected when she steps on - reminding herself about holosuite safety protocols - but the view of the forest in front of them is breathtaking.
"Wow."
Blue-green leaves shimmer in the light of the twin suns, a herd of some sort of quadripedal herbivore is grazing by the river, and she can just make out a waterfall in the distance where the hills begin to rise into mountains. They're above the canopy, isolated but still a part of the forest. Beyond that, there's a scent in the crisp air that she can't quite identify, something that speaks of growing things, green and earthy. It's a bit like stella, but also completely foreign.
“Adira, this is..."
Adira smiles.
"It's my favorite spot," they anchor themselves with their knees locked around the support post and reach down to give Tilly a hand up, "Gray and I used to come here all the time."
Adira and Gray, not one of the other hosts.
Tilly frowns a little, certain that Adira hasn't mentioned landfall on the generation ship.
"It's a real place?"
"It was for us," Adira shakes their head as they sit on the edge of the platform, legs dangling, "Gray and I made this."
Tilly sits too, smiling, and nudges her shoulder against Adira's.
"This is pretty awesome."
”Yeah?”
”Oh yeah.”
"I'm glad you like it. We- I've never had anyone else see it before."
She peers around again, still amazed at the technology creating the perfect illusion of a world beneath their feet. Tilly didn't miss the hesitation over the fact that Adira had invited them all to their special hiding place, and fakes a cough to cover the abrupt tightness in her throat.
"So tell me about your planet."
They stay up the tree for an indeterminate amount of time, Adira pointing out landmarks and Tilly enjoying the sunlight without worrying about sunburn. Companionable silence descends, broken only by the occasional snippet of conversation from far below. She leans back on the support of the trunk, bark catching her hair and face turned up to the sky. It's peaceful in a way Tilly isn't sure she's felt since her days at the Academy.
Eventually, she's brought back to reality by a very familiar pattern of conversation making its way closer.
"...come on babe, it's not a real tree."
"You try climbing in these."
Branches rustle.
"Oh, no, I'd rather watch you in them."
A grunt, and the sound of shoes against bark.
"Ugh. I'm going to make you-"
The bickering cuts off abruptly when Dr. Culber comes into view, balancing on the branch below them and giving Stamets a (totally unnecessary) boost onto the platform with both hands on his ass. Tilly isn't sure why Stamets was complaining - his shorts don't seem that uncomfortable for climbing - but pulls her legs in and scoots over to make room for them. It'll be a bit cozy for four, but they should all fit.
"Wow. Hugh- do you see…?”
Dr. Culber forgoes the the last landing and pulls himself over the railing with a lot more flexing than someone of his impressive build should need.
“See what…oh. Whoa…”
After a moment of gawking, he steps around Tilly and climbs the natural staircase of boughs to look out from a couple of meters over their heads.
"You programmed all this?"
"Gray and I did. Do you like it?"
Adira sounds even more nervous, as if the scenery isn't impressive in its own right.
"No," Dr. Culber hops back down, "I love it."
Stamets chuckles, a warm noise that she's gotten used to hearing the past few months. It's the exact opposite of the hollowed out shell of a man he'd been while Dr. Culber was gone, one of many things that have appeared since their jump to the future. She's had a lot of time to think about how the situation has changed them all, but it doesn't feel like that's really what's caused it.
It's probably how he was before the war.
Actually, it must also be the reason that Harrington and the rest of his team from Deneva seemed so nonplussed at the apparent mood shift.
Huh.
"...there's this really cool hill we made, with these boulders that sort of hang from the side of it. I...could show you guys later? If you want."
Tilly tunes back in to Adira narrating, leaning out over the railing with Stamets next to them and pointing at a clump of bright orange trees in the distance.
"Okay. Hugh...?"
Dr. Culber maneuvers around the two at the railing and sits next to Tilly.
"Sure."
They go back to discussing landmarks, and Tilly startles a little when Dr. Culber nudges his shoulder against hers.
"-err, hmmm?"
He shakes his head and uses his chin to indicate Adira, now listening to Stamets tell a story about an expedition into a cave system. Tilly can see Dr. Culber's face out of the corner of her eye, and the smile he's wearing seems to make the space even brighter, the reflected edge of sunlight meant for his partner who seems completely unaware.
"Yeah," she murmurs.
This.
Notes:
Part Three (Conclusion) is in Chapter 302. I wanted to get it all told in just one chapter, but the story spawned more and I was impatient to post :P And yes, Adira and Gray most definitely built a treehouse.
300 CHAPTERS!
I had no idea when I wrote the first snippet in January 2020 that I would ever get to this point. Thank you all so very, very much for all of your kind comments, encouragement, and suggestions! I literally could not have done this without the support of my fellow Culmets fans.
Chapter 301: Sane
Notes:
Takes place around the time of S1E07 "Magic to Make the Sanest Man Go Mad".
Intermission to "Space Family Goes Camping" - this story jumped into my head and I couldn't ignore it!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"I deeply apologize for my partner. Lately, he's been, um... different."
It isn't so much that Hugh regrets the words the moment they come out of his mouth, as it is that he knows it's the wrong thing to say before he even speaks. The odd business with Burnham and Tyler aside, he's got enough to deal with as he steers Paul into a turbolift with a firm grip on his elbow and tries to stuff the feelings he's just evoked back into the corner they've been hiding in.
That task becomes simultaneously impossible and simple when Paul pauses and tugs his elbow free. Hugh's about to huff a sigh when a warm hand slides across his wrist, and Paul's palm meets his own, fingers lacing together.
"Home?"
He's proud of keeping his voice level. The happy smile his partner gives him when Hugh squeezes back makes his chest ache for too many reasons.
"Anywhere with you, dear doctor."
Paul's humming to himself in the turbolift, swaying in place while Hugh wracks his brain for what to do next. He's still pondering when the doors swish open, while they're walking down the corridor, and after the doors of their quarters shut behind them.
Hugh sets down the bin of parts that he'd forgotten he was carrying, reluctantly releasing Paul's hand and watching him unzip his jacket. He does the same, both for something to do with his hands and because he feels like he's overheating despite the thermal-regulated uniform.
"Are you hungry?"
He sounds so...normal right now.
When did you get so good at hiding what you're feeling from Paul?
"Mmm..." Paul discards the remainder of his uniform and seems to consider the idea, "shower?"
Changes to the man he loves notwithstanding, he's always happy to share a shower with him. He nods, finishes getting undressed and takes three steps towards the bathroom when he realizes Paul isn't following him.
What now?
"Babe-"
The next words die on his lips when he sees the way Paul is looking at him, head tilted to the side and the hint of a smile playing at the edges of his lips. It's not that affectionate looks are rare between them - the complete opposite - but there's something about the way his eyes shine with reflected starlight that seems so ethereal.
"Wow."
It's not lust, because he's familiar with desire written on Paul's face, and a glance down shows he's soft.
"Wow?"
"Mmhmm. Just...you're so beautiful, Hugh."
There's a reverence in his tone, quiet and sincere, and Hugh's heart does a funny little flip.
"I- so are you, sweetheart."
He means it. Of course he means it, it just runs havoc with the thoughts swirling in his head.
"You're golden."
"...what?"
Paul closes the distance between them, reaches up and cradles Hugh's face between his palms. They're even hotter than usual, and he swallows past the lump in his throat when Paul tenderly strokes his cheeks with his thumbs.
"You shine, Hugh," he murmurs, "I can see your love for me. Like a light in the dark...I wish I could show you."
The kiss pressed to his lips is nearly chaste, and he can see Paul's pupils blown wide open when he opens his eyes again. He's not sure how to respond, not to that near-poetic declaration. Instead, he manages a smile of his own and ushers Paul into the bathroom.
Their shower is uneventful, although he hasn't felt Paul's muscles this relaxed in what feels like months. Silence remains while they brush their teeth and put on their pajamas, then slide between the cool sheets.
Paul immediately crowds into his side, arm thrown across his chest and his nose brushing the sensitive spot behind Hugh's ear. His fingers scratch at Hugh's beard, and he feels his own tension draining away.
"Hugh?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you really think I'm different?"
That gets his attention.
"I..."
Sighing, Paul pushes up on his elbow beside him, looking down at Hugh with a tiny frown settled between his eyebrows.
"Earlier. You said you were sorry because I was...different."
"Sweetheart-"
"Because the thing is," he keeps talking as though Hugh hasn't spoken, "I'm not. I'm still me. Just more me than I was before."
What could Hugh possible say to that?
"I shouldn't have said that."
Paul chews his lower lip, eyes gone distant as he thinks.
"Did you mean it?"
Hugh can't have this conversation lying down, and slides up to rest against the headboard.
"I-" he blows out a long breath, "it's just..."
"Just what?"
Honesty. You promised each other complete honesty, and that includes not lying to yourself.
"You're right. You're acting different, but you're not. And...the way you are now, with everyone. I'm not...not used to sharing that side of you. Other people seeing it makes me, fuck. It makes me..."
He twists the sheet between his fingers, searching for the right word. Paul is a patient presence at his side, a stillness about him that's grounding.
"Envious?"
"Sort of? I don't know. I just, this is going to sound awful. This, you, it's my Paul. And I'm...not good at sharing. Apparently."
Understanding dawns in Paul's eyes. He nods to himself, then pulls Hugh back down until they're completely under the covers again.
"I promise, Hugh. I'm yours."
"It's not that."
"It is though. You're used to being my...my buffer to the universe," Paul licks his lips and continues, "and I still need you so much. More than I should, heh, but that's not what I'm trying to say. I'm yours, Hugh. Everything, me...always."
Hugh's cheeks and nose sting the way they still do, fourteen years later, whenever Paul lays out his feelings with that particular Stamets frank sincerity.
"I love you, sweetheart. And I'm sor-"
Paul shakes his head.
"Don't be sorry," he thumbs over Hugh's lower lip, "don't ever be sorry for the way you love me."
Rapid blinking barely clears the mist creeping into his vision.
"Paul..."
"I love you too, Hugh. No matter what."
Notes:
"Do you really think I'm different?" in a very particular tone of voice came to me while I was eating a peach. No, seriously. Written all in one go, so I hope the flow of thoughts works.
I wanted to explore Hugh's apology, because my headcanon is that Paul isn't cranky by nature (although he's still socially awkward and doesn't necessarily like people...), it's almost completely because of the war and Lorca. Hugh has always enjoyed Paul without inhibitions, in a way that other people don't get. And he's struggling with worrying about Paul's health, and then on top of that he suddenly has to contend with this.
Chapter 302: Shore Leave, Part Three (aka Space Family Goes Camping, Conclusion)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s headed towards dusk on Adira’s planet as Paul settles Hugh more comfortably in his arms, half-reclined between his bent knees. He tilts his chin up for a kiss, then rubs his cheek on Paul's chest. The prickles of Hugh’s beard through the thin fabric of his shirt send a pleasurable skitter through his nerves.
”Mmm,” Hugh’s pleased hum is accompanied by a little wiggle in response to Paul kissing the top of his head.
”Mmm?”
”Mmhmm.”
To their right, Adira fusses with a rolled up bundle of fabric before setting it back beside them and clearing their throat at Tilly, who’s staring at the fire as if enraptured by the dancing flames.
“What?”
”They’re doing it again.”
”Doing what?”
”You know, that thing.”
Tilly glances over, then frowns slightly.
"Cuddling?”
He isn’t sure when Tilly’s reaction to him and Hugh being affectionate changed from moderate to mild embarrassment to nonplussed, but it’s not a bad thing.
Admit it, her clumsy attempts to give you and Hugh space were really…endearing.
“No, the other thing.”
Hugh’s fingertips are warm where they tuck themselves just beneath the bottom hem of his shorts, scratching at the hair on his thigh. Tilly eyes them again, frown deepening.
”Fill me in, ‘cause I don’t follow.”
Adira flaps a hand at them.
”They’re being all…you know. That.”
Hugh winks at him, and Paul chuckles, content.
“Wha- oh. Hmmm,” Tilly tilts her head to the side, considering, “well, yeah. Wait, does that like…bother you?”
“What? No, it’s not, ugh,” Adira scowls, “it’s just…”
Something about their tone isn’t quite the occasional universal teenage prickliness. He can feel the moment it registers with Hugh, because he reclaims his hand and sits all the way up. Paul instantly misses his warmth and weight, but it’s secondary to figuring out what’s actually going on.
”Just what?”
"I..." they seem to notice Paul and Hugh watching them with concern and snap their mouth shut, cheeks reddening, "nnnnnuuuhh."
"Is something wrong?"
Hugh’s gentle question makes Adira’s lower lip wobble. They wave their hands again, but it’s not a terribly specific gesture. Tilly’s just started to say something when Adira stands and walks briskly across the clearing to disappear up the tree again in a violent rustle of leaves.
”…okaaay,” Paul feels loud in the ensuing silence, “what was that?”
”I don’t know. Should I-?”
Tilly points at the tree, is starting to stand when Hugh snags her sleeve.
”Probably not. Give them some space.”
”Are you sure?”
”No,” he sighs, “but we should wait till they come back down.”
Paul’s normally more than happy to defer to his partner’s wider experience with adolescents from a family full of nieces and nephews (and Hugh’s general intuition with people), but he finds himself untangling their legs and climbing to his feet.
“I’ll go.”
He dusts off the seat of his pants and puts his shoes back on, ignoring Tilly and Hugh's matching expressions of worry. The trip up the tree is a completely different experience at dusk, the shadows between the leaves long and a deep turquoise on his skin. Paul climbs steadily, none of the exaggerated complaint he’d given Hugh earlier for the sheer joy of poking at him. Following an instinct he doesn’t exactly understand, he stops on the last landing and leans to the side, peering around the trunk to catch a glimpse of Adira’s bare feet dangling over the edge of the platform.
”It's Paul,” he calls, “can I come up?”
A pause, then a muffled sniffle.
”Go away.”
It’s mumbled without any forceful intent behind it.
”Are you sure?”
He waits, one hand on the ladder, and starts silently counting. At fifty, there’s a rustle of leaves and a gusty sigh.
”Okay.”
Paul climbs the last two meters and steps onto the platform to find Adira facing away, shoulders curved down. He lowers himself to sit beside them, just outside their personal space.
”Hi kiddo.”
Adira’s eyes are downcast.
”I’m not a kid.”
Part of him wishes he had Hugh’s gift of knowing exactly what to say at the right time.
“No, I suppose not.”
They pull their feet up, knees bent and arms wrapped around their legs. It’s a pose he remembers from the hours spent sequestered in his room at home when he was growing up, trying to understand why he couldn’t make friends as easily as his parents thought he should, or why he could never quite seem to make his dad happy. His chest aches a little at the memories, even all these years later.
”Want to tell me what’s wrong?”
Adira shrugs.
”S’nothing.”
”Because I can guess,” he offers, “but I don’t want to waste your time.”
”It’s stupid.”
“If it’s bothering you, it’s not stupid.”
How many times has Hugh said that to you?
A long exhale.
“Fine. I’m being dumb then.”
Normally, he’d want to point out that Adira is absolutely brilliant, but that doesn’t seem like it would help. They’re not being argumentative; instead, it sounds impossibly weary.
“It’s not about Tilly.”
It’s not really a question, but he wants to be sure. Adira rubs their nose, then shakes their head.
Okay.
”Is it something we did?”
They flick a fallen twig off the platform with their toes, where it disappears into the branches below. Their heel drums on the wood, shin bouncing in apparent agitation.
“No. Yes. Sort of. I told you, it's stupid.”
He waits for them to elaborate, keeping his expression calm and open.
"You guys didn't, like do something. I mean, it's sort of...about Gray.”
Paul glances around the small space.
”Is he…?”
”No, he’s back down there.”
He has to admit he’s still not used to the thought of an invisible companion (although it’s a rather apt metaphor for how he felt when Hugh was gone), particularly since walking through or sitting on Gray seems like a real possibility that he wants to avoid.
"So..."
"It's dumb."
"You know," he pitches his voice so it's neither condescending nor making light of the situation, "the more you say that, the less I believe you."
The noise Adira makes is half-growl and mostly a groan.
"But it is."
He ducks his head until he's in their field of vision, waiting until they make eye contact.
"You don't have to tell me. But if it's something we can help with, or fix, or I don't know, just listen to, then I want to hear it. No matter how dumb you think it is."
Adira releases their knees to hide their face in their hands.
“I want that, that…thing you have with Hugh. Where you’re not saying anything but you’re talking, and the way you look at each other and how you’re so…so good together. And it’s not fair because Gray didn’t ask to be- and I’m terrible for feeling sorry for myself because I’m not the one who’s…” the words tumbling out finally slow, defeated, “who’s dead.”
Oh.
It's a lot to unpack, but it really does make too much sense and it's something he's uniquely familiar with. Intimately. On that thought, Paul starts with the last thing they said.
"No, you're not the one who died. But that doesn't make it any easier. And if I learned anything while Hugh was-" he sighs, "after Hugh died, it's that no one is going to judge you as hard as you do yourself."
"I should be grateful that he's still here, and I am, I am, but..."
He reaches out slowly, rests his hand on their forearm and squeezes.
"You can be grateful for what you have and still mourn what you've lost. What you've both lost."
They don't look particularly convinced.
"You know," he continues, "I couldn't even be in the same room as people who I knew were together, not for the longest time. Because they might not even be touching or talking, but it felt like I could see every time they looked at each other, and it felt like losing him all over again. Every time, Adira."
Another sniffle.
"And every moment that I forgot he was gone, I felt so guilty when I remembered, for forgetting. I lost so much of who I was when he died that I wasn't living. I don't...I can't understand what you're feeling, not all of it, but I think I do at least a little. And it's okay, because no one else gets to tell you how to grieve. Ever. Not Tilly, or Hugh, or me, or anyone. Just you."
He tugs their arm gently, and they lean against him, face hidden in his shoulder. Adira doesn't do anything so obvious as shake with sobs, but he can feel the fabric of his shirt growing suspiciously damp over his collarbone. All he can do is sit there, rubbing what he hopes are soothing circles on their back and letting the silence speak for him.
Eventually, he hears a watery chuckle.
"Adira?"
"Gray says you give good hugs," their voice is muffled against his chest, "and that he was right, I needed to talk to you."
They climb back down from Adira's treehouse not long after, much to Tilly's readily apparent relief given the way she practically elbows him out of the way to give Adira a hug of her own. Hugh's wandered off to take a comm from Tracy ("Doctor Cul- Hugh said it would just take a minute.") and Paul starts a conversation about the intermix ratios to give Adira a few minutes to compose themself. His partner doesn't comment on it when he returns, although he glances at Paul's still-damp shoulder before tugging the air mattress over next to the fire and sitting down on it.
"What did Tracy want?"
Hugh huffs.
"Quick consult, Linus apparently tried something from the last planet we visited that didn't agree with his digestive system."
"Oh man," Tilly makes a face, "was it as bad as the peanut butter?"
"Worse."
"Ewww."
Paul eyes the old-fashioned wicker picnic basket and long metal forks, and visions of toasted, melting, lava hot sugar curve his lips upward.
”You brought everything.”
Glancing up, Hugh pulls him down beside him and rewards him with a brilliant smile when Paul resumes their earlier position.
”Mmhmm. Just have to wait till the sun goes down.”
Tilly plops down cross-legged on the other side of the fire.
"For what?"
Paul indulges in a long hug when Tilly turns away to rummage in one of the bags.
“Can’t eat s’mores if it’s light out. Well, you can, but they don’t taste as good.”
Adira emerges from the tent, face scrubbed clean and wearing a fresh shirt with sleeves they hadn't wiped their nose on.
”More what?”
”S’mores,” Tilly finishes refilling her mug from the thermal flask of hot spiced tea and passes it to Adira, “you know.”
"A what?"
Both Hugh and Tilly turn to stare at Adira, wearing nearly identical expressions of astoundment.
"...you don't know what a s'more is?"
Tilly's voice is tentative, as if she's expecting to be chastened. Instead, Adira only frowns.
"No...?"
They blink nervously, mug halfway to their mouth. The fire crackles, and Hugh groans theatrically as he drops his face into his hands.
"Even Paul knows what they are."
"I resent that implication."
"Shush, pillows don't talk."
"This one does."
"I- hey!"
Hugh flinches, knees jerking towards his chest before he starts squirming in response to the tickling fingers Paul snuck up his shirt.
"Hugh," he mutters, just loudly enough for his partner to hear, "quit that."
"Hmm?"
The innocent look Hugh gives him is undercut by a deliberate wiggle that could only be designed for one purpose, and Paul does his best to ignore the tightening between his legs.
"Not in front of the kids," he hisses under the guise of scratching his nose, and receives a you'll get yours later hum in response.
"Guys?"
Adira's making a face that says Paul's attempts at subtlety have failed.
"Anyway," Hugh picks up the thread of conversation as if he wasn't just rubbing his ass into Paul's groin, "I did bring enough for everyone."
Tilly bounces a little on her knees, rapt. The flames give her hair a copper glow, haloing her head in burnished gold light that seems all too appropriate.
"I've never made one over a real fire. Well, a fake real fire, which speaking of, how does it actually...err. Never mind."
Hugh hooks a bare foot through one of the handles and pulls the basket closer. Sitting up, he opens it and shakes out a large cloth napkin before laying out the long toasting forks, unsealing bioplastic pouches of marshmallows and graham crackers, and finishing with a few bars of Earth chocolate.
"Pay attention Adira,” he says solemnly, handing them a fork, “this is something important. We need to remedy that oversight."
"Umm. Okay? Is it something else from Puerto Rico?"
Paul snorts.
”It’s…well, it’s a human thing.”
"And so you totally have to learn," Tilly adds, "everyone does. Who taught you, Doc- Hugh?"
Grinning, Hugh expertly threads a couple of marshmallows onto the fork's long tines.
"My abuelo. He used to take us camping at Yellowstone, every summer. It was Mexican chocolate, but the ones we picked up at our last stop on Earth seem just as good."
"Why can't you just replicate it?"
This time, Paul joins Tilly and Hugh's incredulous stares.
"...because it's chocolate," Hugh explains, which only seems to confuse Adira more, "synthesized chocolate never tastes right."
The dubious frown Adira offers makes Paul chuckle again, and he hands his fork to Hugh to start snapping apart the squares.
"Umm. Okay?"
Tilly nods.
"The same way that something someone cooks always tastes better than replicated. Well, not me cooking, I mean, other people. Obviously. Because I managed to almost set the kitchen on fi-uhhh. Nevermind."
"Did Hugh ever tell you that he tried to help his grandmother cook when he was ten or so, and set the curtains on fire?"
The man between his knees groans.
"I was eight, and it wasn't my fault that the wind was blowing that direction. Abuela said she always hated them anyway."
"Suuuuuure."
"Could you please just sit there and be pretty?"
"Only if you feed me s'mores."
Fifteen minutes, two sets of burned fingers, and a half dozen lost marshmallows later, Paul chases a smear of melted chocolate off the side of his palm and dusts the crumbs from Hugh's shoulder. The sticky-sweet aftertaste makes his teeth hurt, but it's more than worth it to watch Hugh explaining the correct way to roast a marshmallow without scorching or losing it to the flames and Adira's wide-eyed amazement at the whole experience. He steals a tasty kiss when Adira and Tilly chase a runaway marshmallow into the trees, Hugh's lips soft and welcoming.
Perfect.
After a few more confections, the plates are stacked back into the basket, and Hugh banks down the fire - unnecessary but a nice touch - as a cool breeze whips up fallen leaves. Paul's not sleepy, but he's more than content to rest his cheek on Hugh's temple and listen to Tilly and Adira talking about Starfleet Academy.
Well, it's mostly Tilly, but that's not the point.
He doesn't think she's forgotten he and Hugh are there, but it doesn't stop her from detailing escapades bypassing curfew for pranking other dorms or taking finals while hungover. It also makes him realize how much of the experience he must have missed out on, never interested in much beyond studying and the few close friends he had.
Possibly only in hindsight.
Hugh chimes in with a few stories from med school that he's heard before but are always worth it for the re-telling, and he lets himself drift just a little, buoyed by the rise and fall of Hugh's voice and his solid bulk in Paul's arms. Adira's planet really is something, and he hopes they'll have time in the simulated morning to explore further.
As it grows darker, the chill grows deeper.
"Babe?"
"Hmm?"
"Blanket."
He's warm enough with Hugh as his personal space heater, but Tilly seems to be taking the brunt of the simulated wind. Nodding, he reaches behind them, unfolds the quilt on the air mattress and passes it over to her. Adira squints at the fabric as Tilly gratefully settles it around her shoulders. Its lines of stitching are worn with years of rubbing against sheets and clothing, and Paul thinks of the nights spent wrapped in Hugh's arms beneath it, thinks of using it to cover a sleeping Adira on the couch in their quarters. It's been everywhere with them, spread over the bed on shore leave, their blanket that dewy morning on Deneva after he asked Hugh to be his partner, wine and birthday cake and sunscreen spilled on it.
So many memories.
"Someone made this."
Hugh nods, eyes gone distant.
"My abuela gave this to me, when I went on my first assignment aboard a ship. I wish," his voice catches, "you both could have met her."
The thought of Aida and Nella and his own parents is still painful, these days more bittersweet than anything else. He's certain Hugh still hasn't had the heart to look up Aida's memorial, hasn't been able to do the same for his own family either. Knowing that at least Aida knew what had happened - based on Pike's message for Hugh - helps, but he still wishes they could have have had a proper goodbye.
Movement pulls him back out of his thoughts, and he blinks as Adira hands Hugh the bundle of fabric they've been sitting next to and actually shuffles their feet.
"...speaking of. It's for umm, for you."
The multi-colored bundle of fabric rolls out with a snap across their laps, and Paul hears Tilly gasp beside him.
"You made this?"
Adira's wobbly smile is full of bashful pride, but there's a hint of sadness.
"Yes."
Tilly comes closer, kneeling down to examine it.
"They're all different."
"Every square. Umm. It means something."
Hugh's hand squeezes his thigh gently, the other smoothing over the threadwork with admiration.
"This had to have taken...weeks? Is this what we've seen you working on?"
"Yeah."
The quilt has figures and objects stitched onto a background of stars in a deep blue sky, intricate embroidery work at the corners and holding sections together. There's a glittering patch of P. stellaviatori in one corner, a glowing canister traced out beside it in neon blue and filled with tiny silver knots to represent spores. In the opposite corner, the Starfleet Medical emblem is done in white on grey, tiny hyposprays and scanners forming a border around it. So many things - musical notes, a silhouette of Discovery, stylized versions of their names - spiral towards the center where a golden heart is held in two hands, one pale peach and the other the color of warm honey.
It's us.
Paul finds his voice.
"I- I don't know what to...thank you, Adira. This is...wonderful."
"Well. Since it was your fifteenth. Anniversary, I mean. You've been so..." Adira looks down at their hands and takes a deep breath, "yeah. I just wanted to say, thank you. For...everything."
He doesn't say anything, but Hugh carefully passes the quilt to Tilly and rises as Paul does, drawing Adira into a hug.
"No," Paul murmurs, "thank you."
Notes:
So...this is technically three separate stories, but Culmets made me write it as one chapter. **cough** It's a bit of an emotional roller coaster, but it felt like they could only be told together here.
There might be an epilogue, if the plot bunny doesn't flee.
Chapter 303: Shore Leave, Part Four (aka Space Family Goes Camping, Epilogue)
Notes:
This is the story that never ends :P I wasn't sure if it completely fits, so please consider it an epilogue or a standalone as appropriate.
Chapter Text
The smoke from the fire has long since vanished, the four of them in the pavilion's nominal shelter as 'midnight' approaches. Hugh had fallen asleep in his arms not long ago, and it's no hardship to stay in the half-sitting position as he blinks sleepily at the starry sky and listens to Adira snore.
"...no...can't..."
Hugh's whimper wakes him fully, and he frowns.
"Shh..."
Paul hopes it's just a fleeting moment, not a nightmare his partner needs to be woken from. The frequency for them both seems to have subsided, but it's not something they really have any control over. Hugh moans, tensing but not trying to get away, and he tightens his arms, rocking them both.
"Shhh, I'm here," he presses his lips to a sweaty forehead, cheek, and temple, "I've got you. You're safe."
Hugh’s eyes open, wide and alarmed, and he gasps in a ragged breath.
"No-!"
He fumbles for Hugh's grasping hand, weaves their fingers together and squeezes.
"Hugh?"
It takes a few moments for his eyes to focus, chest heaving.
"Paul."
It's not a question, but he nods anyway.
"I'm here," Paul murmurs, quiet and firm, hands rubbing down his arms, "I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
It tears at his heart to hear Hugh sound so...vulnerable. Lost.
"I promise."
He can feel Hugh's heart hammering beneath his sheltering arms, kisses his temple and tries to keep his own breathing slow and steady.
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry," Paul murmurs, "do you want to talk about it?"
A head shake.
"Noth- nothing...just...yeah."
"Okay. Stay awake? Or sleep."
Sighing, Hugh leans into the hand stroking his cheek.
"Sleep."
"Okay. I'm here, Hugh. I promise."
Hugh shifts even closer - as if trying to prevent a nanoparticle from passing between them - and nods, closing his eyes and nuzzling into the crook of Paul's neck.
"Today was good."
"Mmhmm."
"Love you."
Paul rocks the man in his arms gently, pulling Adira's quilt tighter around them both. Stars shimmer at his shoulder, the golden heart just brushing Hugh's cheek.
"I will love you forever, Hugh," he whispers, "forever."
Quiet voices rouse her from a light sleep, and Tilly wrinkles her nose, burrowing deeper under Dr. Culber's quilt. The tiny handstitches in the fabric are amazing - Tilly is great at making things happen with her hands, but not that sort of artistic skill - and speak of a level of care that she can't quite understand from her own family. Leaving them behind has been difficult enough, and the thought of what Dr. Culber must be missing...
The soft pitch sharpens, and she sees the moment Stamets' arms tighten. Silhouetted by the pink moonlight, the connection between them is so very clear that it underscores the depths of loss Stamets suffered. He kisses Dr. Culber's forehead tenderly, whispers words and Tilly at once feels like she's both intruding on something horribly private and privileged to witness something indescribably beautiful.
Tilly's considered the steady anchor his partner provided, but not the reverse. Stamets rocks him, humming, and Dr. Culber eventually settles, the frown easing off his brow. She's always thought he had such a kind face, eyes that smiled easily and made it easy to trust him. Sighing, Tilly looks away and finds Stamets watching her with an inscrutable expression.
Fuck
She opens her mouth, trying to think of an appropriate apology, but he just shakes his head and his lips curve upwards. It takes a moment, but she smiles back, and he frees a hand from the bundle of covers long enough to pat her shoulder in acknowledgment. Then he closes his eyes, dropping his cheek back against the top of Dr. Culber's head and exhaling. Not too long afterwards, his own face smooths out in sleep even as his hold never loosens.
Tilly looks up at the artificial stars twinkling in the simulated sky, breathes in a facsimile of crisp autumn and shifts on the illusion of leaves beneath her.
She smiles.
Chapter 304: Sketch
Chapter Text
Hugh is in the living room with Nella and three of his nephews when Paul arrives from the spaceport, travel-worn and looking to be much in need of sleep. He isn't supposed to arrive for another four hours, which is why Aida is the one who answers the door. With his back turned, Hugh assumes the fussing and gentle scolding is directed at one of his cousins (or possibly an aunt or an uncle, because being seventy with grandchildren of their own doesn't deter Aida from continuing to mother them), until Nella glances over at the entryway and drops her marker with a shout of delight before bodily scrambling over Hugh's legs.
"Tío Paul!"
She leaps at him, Aida standing to the side and shaking her head fondly.
"Hi Nella," his voice is muffled by her hair, "Merry Christmas."
Nella beams, then scrambles back down.
"Tío Hugh missed you."
He's nearly forty, but professional dignity is cheerfully discarded as Hugh doesn't wait for his nephews to greet his partner before sweeping him into a hug of his own, chuckling against Paul's lips at the assorted noises of adolescent disapproval from the living room when he kisses him soundly.
"Hello sweetheart."
"Hi."
Hugh takes a step back, cradles Paul's cheek and kisses him once more before surrendering him to the rest of his relatives wandering in from the back deck at the commotion. In the meantime, Nella drags Paul's bag upstairs to Hugh's room ("I've got it, Tío!") - he hopes there's nothing breakable inside as it bounces across the steps - and he heads into the kitchen to wash his hands. He's at the counter pouring them both iced tea when Paul slumps against the kitchen doorway. Behind him, Aida seems to be shooing everyone else back outside, and Hugh grins before gathering him into his arms again.
"Mmmm. Missed you," he murmurs into Paul's hair, "so glad you're finally here."
"Me too."
Paul's hands are warm where they slide over his back and shoulders, gliding down his biceps and resting on his forearms.
"You have all day to stop that."
"Well, I- errr. Is there something you wanted to tell me?"
His eyes must have closed at some point, because he opens them to find Paul peering down at his arms in puzzlement.
"No? What are you..." he takes in the exposed skin, "ahhh. I tried to wash it off."
"Oh, I'm not complaining," Paul gives a tired chuckle, turning to lift Hugh's left forearm into the light from the kitchen window, "I'm guessing I know exactly who the artist is too."
Clumsy but generally accurate networks of mycelia stretch across the back of Hugh's hand, the names of fungi scrawled in purple over his wrist and giant blue mushrooms march up towards his elbow.
"You've created a little science monster."
Paul doesn't look the least bit contrite.
"It's not my fault she's interested in the most important subject in the universe."
"I thought I was the most important," Hugh pouts, "that's what you keep telling me."
"You're not a subject, dear doctor."
"No?"
"I'm an expert in astromycology-"
"A very modest one."
"-but I'm never going to get tired of studying you."
His partner is clearly too weary to make the kiss anything but sweet, although he does nip Hugh's lower lip when he pulls back.
"Tío Paul?"
Nella's waiting two feet behind them, her noiseless arrival at odds with the usual whirlwind of energy.
"Yes, Nella?"
"Do you want to come play?"
Hugh takes one look at the dark circles under Paul's eyes and decides it's probably a good idea to intercede on his behalf because Paul is incapable of saying no to his niece.
Also, marker is a lot more difficult to wash off that lovely pale skin.
"Tío Paul and I are going to take a nap, Nellita. Maybe in an hour?"
His niece doesn't look pleased, but she nods a moment later.
"You're not just saying you're going to take a nap, are you?"
He and Paul are probably wearing matching blank expressions.
"...what?"
"Because Abuela always says we're not supposed to play if we're supposed to be napping, but you get all noisy sometimes."
"Umm."
"Promise, Nellita," Hugh works hard to keep a straight face, "no playing."
"Okay."
Hugh is one hundred percent not fleeing a six year-old's questions when he exits the kitchen at a fast walk.
Definitely nothing other than sleeping.
At least, not until after dinner.
Chapter 305: Sincere, Part Two
Summary:
Communication is key.
Notes:
Follows on from Chapter 228 ("Sincere").
Contains extremely consensual rough sex with physical and verbal dominance.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first time they decide on 'time out' for a pause is early on, far before they'd settled into the calm sureness of the last many years.
They're playing a little rough, Paul having wound Hugh up with suggestive looks and 'accidental' caresses while waiting for him to get off shift at Starfleet Medical, licking his fingers obscenely over dinner, leading to Hugh's harsh whisper of, "I'm going to make you scream later" and abandoning dessert less than ten minutes ago, barely keeping their hands off each other on the way back to his apartment.
Hugh practically tears Paul's clothes off and then throws him on the bed with enough force that he bounces a little. The possessive, predatory lust as he strips and prowls closer makes the hairs on the back of Paul's neck rise, goosebumps skittering over his skin. Hugh is always so controlled and careful with his strength, for all that he could easily overpower Paul with barely any effort. It's thrilling and just a tiny bit frightening, but Paul's far more excited because above all else, he trusts Hugh.
"You," Hugh growls as he pins Paul to the sheets and grinds their hips together, "and those hands are getting you into too much trouble. Do you know how difficult it is to finish medical logs with a hard on?"
Squirming, Paul bites Hugh's chin.
"What are you going to do about it then?"
He sees Hugh glance around the room quickly, leaning off to retrieve something from the floor. When he surfaces, it's with a length of grey cord, a drawstring from a pair of sweats if Paul had to guess. Hugh twines it around his own hand a few times, using his thighs to hold Paul's wandering hands in place.
"I'm going to tie you to the bed and have my way with you."
The statement sends a bolt of lust straight to Paul's groin, hips bucking up without conscious thought.
”Fuck. Yessssss.”
Hugh chuckles darkly as he eagerly holds his hands out once they're free from under Hugh's legs. Placing Paul at the center of the bed by the simple expedient of lifting and tossing, Hugh threads the drawstring through a slat in the headboard then around Paul's wrists a couple of times before tying a neat bow. He shoves the dangling ends into his hands, closing Paul's fingers around them and running his own index finger between the cord and his wrists before sitting back.
”You're sure?”
Most of Paul’s ability to think is busy rubbing himself against Hugh's thigh, but he manages an incredulous look.
”Are you actually asking me-“
Hugh leans forward, expression serious despite the erection bobbing in his lap.
“We’re going to talk about this later.”
”Fine, yes. Now hurry up and fuck me.”
A kiss that’s far too sweet for the situation is brushed over his lips, there and gone again.
"Better hang on."
Hugh then proceeds to spend the next ten minutes driving Paul out of his mind. Without the use of his hands, all he can do is squirm, shoulders twisting, unsure if he wants to press closer or escape as Hugh’s wet lips and tongue do the most obscene things between his legs while coyly avoiding his dick. He curses and pleads with his captor, promising him anything he wants if he would just stop teasing and fuck him.
That earns a bite to his inner thigh that’s probably going to leave a mark, but more importantly Hugh retrieves the bottle of slick and presses inside with excruciating slowness. There’s what feels like an eternity of waiting once he bottoms out, breathing hard into Paul’s shoulder but not moving.
How can he-
He growls in frustration and tries to move, which only makes Hugh's arm around his waist tighten as he lifts Paul's knee even higher, opening him up. Then he sets a pace that drives any remaining thoughts from Paul’s head that aren’t centered around things like more and please and yes. Even when Hugh pauses to catch his breath, he keeps his hips rocking, blankets Paul’s body until they’re so deliciously sweaty that his hands lose their grip.
Hugh's a vision from Paul's wettest dreams, lips parted as he pants and eyes so full of desire that it eclipses everything else. When he sits back and pulls out, Paul doesn’t even have time for a complaint before he’s flipped onto his knees and that horribly empty feeling is gone again. Hugh does his best to fuck Paul through the mattress, voice rough with sex when he tells Paul he’s so beautiful like this, and Hugh wants him so much and he’s so, so good to him.
Paul loses the ability to hold himself up under his own strength, elbows and knees giving out all at once so that he would have collapsed onto the sweat-tangled sheets were it not for Hugh's arm looped around his waist. As it is, his face is buried in the pillow, muffled cries as his erection slides against the bed with every thrust, angry red and leaking so steadily that he's probably leaving yet another wet spot on the sheets.
It's absolute torture, and he never wants it to end.
Hugh widens his knees, spreading Paul's thighs further apart, and leans forward to brace himself with his other hand on the headboard for leverage. The new angle makes the man beneath him nearly scream, fingers clawing at the sheets, and it takes a moment for Hugh's lust-stupid brain to hear the words between the moaning.
“…please, Hugh! Need…I need-“
He bites his own lip hard, forcing himself back a few precious millimeters from the edge.
"Do you want to sto-"
"No!"
Paul’s teeth are clenched around the edge of the pillowcase, fingers stark red and white at the knuckles around the headboard. The loose knot on the cord has come free, but instead of re-tying it, Hugh pulls those hands off the headboard and laces their fingers together. Around him, Paul’s burning hot and still tight, and he’s close, so close, riding the edge against the point of no return. The need to see his lover come first, to pleasure his gorgeous partner, gives him the control to hold on second by second and just a little longer.
Everything comes to a halt the moment Hugh feels Paul fighting against his grip, thrashing.
"-can't. Hugh! I-I c-can't. Let me- please, no...stop…"
Fuck.
It’s like a bucket of cold water thrown over him. He releases Paul’s hands as if burned, scrambling to take his weight off Paul’s back. Biting his tongue, he starts to pull out as gently as possible, panting and wincing at the thought of what he might have done.
The regen’s in the bathroom.
Is it charged?
He’s almost free when Paul spits out the pillowcase.
"Whuh- why'd you stop?"
Paul squirms, pushing his hips against the hand resting on his lower back, voice two parts impatient and three parts pure sex.
What?
It takes a moment for Paul to slow his breathing down enough to keep going.
“You- fuck. Hugh, stop…teasing. Dammit. What are you-?”
The cloud of dread forming over his head pauses.
"Love-"
Hugh’s erection has faded enough that he slips out, and Paul arches his back as if seeking to reclaim it.
"Get back in me."
The whirlwind of fear and relief - like a shuttle without thrusters spiraling out of control in atmosphere - makes him dizzy for a few moments.
"Hugh?"
When he opens his eyes after it passes, Paul has managed to roll over and is peering up at him with concern.
"I thought you were…trying to get away. I thought I'd hurt you."
His own voice sounds thin and strained. Despite his seeming bonelessness, Paul pushes off the sheets and sits up.
"You’d never hurt me."
The conviction and belief in Paul's declaration goes a long way towards steadying his jangling nerves.
"You said 'stop.' I..." Hugh exhales sharply, "sorry."
Paul blinks at him in seeming incomprehension.
"I did?"
"Yeah."
His face goes blank, and he can almost see Paul replaying the last couple of minutes in his head.
"Oh."
The sex might be a lost cause, but Hugh doesn't resist when Paul pulls him closer, gathers him into his arms on his lap. They sit in silence a while longer, before Paul shifts and tips his head to the side.
"I honestly don't remember? Saying stop. But, I...what did you think...you wouldn't."
"I thought I'd gone too far."
A small, wry smile twists Paul's lips.
"I might have been dying of frustration from being teased, but no, Hugh, you didn't. You couldn't."
He smooths the hair back from Paul's damp forehead, sees his fingers shaking and clenches that hand into a fist instead.
"We probably should have discussed this first."
"Discussed what?"
"You know. Something to say, if we ever need to...stop."
"But-"
"Even if you're never going to use it, it would make me feel better."
Paul frowns.
"Umm. Okay?"
Hugh closes his eyes on a long blink.
"I take it you haven't used 'stop' before?"
"It's...never been like this with anyone. Before. Ever."
"People should always ask-"
A headshake cuts off that train of thought.
"No, I mean, I've never been...interested in anything else. Besides, well, sex," Paul gives a half-shrug, "and you know it was never all that great. Never mind anything besides that."
These are things Hugh knows already, but hearing them spelled out in this context makes him both horribly protective and aware of the significance of being given this kind of trust.
Oh sweetheart.
"I-"
"And if you're about to apologize again for everyone else's shortcomings," Paul sighs, "please, don't. You're amazing, Hugh."
He shakes his head to clear it, and holds up a hand when Paul opens his mouth again, clearly misinterpreting it as negation.
"You...I...okay. Okay. I'm sorry for panicking."
Paul cradles his face between his palms, kisses him firmly.
"Time out."
"What?"
"Let's use 'time out', because context?"
Hugh files it away in his brain, nodding.
"Okay."
"Are we good?"
"Yes."
He forgets what he's about to say next when Paul pushes off the mattress with a noise of exertion and Hugh finds himself flat on his back looking up at him instead.
"Err..."
A wicked grin greets him.
"Good. Because," Paul leans over and untangles the cord from the headboard, "I think it's my turn next."
"Yeah?"
"Oh yeah. Is that okay?"
Inhaling slowly, Hugh holds his breath for a count of three and exhales again, clearing his mind of the previous concerns.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
Hugh holds out his wrists to Paul.
"Yes."
Notes:
Consent is horribly, desperately sexy.
I realize that I spend a lot of time writing about trust, communication, and intimacy. Some of it is me projecting, but mainly it's the fact that Anthony and Wilson have managed to build so much into looks, tone of voice, and meaningful touches, that it suggests a whole world of Paul and Hugh's relationship to explore. I see them and I believe that they're a couple in a way I haven't experienced with other Trek couples. These are two people who clearly know each other on a deep level, flawed and imperfect but able to create a love that literally crossed the boundary of life and death.
**steps off soapbox**
Chapter 306: Swell
Summary:
Paul has a minor run-in with some equipment.
Notes:
Inspired by YouTube randomly showing me clips of MLB accidental injuries.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Engineering to medbay!"
Tracy looks up from the patient chart she's reviewing, doctor's focus snapping into place.
"Medical, Pollard. Tilly?"
"Oh thank goodn- umm."
She dismisses the hovering display and reaches for a medkit.
"Is there a problem?"
"Well. It's Commander Stamets-" a pained groan interrupts Tilly's reply.
"Injury?"
Tracy automatically pats her hip to check for her scanner, then rolls her eyes when her palm encounters just the side seam of her uniform pants.
Never going to get used to that.
"Err. He's...can you come down here?"
"Tilly..."
"It's nothing serious. Life-threatening. Just...yeah."
Tracy's already halfway to the door.
"On my way."
Inside Engineering, she's met with the usual bustle of activity. Nothing seems out of place until she scans the room and spots Tilly in the far corner, leaning over with her back to the door. There's a pair of boot soles just visible beyond her legs, resolving into Paul curled into a ball on the floor when Tracy gets close enough to see.
"Stamets?"
"Doctor Pollard! Oh good," Tilly seems to be hovering, empty hand flitting nervously, "good."
She drops to her knees and calls up the tricorder from her commbadge.
"What happened?"
Everything looks fairly normal - no obvious bleeding, trauma, or allergic reaction - although his heart rate is elevated significantly.
"We were re-routing one of the bypasses, and the intermix module was stuck. I pulled, but I couldn't get it out, so he said he'd do it."
Paul's face is pink, eyes squeezed tightly shut, clinging to Tilly's hand with a white-knuckled grip.
"And?"
Tracy glances the direction Tilly is gesturing, seeing the open panel and a heavy-looking piece of equipment dangling from a blue cable still attached to the inside of the conduit.
"He pulled, and it finally came loose, but one of the cables didn't detach so it sort of swung. Really hard."
Narrowing her eyes, she estimates it to be about waist-high, and chuckles ruefully.
"Ahh."
"Yeah."
She zooms in on her scan, noting the increased blood flow around the groin and initial signs of swelling.
"Paul?"
Another moan.
"What do we do?"
Tracy can almost see the bones in Tilly's hand grinding together.
"He'll be fine. I'll transport him to the medbay since I don't think he's up to walking."
"Okay. Ummm, Commander? Could you maybe..." Tilly wiggles their joined hands, "let go?"
One eye peels open, a sliver of blue visible, followed by a groan with an overtone of assent. Once free, his second hand joins the first cupping his crotch.
"Thanks Tilly. Two to beam to medbay, direct."
The tingle of materialization fades, and Tracy quickly checks the biobed display before setting a hand on Paul's shoulder.
"Paul?"
He's still on his side, cheeks damp.
Must have been a really bad hit.
"Nothing's injured as far as I can tell," she loads up a hypospray and tugs his collar out of the way, "but we should check."
She counts to five after the hypospray hisses, watching his shoulders slump in relief.
"...fuck."
"Might not want to do that right now."
"Ha ha."
Both eyes open, and she winces in sympathy at the misery in them.
"Want me to get Hugh?"
"What for? He's...owwww, probably sleeping."
"Well," Tracy cants her hip against the side of the biobed, "scan says no permanent damage, but I should do a quick exam and take care of any superficial bruising."
He flinches when she says bruising, then again when the movement clearly aggravates his groin.
"I see."
"It's nothing I haven't seen already, but I thought you might not want me getting that personal."
The flash of color in his cheeks tells her that he's remembering the instances over the years where Tracy's (unfortunately) become visually acquainted with his private parts.
"Yeah."
"Thought so. Medical to Culber. Hugh?"
"...Tracy? Wha-" a yawn, "what is it?"
"Minor testicular bruising."
"You need a consult?"
"No," Tracy pats his hand reassuringly, "but I figured you'd both rather have you be the one to do the exam."
There's a pause, and Paul drops his head back onto the biobed with a groan.
"Hugh?"
"Paul? What- oh. Eeeshh. Be there in five, Culber out."
There's not much else for her to do other than pre-emptively load up a local analgesic, set out a soft tissue regen, and trade a few pointed comments with Paul to take his mind off the area between his legs.
Not for the usual reasons, anyway.
The doors swish open precisely four minutes later. Given that Hugh's wearing only his uniform pants and undershirt with his boots half zipped, she's impressed that he managed to change out of his pajamas in the interim. Tracy heads back to the CMO's desk, shaking her head at Hugh's sympathetic cooing before activating the privacy field for them.
It takes less than ten minutes before Hugh deactivates it, an update to Paul's file flashing through the record system. She looks up to find him helping Paul off the biobed, jacket unzipped and undershirt untucked but generally looking to be a lot less uncomfortable than before.
"Thanks Trace," he sighs, "done here."
"Please tell me you didn't kiss it better."
That earns her an eyeroll from Paul and a wink from Hugh.
"Come on babe," Hugh catches Paul's hand and tugs gently, "you're officially off duty till tomorrow."
"Night you two."
She's alone again in the medbay fifteen seconds later, and chuckles as a stray thought crosses her mind.
At least it wasn't Hugh's balls.
Notes:
Yup, Tracy's very glad she didn't have to do an exam on Hugh's nether regions.
Re: the time it takes to get from Paul and Hugh's quarters to the medbay. I've seen various estimates of Discovery's hull width, but going off a maximum of 250 meters and the usual human stride of about 1.4 meters per second, it would take just under three minutes to go from one side of it to the opposite assuming a straight path across the saucer section. Since the corridors are curved (circumference closer to 785 meters at the widest edge) and there's some turbolift usage, I figured Hugh could jog there in roughly the same amount of time.
Chapter 307: Suitability
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Why,” his high school chem lab partner asks when Paul stumbles over an invitation to go on a date, “would I be interested in you?”
”Wait,” the cute guy in his study group laughs, “you’re a virgin? At twenty?”
“You’re too clingy,” his first real boyfriend tells him as they walk in the Academy arboretum.
“Sorry,” says the second guy he has sex with as he climbs off Paul’s bed and starts looking for his clothes, “I don’t do feelings.”
”Stop being so uptight,” his date rolls his eyes, “it’s just fucking. And honestly, I’ve had better.”
”Do you have to be so loud? It’s…weird,” Justin’s friend complains. That’s the last time he lets Straal set him up with anyone.
“We’ll take it as slow as you want,” Hugh reassures him from the other end of the comm link, “but I’ll be honest, Paul, I think I’m falling for you hard.”
”Oh, sweetheart,” Hugh strokes his cheek and kisses him tenderly, “you’re so beautiful, and I’m going to take such good care of you.”
”I want to hear you,” Hugh pulls Paul’s hand away from his own mouth, “please, it’s so fucking hot.”
”I’ve never…it’s never been like this with anyone before for me either,” Hugh smiles at him from the other side of the pillow, “you’re amazing, Paul.”
”I love you so much,” Hugh nuzzles his temple as they snuggle in the afterglow, “happy fifteenth anniversary.”
Notes:
As someone who *only* does feelings, well, I’m still looking for my Hugh.
Chapter 308: Suitability, Part Two
Notes:
Same theme as the previous chapter, but Hugh's perspective.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"You love your job more than you love me," the guy he dates junior year of med school sighs, "sorry Hugh, I can't do this. Good luck."
"You never asked for monogamy, I thought you were fine with it? Hugh," the guy he thought was his boyfriend shakes his head, "I'm not going to just...settle down with someone. Sorry."
"I didn't invite you up here to talk," his date interrupts him, "you're hot, so just shut up and fuck me."
"You've got unrealistic expectations," his fifth boyfriend explains (not unkindly) during their breakup, "and people are going to take advantage of that. We could have- I guess that doesn't matter now, but the man you're looking for doesn't exist."
"You're always working late, you never have time for me. What was I supposed to do? I'm not going to sit here alone for three months while you're out playing hero on some other planet, I have needs too," his soon-to-be-ex boyfriend spits from the other side of the bed, the man Hugh found him in bed with waiting in the next room, "so if I had to look outside, that's your fault."
"Wait, it's been three hours? That can't be right," Paul frowns at the corner of the screen where the chrono sits, "umm. Want to stay on? Let me make some coffee, five hours of sleep should be fine."
"No, I...like that you love what you do. I mean, not that I'm that kind of doctor," Paul waves his hands and the frantic nervous beating of Hugh's heart slows, "but, well, usually people think I'm the one overworking."
"I just, I'm not, well, everyone says I'm terrible. At being someone's boyfriend. And sex. You might be disappointed, and I don't want you to be, because I really really like you Hugh, and I want to, I just thought you should know that it might-" Paul's words trail off when Hugh climbs on top of him and kisses him senseless.
"People think you talk too much in bed? Wow. Umm. Well, heh, that's not a problem," Paul gives him the most adorable smile, cheeks flushing, "I like it."
"I always thought people were exaggerating about sex with someone else being that good, or that I was doing something wrong. It's so different with you," Paul murmurs in the cozy pocket of warmth beneath the covers as he cuddles Hugh to his chest, "I feel so, so connected."
"I- okay, this was so much easier in my head," Paul looks down at their joined hands, the stars of Deneva twinkling overhead, "but I realized that I, umm, want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you be my...my partner, Hugh?"
Notes:
These ended up longer than the ones in the last chapter for Paul...oops?
Chapter 309: Shimmer
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Everything about Paul is beautiful - including the parts he doesn't like - and Hugh will never tire of looking at him. The years have been kind to them both, a few more wrinkles here and there, Paul's thickening waist and fuller jaw hardly the points of criticism his partner claims them to be. Each feature is worth admiring, from the way his eyes flash steel grey when he's in a mood to the flush of his cheeks and the way he bites his lip when he's nervous, to his twitchy fingers and habitually slouched posture.
Right now, Hugh appreciates the way his hair catches the starlight beneath their viewport, the fine strands reflecting gold and silver and near-transparent at the ends. He's seen it strawberry blond in their younger days when Paul was out in the sun, tinged with cool blue in the spore cube, darkened with sweat or rain. It's thinning a bit at the crown, with streaks of platinum as wide as his thumb at the temples visible against the dark blue pillowcase. Immaculately styled on duty, without product it flops over his forehead and fluffs itself with static as Hugh runs his fingers through it gently, almost meditative as he untangles and pets it. Paul's sleeping now, but he thinks of the purring hum the action evokes when his lover is awake, the way his eyes fall shut and his lips turn up at the corners with contentment as he rests his head on Hugh's thigh or cuddles against his side.
"...you're doing it again."
Paul's voice is thick with sleep and affection, and Hugh refocuses from his inner musings to find a pair of sleepy blue eyes watching him.
"Hmm?"
"That thing," Paul murmurs, snuggling even closer, "where you touch me like I'm..."
He trails off, and Hugh waits for him to finish. When nothing seems to be forthcoming, he carefully slips his fingers from Paul's hair and curves his hand around a slightly stubbly jaw.
"Precious? Gorgeous? Loved?"
Fifteen years later, and there's still a hint of self-consciousness in Paul's smile.
"Yeah."
He leans forward the last two inches until their foreheads touch.
"It's not 'like' anything, sweetheart. You are. All of those things and more."
They brushed their teeth less than an hour ago, so Paul doesn't protest when Hugh kisses him.
Mine.
Notes:
Fluffity fluff fluff fluff.
Taking requests (as always), because I still haven't managed to advance my multi-chapter stories much. Grrr.
***SPOILER***
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Per Michelle Paradise during Star Trek Day: Disco Season 4 premieres November 18th!!!
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Also? Wilson promised us "a lot more domestic bliss" between Paul and Hugh :)
Chapter 310: Sew
Notes:
Pre-Space Family Goes Camping :) A glimpse of Adira working on the quilt from Chapter 302.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“What are you doing?”
Gray manifests on the couch beside Adira while they’re busy squinting a finicky rolled hem.
”I’m sewing,” they mutter, “hi.”
”Hi silly,” Gray kneels on the cushions and leans over their shoulder, “I can see you’re sewing.”
Adira uses the tip of the needle to tuck an edge under, makes a few stitches and reaches for the scissors to snip off the thread.
”Where’ve you been?”
There’s no tension or implied reproach in the question, not like there was before.
”Watching Rhys and Detmer play Velocity.”
Smirking, Adira fishes out a spool of silver thread and starts working French knots around the appliqués.
”Did he lose gracefully?”
“What do you think?”
It’s a rhetorical question, and Adira laughs.
“Of course not.”
Gray settles back cross-legged on the couch, and they continue sewing. There’s a fiddly seam they can’t quite get right, patience decreasing each time they have to unpick the section.
”Your knot’s tangled,” he offers helpfully as Adira sticks themself with the needle for the fifth time, sucking the offended fingertip with a frustrated growl.
“I hadn’t noticed.”
Their sarcasm rolls off their boyfriend as easily as it ever did. Instead of reacting to it, he watches with concern when Adira clears the project off their lap and buries their face in their hands.
"Oookay. Want to tell me what we're making that has you so...this?"
"Ugh. Yeah. It's..."
Adira shakes out rolled bundles of fabric, spreading a series of squares across the coffee table and nearby floor. Some of them are more finished than not, others still only have the vaguest outlines in stitches or shapes tacked down to them. Sore fingers and neck aside, they let their hand linger with pride as they smooth the center in place, fingers tracing over the border of the golden heart and the hands holding it.
"Wow."
The exclamation is followed by silence as Gray tilts his head to the side, taking it all in. He studies each piece intently, finally ending with the slightly rumpled square Adira was working on last, the canister of spores half attached.
"You're making this for Paul and Hugh."
"Their fifteenth anniversary is soon, Paul said. And I wanted to make them something special."
"Adira," he shuffles around to face them again, "this is amazing. They're going to love it."
"Only if I can finish it right. It's taking longer than I thought. And I can't get the edges even, and it's bothering me, because it should be simple seams, right? And it has to be..." Adira waves their hands, "yeah."
Gray sighs, leaning closer.
"You are your own worst critic. Look at it-" he shakes his head as they chew their lip, "no, not like you always do when you make something beautiful and then tell me everything that went wrong or isn't perfect. I mean, you're...you're telling a story for them. Of them."
Their eyes start to sting, and they try to hide it by rubbing their nose.
"I guess."
"Hey, stop that. I really mean it, you're giving them something full of meaning."
Adira bunches the bottom of their tunic between their clenched fingers, shifting on the deck. It's always been a struggle - Gray's sunny optimism and frank praise versus their self-doubts - and they wish yet again it could be solved as easily as saying so.
"I just- you know. They're...Paul, and Hugh, they've been so..." they huff at their inability to find the right words, "everything. And it's always been you and me against the universe, and like, it sounds weird to say out loud, but they're kind of like my...dads, you know?"
"Of course I know," Gray's voice softens, "and I promise, they're going to love it."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"I-"
"Stamets to Adira."
The timing is impeccable.
"Paul?"
"Hugh wants to know if you and Gray want to have dinner later? He's cooking."
A funny tickly warmth squirms in their chest the way it does any time Paul or Hugh (or Tilly) include Gray without hesitation. Gray's already nodding, and after tasting Hugh's food, Adira isn't going to turn it down for anything short of an emergency.
"Yeah. That sounds good. When are you eating?"
"Whenever we're all hungry," Hugh's voice spills over Paul starting to say something, "I'm taking requests, unless it's something Tilly's allergic to."
That answers their next question about other company.
"Umm. Anything is good?"
"Tell you what, why don't you two come on over now or whenever you're ready, and I'll show you my abuela's recipes? You and Tilly can decide what you want."
"Hey," they can just see the exaggerated scowl Paul's probably making, "don't I get a vote?"
"No."
And he's probably pouting now. Which means...
Yep.
Right on cue, there's the barely-audible smacking noise of a kiss.
"Gross."
"You didn't see it."
"No, but I heard it."
"Anyway," Paul sounds like he's smiling, "Tilly said to give her twenty, does that work?"
"Sure, we'll be there in ten."
"Perfect. Stamets out."
Adira carefully gathers up the pieces of the quilt again, stacking them in order and setting them safely on the coffee table where they won't accidentally step on them. Their spine pops as they twist from side to side, releasing the tension of too long spent hunched over on the couch.
"I miss being hungry," Gray's wistful expression lasts only a moment before he shakes his head, "sorry."
"You can try everything once we get you back."
They do their best to sound confident, and really they are. Mostly. Paul and Hugh and Tilly all promised, and they know none of them wants to let Gray down.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. We'll get Hugh to make asopao first for you to taste."
Their stomach chooses that moment to let out a loud growl. Smiling, Gray tilts his head towards the door.
"Come on."
They go.
Notes:
So it's not 100% clear if Gray is limited to only being "aware" when he's in proximity to Adira (e.g. his line to them about wanting to make new memories), but I've taken a bit of license and decided he can wander off on his own a bit.
As a long time crafter (I first picked up a sewing needle over 30 years ago, yikes!), Adira's frustrations and tendency to focus on the flaws are a big mood.
Chapter 311: Sweaty
Summary:
Early morning fluffy conversation about nothing and everything. Innuendo, playful humping (no, really), and love.
Notes:
Vaguely references Rhys, Detmer, and Owo’s gossip session in Chapter 102 (“Spies”).
Chapter Text
Hugh is three steps into their quarters when a pair of arms wraps around his waist from behind.
”Hi honey.”
”Mmmm,” a nose buries itself in the side of Hugh’s neck, snuffling under the edge of his collar, “hi.”
Paul’s a solid line of heat from neck to knees, humming quietly against Hugh’s skin. He abandons any thought of unlacing his workout shoes and covers Paul’s arms with his own, hands squeezing his elbows.
“You’re up early.”
Hips playfully thrust against his ass, and he chuckles as his partner takes the innuendo.
”I’m awake. He’s not.”
“Probably just as well. Keyla wiped the floor with me on the court, I don’t think I’d be up for it.”
“Maybe later,” Paul’s comment is muffled, vibrating into his shoulder, “mmm. You smell so good.”
He relaxes further, head tilting back to give Paul’s lips better access to his neck.
”I smell sweaty.”
”Exactly. Yummy.”
Paul punctuates his declaration with a lick.
”Probably salty too.”
”Mmhmm.”
”Did you sleep okay?”
It’s a valid question, especially since he hadn’t expected Paul to be awake just yet.
”Adira had an idea at oh-seven-hundred,” a rueful groan, “so, yes until that point.”
”Did they at least comm first?”
”What do you think?”
Opening his eyes - not that Hugh remembers closing them - he spots two half-empty coffee mugs next to a PADD on the table.
”I take that as a no.”
He starts to try and wiggle out of his shoes without using his hands, but stops when Paul makes a displeased noise at his squirming.
“Yeah.”
”Well, at least- wait,” a thought occurs to him, “please tell me you were under the covers.”
When he left at 0630, his lover most definitely wasn’t. While Hugh appreciated Paul’s naked sprawl across the sheets, he suspects both Paul and Adira would be mortified in other circumstances.
“Yes, dear doctor. I also reminded them that while I really appreciated them bringing me a latte, some of us ‘old people’ need more than six hours of sleep.”
The nuzzling stops, and he sighs as Paul’s cheek comes to rest on the back of his neck.
”One of these days they’re going to let themself in at the wrong time. Tracy keeps asking me if we’ve scarred Adira for life yet.”
Paul’s fingers work their way up under Hugh’s shirt, stroking over his stomach.
”Honestly? I think they’re convinced no one over the age of forty ever has sex.”
”Rhys says Keyla thinks the same thing.”
He can feel Paul’s quiet laugh.
”Mmm. Or it could be that she just can’t imagine the heroic and handsome Doctor C tumbling into bed with a grumpy middle-aged mushroom scientist.”
The roaming hands reverse course, delving beneath the waistband of his pants to thumb over his hipbones.
”You gave me quite a workout last night,” Hugh murmurs, “must be why my Velocity game was off this morning.”
He doesn’t need to see Paul’s face to know he’s wearing his best innocent expression.
”Who, me?”
”Yes you, babe.”
”Can’t help it if the hottest man in the universe parades around our quarters naked and gives me that look when we’re brushing our teeth.”
Hugh’s smile morphs into a full blow grin.
”No idea what look you’re talking about.”
Teeth nip his earlobe playfully.
”The ‘I’m horny, please fuck me’ one.”
”Oh. Well, I can’t be held responsible for being horny when you’re around.”
”Mmm. Suuuuure.”
Paul rubs against his ass, still soft but humming happily. It’s probably not going anywhere, but Hugh takes the opportunity to flex and roll his own hips back into it.
”Are we going to be late for breakfast?”
”It’s-“ the casual humping continues while Paul checks the chronometer on his nightstand, “ugh. No, but we should probably get showered now.”
”We could send Adira to keep Tilly and Reno busy.”
He’s only half-serious, and Paul snorts against his neck.
”We’d have to explain why.”
Hugh turns in the circle of Paul’s arms, sneaking in a stealthy grope along the way.
“Good point.”
Paul’s hair is still pillow-mussed, although it looks like he tried to at least finger-comb it into some semblance of order. He tips his head to the side as Hugh leans in for a kiss, giggling a little when Hugh licks his lips before pulling back.
”Mmm,” Hugh plants another kiss on the tip of his nose, “cinnamon.”
”Adira pays attention.”
”Definitely. Come on,” he sighs, stepping back reluctantly, “shower. Breakfast.”
The playful sparkle in Paul’s eyes reminds him of how much he loves that the smoldering heat between them still hasn’t diminished.
“And later?”
He peels off his sweaty workout clothes and makes sure to bend over to toss them into the laundry pile.
”Later, it’s payback time.”
”Mmm,” Paul squeezes his ass as they head into the bathroom, “I look forward to it.”
Hugh chuckles and opens the shower door, ushering him inside.
”Oh sweetheart, the pleasure’s all mine.”
Chapter 312: Salutation
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
>> Voiceprint required.
”Lieutenant Commander Hugh Culber.”
>> Identity verified.
>> Retrieving file…
>> Message recorded for Culber, Hugh, Lieutenant Commander from S’dar T’lhai T’Vala, Lieutenant Commander
Greetings, Hugh. Given the unforeseeable nature of war, I felt it prudent to record this message to be delivered to you in the event of my death. While I do not fully comprehend the human need to utilize this mechanism to speak sentiments which often do not require reiteration, I respect the custom and hope that, should you receive it, it may serve as a final salutation.
In that mode, I wish to express my gratitude for your friendship these twenty-one point-six-eight years. Your patience in deciphering the behavior of other humans has been…invaluable.
I would also like to note my deep respect for your skills as a physician. Your dedication is most commendable, and I am not aware of any who have leveled criticism at your work.
You have endeavored to learn more of the Vulcan ways, and I thank you for the honor of instructing you and your niece Antonella in meditation. I believe it is also custom to ask that, should you deem it appropriate, you express my encouragement for Antonella to continue in her studies with the same diligence which has accompanied her scholarship thus far.
Please also accept my…best wishes for the future with your mate. The profound depth of your connection is most unusual outside of a telepathically linked bond. Paul is a highly skilled scientist, and his personal attributes that I have observed complement yours most fully.
In closing, I shall reiterate my appreciation for your presence as both a friend and colleague. I wish you and your mate peace and long life, Hugh. Farewell.
Notes:
“When Sorrow Turns to Joy” establishes T’Vala as a friend of Hugh and Tracy's from Starfleet Medical, as well as her death during the war. I promise there will be many more humorous stories of T’Vala being puzzled by human behavior, but this serious moment needed to be told.
Chapter 313: Snooze
Chapter Text
"Babe?"
"..."
"Sweetheart?"
"..."
"Paul."
"...whuh s'it?"
"Adira can't sleep again."
"Hmmm."
"They want to come over."
"M'kay."
"You should- wait, you can't go back to sleep."
"Can too."
"You have to get up and...watch holos with them or something."
"Nuh uhh. S'your turn."
"I have alpha shift."
"Tilly."
"What?"
"Wake up Tilly. She's young."
"Babe..."
"Hmmmpphhh."
"If you do it this time, I'll give you a massage tomorrow."
"...fine. Twenty minutes."
"Ten."
"Nope. M'going back to sleep."
"Fifteen?"
"S'better. Maybe."
"Fifteen, naked with oil?"
"Mmm. Deal."
Chapter 314: Spectator
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It's night cycle in the cultivation bay, a quiet evening perfect for working late on one of her projects. Tilly's still comparing readouts as she walks through the doors, which is why she doesn't see them until it's too late.
"Commander, I- oh. Umm..."
Dr. Culber raises his head and smiles at her with a wave that seems all too casual.
She blinks and shakes her head to clear it, but the scene doesn't change: Dr. Culber leaning back against the environmental control console, jacket unzipped, and Tilly's boss lying on his stomach and face first in the doctor's lap. As she watches, Dr. Culber flexes his fingers where they're buried in Stamets' hair, and the moan that drifts up makes Tilly's face feel like it's on fire.
Well fuck.
No, do not go there, Sylvia.
"Tilly!" Dr. Culber sounds cheerful with no trace whatsoever of embarrassment, "You're in here late."
He drops his other hand down again, petting the back of Stamets' head and scratching behind an ear.
"Whuh?"
"Tilly's here, babe. Were you waiting on something from her?"
Tilly tries not to look as Stamets replies, slightly muffled.
"No? Mmm. Hi Tilly."
Okay, how are they not freaking out?
"I'll just umm, go?"
Her voice spirals up on the question, and she swears Dr. Culber winks at her.
"You don't have to," Stamets mumbles.
His own hands, she notices, are also sandwiched somewhere between them.
"Are you sure?"
"You were on alpha right? Come sit down."
Dr. Culber's invitation sounds sincere, and Tilly begins to think it's all a very strange sex-adjacent dream from one too many espressos yesterday.
Today?
Whatever.
She's sure there's some deep psychological and philosophical significance to being invited to sit beside her quasi-parental figure performing an intimate act on his resurrected partner.
"Err."
The doctor's hands are still busy, rubbing circles at the base of Stamets' neck under his open uniform collar. Stamets' head bobs a few times, and he hums happily, which makes Dr. Culber's smile wider.
"Sorry for the show," he chuckles, "someone was too impatient to wait to get home."
"Someone- ohhh, mmmm...has been waiting for you to get off shift."
Tilly edges closer, until she's a couple of meters away.
"Impatient."
"I've been staring at the console for six hours and my neck is killing me, and you expected me to wait?"
"Shush. Are you working on something new?"
That last question seems to have been directed at her, but she can't take her eyes off the contrast in colors between Dr. Culber's hands and the blond hair he's still stroking.
Do not think about stroking.
"Just a umm. Idea, I had, about the uhhh, coherent resonator?"
Stamets twitches.
"Quit squirming, you're going to undo all my work."
Hang on...
Something in the already bizarre situation doesn't add up.
"It's science, Hugh," Stamets frees a hand and stretches his arm in her direction, "I'll take a look."
Tilly leans in the bare minimum necessary to hand over the PADD, and bites her tongue when Stamets' sweaty fingers brush hers. Dr. Culber looks amused, tugging the hair between his fingers.
"Are you expecting me to read it to you?"
"Ha ha."
Before she can move back, Stamets gets his elbows under himself and pulls his face out from between the doctor's thighs-
Don't look don't look dontlookdon-
- to reveal the usual immaculate white uniform, neatly zipped, albeit rumpled with a few creases from wear.
What...?
Stamets huffs a sigh, rolling over and pillowing his head on Dr. Culber's thigh. He blinks a few times, then starts scrolling through her data.
"Lazy."
That's not directed at her, judging by the way Dr. Culber pokes Stamets in the shoulder before smoothing down the hair sticking out in all directions.
"I'm being energy efficient," Stamets' retort sounds distracted as he zooms in on a bar graph, "it's very important."
"Fine, but if you give yourself another muscle spasm, I'm just gonna hypo you and not waste my time massaging it out."
Muscle spasm.
Massage.
"...Tilly?"
They're both looking at her expectantly.
"What?"
Stamets collapses her data back in but doesn't hand the PADD back.
"Did you want to get dinner and discuss this?"
"Sure? I mean, sure."
"Great, I'm starving."
Dr. Culber rises to his knees, unceremoniously dumping Stamets onto the ground.
"Owww."
He stands and prods Stamets with the toe of his boot, ignoring the pout that Tilly of a year ago would have sworn on a stack of Command Training Program protocols that he wasn't capable of.
"I'm hungry, quit being dramatic."
There's no heat behind the words, and Stamets readily accepts the hand up, dusting debris off the front of his uniform. Tilly trails them out of the bay into the corridor, and she isn't sure whether to laugh with relief or kick herself for having her mind in the gutter.
Both, definitely.
Notes:
Edited to change all the written out "Doctor" instances into Dr. when it's not someone saying Hugh's name or referring to his profession. Apparently my brain wanted me to have to type more last night. Also, it doesn't feel right to just refer to him as Culber here in Tilly's head. She's referred to Paul as just "Stamets" before, and we've heard her say Hugh's first name in the network, but otherwise I think she would mentally add the title, because that's how her brain works (IMO).
Chapter 315: Spoken
Chapter Text
There’s an old adage to never believe what comes from a person’s mouth at the height of climax, a pass given for acknowledging things shouted or whispered just before orgasm, words a person shouldn't be held to.
"You're so beautiful, mine, fuck, don't stop!"
”Gonna come, Hugh. So good to me, you’re so good-“
”Love you- so much, sweetheart. Love..."
"Forever. I want you forever, please, let me have you..."
Hugh and Paul would heartily disagree.
Chapter 316: Specter
Notes:
Takes place early in Season Three
Chapter Text
The first time Paul witnesses Hugh having a flashback to the network, they're having a quiet dinner in their (and Paul is never going to take that for granted again) quarters. The crew has been busy re-routing power with the newly-upgraded systems, so it's not a surprise when he hears the successive pop-buzz-bang of circuitry overloading in the conduits running through the bulkheads.
What's unexpected is Hugh's reaction when the power goes down, the room going blue-purple with the light coming in from a nearby nebula and hissing of static from rapidly opening and closing comm lines.
"Oh, great-"
Paul doesn't have time to finish his complaint because Hugh goes absolutely still across the table, eyes wide and panicked.
"Hugh?"
There's no response.
"Hugh," he tries again, louder this time, "are you okay?"
Hugh doesn't even seem to be breathing, knuckles white where he's clutching his fork, and Paul winces. He reaches out and gently grips Hugh's forearm, feeling the tension in the corded muscle beneath the soft sleeve of his shirt. Frowning, Paul stands and starts to move around the table, sets his hand on Hugh's shoulder, and-
THUMP
The world rocks sideways, vision skewing wildly as Hugh shrugs him off and Paul overbalances from the unexpected action, hip colliding painfully with the table. There's enough force that the pitcher of water tips over, a clatter of glass on metal.
It takes a moment for him to catch his breath and gather his bearings, shaking his head to clear it. Paul straightens, watching Hugh's abandoned napkin flutter to the ground next to his overturned chair. Gingerly probing the area below his waist, he sends up an ironic thanks for the extra padding protecting him from anything worse than a bruise that even he could probably manage to use the regen to heal. More importantly though...
"Hugh?"
Nothing.
He's real, this is real.
He fights against the irrational fear crushing his chest, fingers clenching convulsively at his sides.
It wasn't a dream.
Paul concentrates on the slight ache of his left thigh from their love play in the shower before dinner, the holes in the ragged hem of Hugh's Starfleet Medical t-shirt he "borrowed" after their first night together and never fully returned.
You're awake.
"Where are you?"
Wait...
The backups still seem to be slowly coming back online, and he waits for his eyes to more fully adjust to the dark so he doesn't physically run into anything.
"Hugh?"
It's difficult to see without the lights, but he can just make out the faintest hiss of indrawn breath over the barely-there noise of the ship's systems. He rules out the bathroom and couch, slowly moving in the opposite direction with careful steps and biting off a curse when his shin makes contact with the corner of the bedframe. His hands explore the familiar bedlinens but encounter only the duvet and sheets, still a rumpled mess from Hugh's nap before Paul came off shift.
"Talk to me, please."
A muffled whimper, one he used to only hear in far more pleasant circumstances. The noise sounds oddly lower in height, and he leans on the mattress for balance as he drops to his knees.
"Hugh? It's me."
It occurs to him that he could just use the tricorder function on his badge, but it seems ridiculous in so small an area. Instead, he focuses on the most prominent sense without sight, inhaling deeply. Beneath the savory aroma of steak and toasted bread, there's a hint of woodsy citrus, the scent of musk and sweat and warm Hugh he's missed for months.
Over there.
The inability to see is his enemy, so he gestures at his comm badge, bringing up the holographic menu with its blue glow as he crawls across the deck.
"There you are."
He finds him in the corner beside the bed - Paul's side - wedged between the nightstand and wall with his back literally in the corner, knees to his chest and arms wrapped around them. There's enough starlight to see the blind fear in Hugh's eyes, and his heart breaks when he cringes away from Paul's voice. The posture reminds him painfully of rescuing Hugh from the network. Something pokes at his mind, and Paul wonders if the eerie lighting and hiss of blown circuits was too similar to the sounds of the jahSepp in their pursuit. Much as his every instinct shouts to gather Hugh into his arms, he forces himself to retreat a little, sitting back on his heels.
"You're safe, Hugh," he speaks quietly but firmly, "you're home. With me."
Hugh shivers, eyes still unfocused.
"Hugh?"
He shakes his head, buries his face in his arm.
"Hugh," he tries again, "it's me. It's Paul."
Hugh's panting breath hitches.
"...not Paul."
A sharp lance of searing pain rips through his chest, not at the denial itself but that Hugh seems locked into whatever hellscape memory his mind has trapped him inside.
He could call down to the medbay, but a quick scan from his tri-comm shows nothing physically wrong with Hugh besides the elevated heartrate and adrenaline levels. There's also a strong sense of protectiveness, even though he knows Tracy's seen Hugh through a lot long before Paul ever entered their lives. Injury reports coming in from the other decks - Paul glances at the systems just long enough to ensure the ship isn't going to explode - and he's thankful Discovery's CMO doesn't seem to be needed yet.
"I promise, it's me."
"Not real."
"Please look at me, Hugh."
Silence. Then, slowly, Hugh's grip on his knees loosens. One eye peeks out, shining with moisture.
"Paul?"
He nods in what he hopes is a reassuring manner.
"I'm here."
A shaking hand reaches out but stops, a full-body shudder wracking him before rapidly hiding his face again.
"No."
("You know what the worst part of it was?"
Paul shakes his head mutely.
"You always seemed real, until I tried to touch you. That's what...I didn't think I could stand it one more time."
"You were so brave," he murmurs into Hugh's hair, "I should have found you sooner."
Hugh gives him a smile that's sad but also luminous with love.
"You found me. That's what matters.")
Frustrated by his inability to communicate with his partner in words, he tries again in their own secret language, to speak to him through touch.
Show him you're real.
Paul shuffles closer and places his hand over Hugh's, waits. When there's no reaction, he guides Hugh’s unresisting hand to his face, pressing his cheek to the palm and kissing his wrist. His eyes are still tightly shut when Paul bends his head forward, lifting and placing Hugh’s fingers in his hair and combing them through.
"Do you feel me? I'm real, I promise."
A wordless noise of denial, but just a little hesitant. Paul strips off his shirt and carefully folds Hugh into an embrace, awkward with his knees still tucked close but cheek pressed to Paul's bare chest on the left side, over his heart. Hugh's keening softly, and Paul's throat tightens at the thought of him fleeing for his life through the network, haunted by the ghost of hope only to be disappointed each time.
"You're here with me, Hugh. Forever, remember? We promised each other forever, and I'm not letting go."
He rocks him gently, whispers his love into Hugh's ear until the shivering stops and the hand gripped limply in his tightens. Biting his lip, Paul looks down and waits as Hugh's eyes open.
"...Paul?"
"I'm here."
"You're...this is real."
He kisses Hugh's temple, lingering.
"Yes."
He doesn't insult Hugh by asking if he's okay.
"I-" a half dozen ragged breaths, "I just..."
Paul shakes his head.
"I know."
He shifts, knees straightening, and Paul winces as one makes brief contact with his hip.
"Paul?"
"It's nothing, I just bumped into the table."
Hugh blinks, seems to be trying to gather his thoughts.
"Did I hurt you?"
Lying doesn't even cross his mind.
"No," he says firmly, "I'm fine. Can we move though? I'm getting too old to sit on the floor."
That draws a faint smile, and Hugh lets him guide them onto the bed.
"Do you want to talk?"
Paul lays down first, opens his arms and waits for Hugh to arrange himself tucked against his side.
"I...not yet."
He nods, helps Hugh take off his own shirt until they're skin to skin. His partner doesn't seem to be able to get comfortable though, shifting and fingers restless. Paul pulls the covers up over them, hoping the warmth will dispell some of the unease, but the fidgeting continues as Hugh tries to burrow closer.
Ahh.
Slowly, and carefully watching for any sign that it's unwelcome, Paul urges Hugh onto his back and settles on top of him. Hugh's arms immediately wrap around his waist, legs twining together. Paul slips an arm under his shoulders, feels the body beneath his finally start to relax.
"Thank you."
He brushes a gentle kiss over Hugh's lips.
"For what?"
"Finding me."
Setting aside the concern gnawing at his insides, Paul smiles.
"Always."
Chapter 317: Scheme
Summary:
Comms between Nella and her favorite uncle.
Notes:
A few years pre-Discovery. Here's some fluffy fluff to make up for the angst in the last chapter!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
>> Recorded message from Culber, Antonella to Stamets, Paul, LT, Deneva Station.
>> Begin message
Hi Tío Paull! It's Nella. Tío Hugh said it was okay to send you a comm, because he said that he wouldn't remember everything I told him to tell you. That's weird, because he's super smart too.
Anyway. I finished the book you sent me on chloryphyll transformation. Everyone else in my class doesn't understand the scientific method yet, but my teacher said it was okay to read your book instead during study time.
Are you coming home with Tío Hugh next month? He said you would, and that maybe we could go to Amazonia? Please?
Abuela Aida says it's time for dinner soon, so I have to go.
Bye Tío.
>> End of message
>> Message from Stamets, Paul, LT, Deneva Station to Culber, Antonella.
>> Begin message (text only)
Hi Nella. I'm really glad you liked the book. It was my favorite when I was your age, and if you want me to, I can send you the next one in the series?
Yes, I'm coming home with Hugh. You know I wouldn't miss Christmas with your family. I have to take a couple of days to go see my parents, but I think there will be time to see Amazonia.
Hang on, does Abuela Aida know you want to go there? You should probably check.
See you soon,
Tío Paul
>> End of message
>> Recorded message from Culber, Antonella to Stamets, Paul, LT, Deneva Station
>> Begin message
Hi Tío. Umm. I think I might have gotten Tío Hugh in trouble with Abuela? She looked really surprised and said she'd have to think about it. Can you tell Tío Hugh I'm sorry if she's mad at him?
I want to read the next book, please. Maybe you could also tell my teacher you read it too? They think it's 'too hard' for me.
Mama says you're coming in late, but we'll see you on the fifteenth.
Bye!
>> End of message
>> Recorded message from Stamets, Paul, LT, V.S. Kiri-Kin-Tha to Culber, Antonella.
>> Begin message
Hi Nella, I'm sorry I didn't reply right away, one of our incubators broke and it took a week to get it fixed right. I'm on a Vulcan transport now, we should be at McKinley station tomorrow evening. Tío Hugh is coming to get me at the spaceport, and I think we might go have dinner before we get to Aida's.
Oh, Hugh says Abuela wasn't mad at him, but she said he should have asked your parents first. He's not in trouble, but she's probably right.
I brought you some seedlings from Deneva for your hydroponic garden too, we can get those settled in the next morning if it's after your bedtime when I get there? I hope you'll like them.
I'll see you soon, Nella.
>> End of message
Notes:
Okay, I have a weakness for epistolary storytelling. It's a bit more challenging to think back on what I would have said at Nella's age (because I was 100% the kid reading 'too advanced' novels when my peers were still struggling with chapter books...), but I decided Paul would probably talk to her like normal because that's the only way he knows how. It's also one of the reasons she likes him so much, because he treats her like an equal.
Chapter 318: Sensory
Summary:
A second first time (sort of).
Chapter Text
One of the first things they do together after the dust has settled from their arrival in the future, after Hugh moves back in and they've had a few nights of simply snuggling in their bed, is re-learn each other's bodies.
He's forgotten to bring his pajamas into the bathroom, emerging wrapped in a towel to find Paul tucked under the covers reading. Hugh's focused on trying to remember where he left his clothes when he hears a sharp inhale, looks up to find Paul staring at his bare torso with so much wonder that it takes his breath away. Steam clings to his skin, prickling with the coolness of their quarters as he watches Paul's Adam's apple bob when he swallows hard.
"Sweetheart? What is it?"
Paul blinks, wetting his lips before he speaks.
"I- nothing."
He makes to look back down at his PADD, but Hugh crosses the room and gently takes it from his unresisting fingers, setting it on the nightstand and sitting on the side of the bed.
"That's not nothing."
"I...shouldn't."
Hugh squeezes Paul's knee through the covers.
"You know you can tell me anything."
"Shouldn't ask," Paul mumbles, cheeks pink, "sorry."
He frowns, playing back the last minute in his mind until it clicks into place.
Oh.
No, of course Paul would think he shouldn't ask.
If he leaves it up to him, Paul will never ask for what he wants if he thinks it's too much.
Take the first step.
Hugh reaches for the edge of the towel tucked in at his waist, lets his fingers rest there for a moment.
"Is this what you want?"
It's more than simple lust though, Hugh realizes as he ducks his head to meet Paul's eyes, the intense longing burning in them igniting his own carefully guarded desire.
"Please."
Smiling, he tugs the end free, then stands and lets the towel fall to the floor.
"Better?"
A nod.
"May I see you too, sweetheart?"
Paul nods again.
He thinks his hands might be shaking as he reaches forward, helps Paul skim the pajama shirt off. Paul fumbles with the ties of his pants, cursing softly until Hugh tugs the knot open and slips his fingers beneath the elastic waistband.
"Okay?"
In response, Paul lifts his hips off the bed, and Hugh slowly works the soft fabric down and off his legs before straightening again.
Oh sweetheart.
It's the first time he's seen Paul's naked body in months - in almost a thousand years - and he feels an unfamiliar sense of shyness that's echoed in Paul's eyes. Hugh had never been body-conscious before, a lifetime ago, comfort with casual nudity enhanced with knowing how much his partner enjoyed looking at him. All of that lovely pale skin is on display, and Hugh wants nothing more than to look his fill, but he'd much rather be on equal footing so to speak. He walks around the end of the bed, crawls over the sheets and settles beside Paul. Neither of them speak, and Hugh maybe forgets how to breathe a little as Paul takes him in and he does the same in return.
He starts with that beloved face, the strong line of his freckle-dusted nose and high cheekbones, the hint of stubble shadowing his jaw. Hugh follows the curve of his neck across his broad shoulders, the blue-green tracery of veins visible beneath the skin disappearing into the thick hair on his forearms. Then he lets his eyes move back up, to the sparse hair on his chest, nipples dark pink and drawn up against the air. The hair thickens and darkens as it travels down over his belly, and Hugh's a little sad to see the hollows of his hips more prominent than he remembers, the slight sag of his stomach speaking to neglecting to eat enough. Paul's soft, dick lying nestled amidst blond curls and just as pretty as ever, thighs perhaps a bit too lean but the curve of his ankles and elegant arch of his feet unchanged.
Beautiful.
"Can I..." Paul's voice is quiet and unsteady, "I want to touch you. Please?"
They're within arm's length of each other, but he scoots closer until he can feel the heat coming off Paul's body.
"Yes."
They've kissed and cuddled and caressed plenty since Paul accepted him back into his life, but it's been over clothing or under shirts. This though... Hugh gasps when Paul's fingers touch his chest, feels an almost electric shock as he mirrors the gesture. The tug on his chest hair makes him shiver, the palm pressed flat to his stomach like fire and ice. Everywhere Paul touches, his nerves light up in his wake and he becomes so completely aware of each part of his body that gentle hand explores.
Goosebumps rise under his own fingertips, and he can feel Paul's heart racing as he lets his hand travel upwards until he can trace the prominent collarbone, squeeze the knob of his shoulder. Paul arches forward when he brushes his thumb over a nipple, eyelashes fluttering as his mouth drops open when Hugh pinches and rolls it between his fingers. It's chaste in its eroticism, sensuality given free rein as he releases the nub and moves further down, hand splayed over Paul's stomach, the solid thickness of him quieting a part of him he hadn't realized was off-balance.
Paul maps out his abdominal muscles, fits his fingers into the cut of his V-line, cups his crotch too firmly to be fondling but still delicate enough to make his toes curl. Then he surprises Hugh by kneeling up, face serious as if seeking permission.
Yes.
He doesn't have to ask what Paul wants, just nods and lets his own hand fall, lying back against the sheets.
Lips brush over his, and he sighs as they skim his jaw and continue down his neck. Paul licks the pulse beating in his throat, nuzzles his chest and drags his parted lips over Hugh's stomach. He buries his nose in his groin, inhaling deeply, takes Hugh into his mouth just to hold and cradle with his tongue. There's nothing remotely sexual about it, as the edges of Paul's mouth curve up into a nearly beatific smile around him before continuing downwards. Paul licks his inner thighs, tasting his skin, drags a stubbled cheek over his shins and kisses the top of each foot. He re-traces his route, unhurried, stopping to gently bite his biceps, until they're face to face again.
This kiss is deeper, tongues stroking together. Hugh hums in pleasure as Paul's arms circle his waist, rolling them over until he's on top before releasing him with hands palm-up on the sheets.
Hugh takes his time, scraping his teeth over Paul's throat to hear his breath catch, breathing in the musk at his armpit and kissing the tender skin on the inside of his elbow. He sucks on Paul's fingers, counts each rib with his nose, licks his calves and rubs his beard against the hair on Paul's thighs. Eyes nearly shut, he returns the favor, uses his tongue to pull his balls into his mouth one at a time, kisses the tip and lets Paul rest in the valley of his pectoral muscles while he nuzzles the skin over Paul's heart.
They're both sweating by the time he's done, beyond mere physical arousal as the connection filling the air between them becomes something tangible again. He doesn't look away as Paul fumbles in his nightstand drawer for a bottle of massage oil (newly synthesized, by the look of it) and pours it over his own chest before urging Hugh to lie flat and spread it over them both. The scent of balsam and the frictionless glide of oiled skin makes him moan into Paul's mouth, bodies striving to be ever closer as if they could tangle themselves together so thoroughly that nothing could separate them.
Sharing the same air leaves him dizzy, Paul's breath hot over his lips as they roll across the bed, writhing. It's perfect, the universe narrowed down to Paul's hands on his skin, his heart thudding against Hugh's own. Paul's slick hands glide across his back, down to his ass, guiding their hips in rocking together. Hugh's completely in tune with his body and yet fully unaware, focused on this physical manifestation of the love that brought them back together beyond life itself.
It's almost a surprise, then, when Paul whimpers into his mouth and he feels pulses of hot wetness spreading between their stomachs, bringing his attention to the fact that they're both hard. His eyes fly open, watching the face of the man he loves as he shudders through an unexpected climax, legs spreading around Hugh's hips seemingly without conscious thought.
"Hugh..."
Paul's voice is wrecked, eyes glazed over and sated, and it's all too much.
Hugh tips over the edge without realizing how close he even was. He paws at Paul's shoulders, untethered until he feels arms tight around his waist, anchoring him into his body while he moans and shakes and pleasure races through his limbs like golden sweetness. It leaves him weak after, and he comes back down to find his face buried in the curve of neck and shoulder, Paul rocking him and making soothing noises.
"...shhh, I'm here, I've got you."
"I love you," he whispers into Paul's neck when he finds his words again, "I love you so much."
"I love you too."
They lay there in silence for a while, breathing slowly returning to normal, perfectly content to simply be. For once, it's Paul who rouses first from the post-coital lassitude, shifting Hugh to his side and sweeping his arm across the floor beside the bed until he retrieves Hugh's discarded towel. It's still damp, and he gives them both a cursory wipe before pitching it vaguely in the direction of the bathroom. The oil-smeared sheets are a lost cause, but Hugh couldn't care less right now. Sighing, he unwinds the blanket from around their ankles, nudging Paul up long enough to use it to cover the worst of the mess.
Paul gathers him into his arms then, kisses him sweet and slow.
"I missed you."
He understands that it's not just the physical act of moving back in together that Paul's referring to.
"Me too. I just...had to find me to find you again."
You're my home.
A smile, tremulous but perfect as Paul's reply echoes his own thoughts.
"Welcome home, Hugh."
Notes:
Whew.
The "sort of" in the description is because they weren't intending on orgasm factoring into it, so it's not really sex. Or just sex, if that makes sense. Paul and Hugh decided that the sensual re-learning each other by touch plot wasn't enough and had to bring in their own kind of lovemaking.
I regret nothing and am immensely proud of the way this turned out.
Chapter 319: Salient
Summary:
A comm from the early days.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“…after a really terrible day?”
”Yeah. Like when an experiment goes wrong or you had to deal with some asshole.”
”Mmm,” Paul shifts, tucking a pillow beneath his chest so he can better see his PADD propped on the headboard, “comm Straal so he can share my misery. In the second case? Probably write a lengthy message detailing exactly what I think of said asshole.”
He pauses, amused at Hugh’s surprised look.
”And then delete it, because I don’t want to give them something to use against me later.”
”I see.”
“I’m honestly not that great at dealing with it though. I mean, I don’t like the feeling of being angry, if that makes sense? I usually just go into the lab unless I’m going to screw something up.”
Hugh presses his lips together, thoughtful.
“I could see that.”
“What about you?”
”If I’m really pissed off? Hit the gym or go running, usually. Something to take my mind off it.”
Paul has yet to witness Hugh more than annoyed or frustrated, and is having a hard time imagining him actually mad about something. He feels steady to Paul, equilibrium righted through apology or letting go of the minor complaints.
”Well,” Paul wrinkles his nose, “I can’t say working out would be my escape of choice.”
“It feels like I’m in control of my reactions there,” Hugh folds his arm and tucks his hand behind his head, “purely physical, you know? Or…”
There‘a a bit of unexpected hesitation, and Paul doesn’t miss it.
”Or what?”
He gets a head shake and a slightly self-deprecating smile.
“I don’t usually- well, sometimes, a good hard fuck.”
That takes a few seconds to sink in, during which Paul tries to imagine Hugh bringing anything but carefully contained passion to bed.
“That really sounds terrible,” Hugh huffs a sigh, “I mean, sometimes sex is a great way to channel all of that frustration into something that feels good. When’s the last time you were able to still be mad about something after an orgasm?”
Well…
”I-“ Paul scrubs a self-conscious hand across his face, “I don’t think I could have sex if I was in a bad mood. Like, I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it.”
Heightened emotion transferring to arousal makes sense physiologically, but Paul doesn’t think he works that way. It might be different with Hugh though, the way making love with him seems to quiet the constant activity in his head.
“Imagine coming home after a bad day and I’m waiting for you,” a mischievous glint flashes in Hugh’s eyes, “naked on your bed, waiting for whatever it is you want to do to me. Whatever you need.”
For a moment, he’s completely appalled at the suggestion, even though he knows Hugh doesn’t mean it like that. It must show in his expression, because the teasing smile is gone, replaced by concern.
”Babe? Did I say something wrong?”
”On a bad day, you’re the last person I’d want to take it out on. I don’t want to…to control you, Hugh.”
”Wha- oh. No, I didn’t meant it like that. Just…” Hugh sits up, lifting his PADD off the bed beside him, “sometimes after things happen out of your control, it’s good to be able to be the one calling the shots.”
Paul frowns.
”I don’t ever want to hurt you.”
”Sweetheart, if you want rough sex, chances are I’d be up for it. If you want to be sucked off or, I don’t know, tie me to the headboard and have your way with me, I know you don’t want to hurt me. But no, it’s more about…about me wanting to give you what it is you need.”
“I…don’t think I follow?”
Instead of sympathy or pity for his lack of comprehension, what he sees on Hugh’s face is love.
“It’s an open offer for a massage, or snuggling and watching a holonovel, or listening to the comm you aren’t going to send, or whatever else makes you feel better. Giving you space if that helps. Although,” he pauses, smile inviting Paul to join him, “I don’t mind being pounded into the mattress either, for the record.”
A yawn surprises him, and he scowls.
”That’s not a response to what you just said.”
”I know. It’s late there, isn’t it?”
”Zero-one-ten,” Paul shrugs, “but I should go soon.”
Hugh looks about as excited by that as he feels.
”Yeah, I have rounds in about-“ he groans, “six hours. To be continued?”
Another yawn.
”I could use some of those snuggles you offered.”
”Mmm. It’s not a limited time deal, they’re yours whenever you’d like to collect.”
”Now would be good.”
“Just a few more weeks, love.”
”Feels like forever.”
Hugh doesn’t disagree, but he does order the lights off and climb under the covers while Paul does the same.
“Sweet dreams.”
”Hopefully ones of you. I love you.”
“I love you too. Soon.”
”Goodnight, Hugh.”
”Night, sweetheart.”
Notes:
Don’t mind me projecting onto Paul again…
Chapter 320: Slope
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul Stamets is fascinated by equations, by growth patterns in his spores, by the simple elegance of a well-designed model.
Hugh's body is well-designed, as if someone pulled the optimal parameters for a partner from Paul's unconscious - and really, he'd like to have a word with them, because he never thought he had a type - and crafted the ideal combination of intelligence, wit, compassion, patience, and a super-human ability to understand him into a physical form that is utterly irresistible.
There's the firm mounds and valleys of his pectoral muscles, the ridges of his abdomen and sculpted obliques arrowing down towards his groin.
The sharp angle of his jaw and cupid's bow lips that Paul could kiss forever, the graceful line of his collarbone leading to broad shoulders and arms that are so solid and loving.
Hugh's surgeon's hands, precise and clever and warm.
The way his eyes sparkle with mischief and darken with passion, the visible beat of his pulse in his throat.
The perfect slope of his lower back, arcing inwards at the dimples at the base of his spine where Paul likes to rub off and curving over the swell of his well-proportioned backside.
Hugh's tiny smile he gives Paul that makes his heart skip even all these years later.
Paul Stamets is endlessly interested in science and math - and he has two PhDs to prove it - but nothing has him enamored quite like Hugh Culber.
Notes:
Story framed around the phrase "the perfect slope of his lower back" that wandered into my brain when I'm supposed to be sending emails for work...
Chapter 321: Study
Summary:
T’Vala collects more data.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s past 0100 when T’Vala surfaces from her meditation. She turns her focus outwards slowly, taking in the texture of the rug beneath her feet (soft) and the rasp of someone snoring. Without opening her eyes, she deduces from the location (to her right) and slightly nasal whine that it must be Tracy. It’s hardly disruptive, and once acknowledged it fades into the background.
The temperature has been increased for her comfort (unnecessary but appreciated), and she can smell traces of sweat (slightly musky, but not unpleasant) from the other occupants of the room. Hugh’s cologne has faded, the top notes indiscernible, leaving only a hint of scent carried on the room’s air currents. There’s also a faint odor of coffee, something she’s become accustomed to in the presence of so many humans.
Another noise enters her consciousness. It’s a very quiet hum, the frequency similar to that of an Earth feline. She opens her eyes to identify the source of the sound, narrowing in on the couch on the other side of the coffee table. On it, Hugh is reading something on his PADD, leaning back into the corner. His jacket is flung over a nearby chair, the top of his pants unbuttoned and boots removed. Beside him, Paul appears to be asleep, head on Hugh’s bare shoulder and Hugh’s hand resting at the back of his neck. As she observes, Hugh’s fingers move in seemingly unconscious motions through Paul’s hair, and the noise repeats.
Fascinating.
Meditation and a short nap earlier have her sufficiently rested, so perhaps this would be an opportune time to continue her study of human behavior. Cataloguing the nuances of interpersonal relationships has been a regular occurrence since arriving at the Academy over a decade ago, both by necessity lest she inadvertently commit a breach of etiquette and curiosity as to the diversity of details. Hugh and Tracy have been most helpful in explaining peculiar human customs and beliefs, but the addition of Paul has resulted in an entirely new set of parameters to understand.
She’d been witness to the after effects of their early courtship, Hugh arriving tired yet seemingly energized for morning shifts, with an increased frequency of ‘teasing’ from Tracy. Hugh by no means jeopardized the health and safety of his patients by staying up past 2300 to converse with Paul over subspace, but he had been clearly preoccupied, responses an average of one point-three seconds slower than previously established.
Once he introduced his potential mate - T’Vala found the term ‘boyfriend’ to be unhelpfully non-specific - she began her own evaluation of Paul Stamets to assess his suitability. Indeed, all available records indicated a match of comparable intelligence, dedication to vocation, and lacking any significant factors which would render him incompatible. Additionally, his chosen field of astromycology shared enough core principles with healing that there ought not to be major philosophical differences.
She had kept her inquiries discreet so as not to cause Hugh any distress. While it was nothing less than she would practice for a fellow Vulcan with whom she shared a significant friendship, humans seemed to find the level of scrutiny ‘creepy’. That unfortunately also meant she was unable to request a conversation specific to evaluating whether Paul’s expectations of their future relationship were the same as Hugh’s, and she’d been forced to operate on an observational basis. Regardless, the past three point five-nine years since Hugh returned from the conference on Alpha Centauri had yet to produce any evidence to the contrary.
Paul rubs his cheek against Hugh’s shirt in a manner that T’Vala has observed cats perform when depositing their scent to demonstrate territorial claims.
Hugh has commented that he finds Paul’s odor to be very agreeable, perhaps this is a result?
He sighs in his sleep, upper body sliding further down until his head is roughly even with Hugh’s sternum. The hand previously resting on Hugh’s thigh slides towards his groin, fingers curling around the mound of Hugh’s genitals beneath his clothing and squeezing gently.
Such behavior often occurs in parallel to the peculiar custom of “flirting” or an invitation to partake in activities of a sexual nature by performing penile stimulation to encourage erection.
She’s been an inadvertent witness to several occasions of Hugh and Paul engaged in a variety of activities associated with coitus, but never when one is clearly unconscious. T’Vala considers whether it would be prudent to remind them of the presence of others - although she would be interested in observing further human mating rituals - and concludes that the likelihood of Hugh forgetting their presence is negligible.
It doesn’t seem to result in sexual arousal, however, because Hugh’s rate of respiration doesn’t increase. Instead, as Paul’s fingers begin a kneading motion, he responds with a smile and presses his lips to Paul’s forehead before stilling his hand. Then he settles further into the cushions, guiding Paul’s head to rest on his lap before resuming stroking his hair.
T’Vala adds the interaction to her list of occurrences of behavior which she will need to ask Tracy about later. Satisfied with her current set of observations, she closes her eyes and returns to her meditation.
Notes:
Describing groping from a Vulcan perspective was way too much fun.
Also, it’s only logical for a Vulcan’s friends to assess the suitability of a future mate. Of course, they would simply inform said candidate of their intent, but T’Vala is stuck being more circumspect.
Chapter 322: Snark
Notes:
Wilson has said more than once that Paul and Hugh poking at each other is like making love / foreplay. Well...
Chapter Text
Standard flirtation is boring.
That's not to say that Paul doesn't enjoy a good double entendre from Hugh, but it's hardly the most exciting. What others see as verbal sparring bordering on insult is actually the beginning of winding each other up, sarcasm and clever rejoinders a code for their mutual interest. A direct request for initiating sex aside - and Paul counts Hugh draped across the bed and reading in the skimpiest pair of underwear imaginable to be an obvious invitation - their foreplay begins long before they're even in private.
****
"Lieutenant, you're late for your checkup," together with a displeased look, coils warm and restless low in his pelvis.
****
"Your bedside manner is horrible," snapped in Engineering makes Harrington snicker and Cadet Tilly blanch. Moreover, Hugh caresses the inside of his elbow with his thumb and deliberately brushes his hips against Paul's forearm before leaving so he can feel the effects of his complaint.
****
Hugh calmly challenging his presentations and trying to pull apart his hypothesis is a double dose - first, that Hugh paid enough attention and understood his work to ask questions, and second, rousing Paul's inability to back down from an academic challenge. The more he talks, the more unimpressed Hugh looks, and Paul knows he's in for it later.
(Sometimes when he's feeling playful, Paul adds ridiculous amounts of depth and detail to his scientific monologues, watching the arousal grow in Hugh's eyes.)
****
"Aren't there actual people on this ship who require your attention, Doctor?" earns him a session between the sheets that leaves him unable to walk. That one was a bit more pointed, genuine puzzlement at Michael dragging Hugh down to Engineering that he barely kept from rolling his eyes when it became clear that she had no idea of their relationship, and he apologizes for it once Hugh's cleaned him up and they're cuddling.
****
"Funny, my partner told me yesterday-"
"Oh really?"
"Yeah. He seems to think I have the common sense of a two year-old."
"That's being generous."
Tilly's head swings back and forth like watching a tennis match as they bicker over the breakfast table, and she cringes with Paul's eyeroll, never noticing their ankles crossed beneath the table. She's none the wiser when Hugh chases Paul into his private lab to continue the 'argument' an hour later, door barely sealed before Hugh's back hits it and Paul's on his knees in front of him. And when they emerge a sweaty fifteen minutes later, Hugh's comment about him looking flush makes his spent dick give a hopeful twitch.
****
"Are you punishing me?" in an outraged tone slips out before Paul can think better of it, the joy of waking to Hugh's tender touch and smile exhilarating. The snarky response he receives makes his newly-repaired heart sing, almost enough to counteract the amount of pain with every breath. Hugh's chaste kiss paired with the repartee makes his stomach clench.
****
"What were you thinking?" Hugh mutters as he guides the antigrav back out of the Jefferies Tube with Paul balanced on it.
"That the ship was going to be crushed if someone didn't fix the blown relay."
"Did you take a poll of the most severely injured in Engineering to decide who was going to fix it?"
Paul groans, even as Hugh's sarcasm cushions the red edges of his pain with a golden warmth.
"It would have been fine."
"Reno says you turned down getting Nilsson to help."
"Is this where you tell me I'm too old to go crawling in the tubes?"
Hugh pauses, turning back around to face him with an awkward shuffling crawl in the cramped confines.
"No, this is where I tell you that abandoning common sense and sneaking out of the regen chamber are going to get you put right back in it. Do I have to strap you down to keep you there?"
"Kinky."
"And I'll gag you too if you don't behave."
A spark that he'd almost forgotten the feel of ignites in his chest, toes curling in his boots at the threat. He's missed this.
"Promise?"
"Don't tempt me."
****
It takes a few weeks after Hugh eventually moves back in before any toys and games make it back into their bed.
And when Paul clenches his hands into fists and tugs against the cord binding them to the headboard, when Hugh's wicked smile accompanies the vibrator turning up another notch, when he sobs as he's denied release yet again, there's nothing more perfect than the trust and love between them.
Chapter 323: Snark, Prologue
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul’s never really understood the point of flirting. It all sounds great in theory, in holonovels, and when other people talk about it, but it falls flat in actual practice.
A stranger, no matter how attractive, requires at least enough conversation to determine if they’re worth the uncomfortableness of getting to know them. By that point, they’ve usually given up at his awkward smiles or seeming obliviousness, whatever interest they have faded.
Justin also says that Paul’s instinctive reaction to a come-on, the blank looks and frowning, probably have something to do with that too.
And he tries. He really does, but it all seems so…shallow. An evening out brings Justin’s charming smile to bear on the most casual of acquaintances, leaving Paul feeling deficient in a way that no amount of research can fix. The one time he does let Justin set him up ends with disappointed embarrassment when the guy complains that Paul’s too noisy in bed.
Ergo, it’s much easier not to bother at all. By the time he’s sitting in a cafe on Alpha Centauri, Paul’s more than mastered the art of shutting down approaches.
“Stifle it or sit somewhere else,” he snaps, irritated at the aurally painful attempt at humming Kasseelian opera, “I-“
He’s expecting an insulted look or the offending individual leaving in a huff. What he gets is a devastatingly handsome guy in Medical whites sitting down beside him with a blithely cheerful smile.
“Hugh.”
”What?”
“My name is Hugh.”
Paul’s about to reply with ‘that’s nice,’ but the words die on his lips when Hugh winks at him.
”Usually people start with ‘hello’, but if that’s what it takes to get your attention, well, here we are. Are you going to tell me your name, or do I just call you Ensign Irritable?”
Bringing attention to his rank makes him glance down at Hugh’s badge.
Damn it.
He’s outranked, and while he’s hardly on duty, they’re both in uniform.
”You don’t have to call me anything.”
He ignores the hand offered to shake, and somehow that makes Hugh’s smile even wider.
”Hmmm. Are you in the habit of randomly telling people to shut up? Or do you just have something against Kasseelian opera.”
Make him go away.
“One, occasionally. And two, only when it’s so off-key it makes an overloaded coupler sound like angels singing.”
”Oh well, no one’s perfect.”
”Are you implying you are?”
That doesn’t come out nearly as sarcastic as intended.
”Nope. But,” Hugh’s eyes flick down to the stack of PADDs spread next to his rapidly cooling coffee, “I don’t often encounter someone whose light reading includes theoretical physicobiology.”
How is he still here?
“What would one of you medical types know about it?”
Hugh takes a long drink from his own mug.
”I’ve picked up a few things here and there. What’s one of you science types doing mixing those two disciplines?”
Paul frowns as a cover for bemusement. No one outside his field ever bothers talking about it.
“Well, Doctor, I wrote one of my dissertations on the links between mycelial networks and astrophysics.”
That ought to have his uninvited company decide he’s too full of himself to bother with.
”Oh, is that so, Doctor…?”
Why does he sound so excited?
“-Stamets.”
A chime sounds on Hugh’s PADD, and he looks down briefly.
“My next session is in ten. But I’d love to continue this…conversation later.”
Paul gives him his best unimpressed look.
”What if I don’t?”
Rummaging in his bag, Hugh produces an actual pen. He scribbles something on the back of a napkin and boldly deposits it in Paul’s open briefcase.
”Then don’t call me. But I think I deserve a chance to defend my taste in music. Until then, Doctor Stamets.”
With that, Hugh stands and gives him one last toothy smile before turning and disappearing into the crowd. Paul’s meant to be glaring at his retreating back, but finds himself taking in the narrow waist and shapely backside filling out that white uniform.
He orders a second coffee and forces himself to at least finish off the paper he was reading when he was interrupted before giving in to curiosity. Reaching into his briefcase, he flattens the slightly rumpled napkin.
Hugh Culber
Paul should crumple it up and toss it in a trash receptacle on his way out, but can’t shake the bizarre urge to keep it. He stares at it for several minutes, replaying the conversation in his head and realizing that none of his usual tactics seemed to have discouraged the doctor.
It can’t hurt to comm him, right?
****
Fifteen years later, that napkin is tucked safely away in the top dresser drawer, the fragile paper carefully protected inside a transparent aluminum sleeve. And every time Hugh addresses him as ‘Doctor Stamets’, he remembers that day in the cafe and falls in love with his partner all over again.
Notes:
Too sappy at the end?
I keep meaning to write their first meeting from Hugh’s perspective, but somehow it always ends up Paul’s voice.
Chapter 324: Study, Part Two
Notes:
Follows on from Chapter 321 ("Study").
Chapter Text
“Hugh.”
”Hmm?”
”May I make an inquiry of a…personal nature?”
Hugh looks up from his PADD, taking in T’Vala’s steady regard before setting the device aside. Her curiosity is refreshing in its own way, a mental exercise in trying to frame things in an objective manner. 'Personal nature' usually has something to do with his relationship with Paul, and past experience tells him that he probably won’t be getting back to his reading any time soon.
“Go ahead.”
If it were another human, he’d probably offer a smile and an ‘of course, you know you can ask me anything’, but being direct with Vulcans works best.
“Thank you.”
He shifts his feet where they’re propped on the table in front of him, careful not to jostle Paul’s head pillowed on his thigh. Sleeping in the on-call room isn’t necessarily difficult - Starfleet provides comfortable furniture so physicians aren’t dashing off to an emergency with a crick in their neck - but it’s not an ideal set of circumstances for Paul to be visiting. Rigellian measles seldom waited to have an outbreak for when it would be most convenient though, and four full wards of patients means the entire medical staff is on alert.
Still, if he can’t be snuggling with Paul in his own bed, having him physically close will have to suffice. It could be worse, certainly.
It could also be better. Look at how kissable those lips are.
That’s not a useful line of thought though, so he shelves it and waits for T’Vala’s question.
”It pertains to the human practice of kissing,” she begins, “which I have been attempting to determine the motivating factor or factors.”
Vulcan or not, Hugh smiles at the coincidental choice of topic.
”And you’re asking me because…?”
T’Vala’s had more than enough experience with humans in general and Hugh and Tracy in particular to recognize sarcasm and teasing, even if she doesn’t participate, so she merely raises an eyebrow.
”First, our association permits me to discuss matters which may be considered inappropriate with others. Second, I have often observed you performing this behavior with apparent enjoyment, and therefore believe you would be able to describe the experience in a thorough manner.”
His grin widens.
”I’m listening.”
She steeples her fingers, bare feet for meditation incongruous with the clinical gray of the room.
“I have observed that kissing occurs frequently between humans engaging a romantic relationship, or with those with whom they wish to initiate intercourse at a future point.”
He bites his lower lip, nodding encouragingly.
This is going to be good.
“Yes.”
”However, I have also witnessed it as a means of conveying regard or salutations for one’s family members and friends, which are not in that context. Your grandmother and niece, for instance.”
”True.”
”Therefore,” T’Vala tilts her head, “I do not believe I properly understand the intent of the gesture sufficiently, as I have been unable to predict it even in those with whom I have a close acquaintance.”
She waits patiently while Hugh considers the question - something he's grown to love about her - before getting his thoughts in order.
”Well. There’s a bit to unpack. Let's start with how humans are by nature social beings, and physical contact between us is…instinctive, I suppose. Some more and others less, but that’s a generalization to operate from.”
”Indeed.”
”So, we express affection through touch, and it creates a sort of connection, a depth that you can’t get any other way. Holding hands, hugging, kissing…they’re part of that. And yes, it can be a means of initiating sex, but as you’ve noticed, it depends on the person and the situation. Sometimes it's to say hello, or because you're happy, or just because you like someone that way.”
A slight frown.
”Perhaps now would be the time to address an additional, related inquiry?”
”Sure.”
”I wish to explore the significance of the location it is bestowed.”
Paul makes a displeased noise when Hugh’s idly stroking fingers accidentally catch on his ear. He settles when the offending hand moves and Hugh whispers an apology, snuffling into Hugh’s stomach and sighing. His fingers flex where he's clutching a handful of Hugh's undershirt, then fall still again.
”Umm. It depends?”
“Allow me to reframe the question. I have often observed you kissing your mate on the mouth, with varying degrees of pressure and duration. However,” she continues as he chuckles, “in addition to that, I have seen you kiss his face, neck, and hands. And on particular occasions, which I believe were not intended for observation, other locations.”
Hugh’s face heats a little at the reminder.
“Yeah.”
"I understand that the face is an acceptable location for a close relationship, such as with family members, but the mouth seems to hold particular significance."
His fingers sneak up the sleeve of Paul's loose t-shirt to rub his bare shoulder, the freckled skin warm beneath his palm.
"Some family members kiss on the lips as well, but for the sake of keeping it relatively simple, how about we stick to platonic versus non-platonic? Friends and family members, and then intimate relationships."
And we won't cover hookups, drinking games, or bets.
She pauses to think, then nods.
"Please continue."
Paul starts to snore quietly, and Hugh raises his knees a little, changing the angle until the noise stops.
”Mmm. Physically speaking, I suppose part of it is that most species with similar physiology have a higher concentration of nerve endings in their mouths. So touching anything with our lips creates a more intense sensation than, say, an elbow. Hands too, which I know have significance to Vulcans.”
T’Vala nods.
"Indeed."
“Speaking of, humans are more limited in the sense that we generally aren’t telepathic. So we can communicate with words, and visually, but I always think the most depth comes from touch.”
”The human propensity for touch varies between individuals, I have observed. I am also curious as to the meaning assigned to the location, duration, and cultural understandings.”
He briefly wonders if she has notes on the subject.
"Let's save that for another day. I realize I'm not a representative sample," he chuckles, "but I can only speak authoritatively from my perspective. I like feeling connected, so I touch people I’m comfortable with because it feels good and conveys what words might not be able to say. And I grew up in a family that was very openly affectionate, hugging and kissing on the cheek, so it feels natural to me.”
"I have studied the literature on the physical and psychological benefits of touch in humans, and 'feeling good' has been explained as the release of oxytocin. However, I believe there is an...emotional component which cannot be properly documented. Specifically, if you will permit the question, I would like to ask about the experience with your mate."
Hugh resists the urge to grin. Try as he might, T'Vala has spent the duration of his relationship with Paul attempting to ascribe logical motivations to their interactions.
“Kissing Paul, yes, it does feel good physically. And it’s sometimes…” Hugh glances at his partner again to make sure he’s still asleep, “arousing. But it’s more than that, T’Vala. I love him, and kissing is, well, it’s very intimate in a way that isn’t limited to sex. Sometimes it feels like an ache when he isn't with me, when I miss him. And when he's with me, I want to express that love."
An eyebrow flies up.
"You experience pain during your separations?"
"Not exactly. Have you ever missed someone? Your family, maybe."
The eyebrow lowers.
"I have...experienced the absence of my parents from my daily life, upon first arriving at the Academy. Patterns of behavior such as evening meal and meditation together required alteration, although there were occasions where I became more aware of the difference between situations. However, that was alleviated by speaking with them, and I do not believe I experience the same sense of...incompleteness that the absence of your mate evokes."
Whoa.
He carefully doesn't call attention to the unexpected vulnerability of such a confession, even if delivered without verbal inflection.
"I don't feel...incomplete without him. As a person, I mean. What it's like, is that everything feels more right when we're together."
"Fascinating. I-"
Whatever T'Vala is intending to say next is interrupted by Paul groaning and flopping over onto his back.
"Hi sleepy."
"...time s'it?"
"Zero two hundred and twelve hours."
There's a moment of obvious confusion at T’Vala’s voice as Paul's brain boots up, and Hugh can't help but think the tiny frown is adorable.
"You're not sleeping."
It's not precisely accusatory, but he offers an apologetic smile.
"You want cuddles?"
His peripheral vision shows T'Vala politely averting her eyes as he bends down and kisses Paul's forehead.
"Don't ask stupid questions."
"Well-"
"Your mate's concern regarding your level of rest is most logical," T'Vala suggests, "sleep, Hugh. I will wake you and Tracy if we are needed prior to zero seven hundred hours."
Shaking his head, Hugh maneuvers them until Paul is laying parallel to the back of the couch and lies down on the edge of the cushions with his back to the coffee table. There's a few seconds of arranging their limbs comfortably in which Paul very nearly ends up with a knee in the groin, but soon enough they're settled with Hugh snuggled into Paul's side, Paul's arms around his shoulders and his hair tickling Hugh's nose. It doesn't take long for exhaustion to catch up with him, and he steals a brief kiss before closing his eyes and giving in to sleep.
It's not ideal, but this is pretty good too. He just hopes neither of them do any sleep-groping, because while Tracy would give him grief later, he suspects T'Vala would have even more questions.
Chapter 325: Shapeshift
Notes:
I've had this concept knocking around for a while, and potterfan2006's comment on Chapter 321 where T'Vala compares Paul to a cat had me finally getting it done :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh’s working at one of the consoles when the doors to the medbay open, and he looks up in time to see Tracy smile in greeting at whoever it is.
"Hi Adira, did you find a new friend?"
"Err. Umm. Hugh?”
"I thought Paul was wrapping up in Engineering, did he send you ahead to say he's going to be late?"
When he turns around, Adira’s wearing a vaguely guilty expression and awkwardly carrying a large tabby cat that most decidedly isn't Grudge.
“Umm. Well. This…is Paul.”
Adira sets the cat down with a sigh and it immediately crosses to Hugh, winding its way between his boots.
"You got a cat and named it after Paul?"
That's sweet, but I'm not sure what Paul is going to say about that.
He bends and picks it up - the cat is heavier than it looks - scratching it behind the ears and grinning as it butts its head against his chin. Its fur is a shade that reminds him of the strawberry blond highlights in Paul's sun-kissed hair, with a milky white belly and striped tail.
"No," Adira shuffles their feet, "I mean, the cat is Paul."
"Sorry, what?"
The cat reaches out with one paw, and Hugh is ready to avoid being batted by an irate feline, but instead it settles gently on his cheek as the cat buries its face in the crook of his neck and lets out a mournful mewl. It comes with a faceful of fur too, and a very, very familiar scent, woodsy and citrus.
"The cat. Is Paul," they repeat, "umm. Yeah."
"What?"
"There was...well, I don’t know exactly, but you know those new spores we harvested on Gamma Regula Three? Book brought Grudge by to say hi, but she tipped the canister over and I guess he's allergic, because Linus sneezed and the spores went everywhere, I mean like into the consoles and everything, and there was this weird purple light and then-"
"Breathe, Adira," Tracy advises.
"...and then Paul - like, human Paul - was gone and, there was a cat. This cat."
Said feline’s claws are getting tangled in his uniform, and he gently detaches them, stroking the fluffy tail.
They must have bathed the poor thing in Paul’s soap and cologne.
"Hugh," Tracy is busy scanning the cat and sounds more alarmed than he's heard in a while, "I think they're telling the truth."
There's a few seconds of perfect silence where all he can hear is the faint whir of the plasma synthesizers working. Hugh glances around, waiting for the punchline. His partner doesn't have a tendency for practical jokes, but he’s been extra playful lately and it's completely possible he's finally getting back at Hugh for calling him an ‘overgrown cat’ for years.
"You almost had me there," he chuckles, "did Paul put you up to it?"
The cat lets out a brief yowl that makes his left ear ring.
Tracy tosses the results up to hover between them, a comparison of the cat's genetic structure with Paul's running alongside. Separating out the majority of elements common between all Earth mammals, he narrows in on a few sections.
What the hell?
He blinks, but the results don’t change. Then he checks the algorithm, to see if Tracy switched out the sample.
That’s not possible…
Hugh rubs his ear and looks at Adira, at Tracy, and then back at the bundle of fur in his arms. Piercing blue eyes stare back at him.
"Fuck."
Notes:
Watch me make this not canon-impossible. Stay tuned!
Chapter 326: Shapeshift, Part Two
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Calling dinner with Tilly and Adira in their quarters odd would be an understatement.
Paul literally turns up his pink nose at the sight of synthesized cat food sitting in a bowl on the table and lets out a very Paul-like huff that Hugh struggles not to smile at because, well, cat. He gives Hugh's plate a pointed look and flicks his tail, nearly upsetting Adira's water glass.
"Babe," he tries not to feel ridiculous addressing what looks like a pet, "according to the scans you're physiologically a cat. That means your system isn't going to digest regular food very well. I'm sure it's not too bad."
Feline or not, the unimpressed Stamets look is identical. Paul uses a paw to push the bowl at him, and the message is clear:
You eat it, then.
"It's just temporary," Hugh offers in as placating a tone as he can manage, "and you do need to eat something."
Paul had already made his displeasure known at being forced to drink water from a dish, and Hugh isn't even going to think about what they'll do if it isn't actually temporary. Beyond Discovery needing her spore drive operator, Hugh isn't ready to give up his partner's body again. There's a certain charm to the thought of cuddles and petting, even carrying Paul around more easily, but there would be no more kissing and washing each other in the shower, no falling asleep in Paul's arms or hearing his name whispered, and certainly no more lovemaking.
Don't go there.
He makes eye contact with Adira, who's twirling their fork nervously against their napkin, then looks at Tilly. She's somehow taken this into stride the best, talking to Paul without hesitation and walking him through theories of what might have caused the issue to begin with. Granted, she's also the one who was kidnapped by an alien living on the mycelial plane, so that might be where her equanimity stems from.
"Well," Tilly surprises him by pulling the bowl towards her, "it doesn't look that bad, Commander. Kind of like those emergency rations we had to eat in the survival course at the Academy. I mean, those things were awful."
Before he can react, she digs her fork into the mass of synthesized protein and takes a big bite. It's clearly not delicious, but as he watches, Tilly gamely chews and swallows.
"Actually, that's better."
Adira is regarding her with a wide-eyed look of horror usually reserved for accidentally walking in on Paul and Hugh making out (and that one time they let themself in and found Paul's hand down Hugh's pants).
"Wha- you just...ewwwww."
Tilly shrugs.
"It's not like it's poisonous or something. I mean, Book feeds this stuff to Grudge, and if there's anyone who's going to make sure their cat has the best treatment, it's him."
Paul sits back on his haunches and licks his front paws a few times, then stops in apparent disgust. He has zero problems licking and sucking Hugh's fingers and (very occasionally) his clean toes, but he's guessing it's the principle he objects to.
"Cat instincts, babe," he murmurs in what he hopes is a reassuring tone, "there's nothing you should have picked up from the decks that would make you sick."
The growl he receives in response isn't unexpected.
"Umm, would it be okay if we ate though?"
He turns and stares at Tilly, and Hugh gets the distinct sense that Paul wants to roll his eyes. Tilly looks nonplussed, wiping her fork on her napkin before taking a big bite of her macaroni and cheese. As she chews, she flicks an interface up from a PADD that Paul immediately starts poking at. Sighing, Hugh slices a bit off his roast chicken and tries to pretend that his partner hasn't sprouted a tail.
"Eat, Adira," he urges.
They wrinkle their nose, but start in on a sandwich, stealing some of Tilly's pasta when she's too busy staring at what Paul's typing to notice That makes Hugh smile at least, particularly Adira's expression of triumph.
I HATE THIS.
The message hovers in the air a foot off the surface of the table.
"It could be worse, sir," Tilly casually swipes a fry off Adira's plate, "at least your neural circuitry translated, so you can still understand us."
She does have a point. As disturbing as this is, he can't imagine what it would be like the other way.
"That would suck."
Paul's still typing away, tail swishing. It's an image that Hugh's teased him about in the past, when restless fingers wandered and groped seemingly without attention when Paul was lost in thought. He catches the fluffy appendage as it brushes past, stroking the striped fur.
Beep.
Frowning, Hugh swipes open his commbadge to see the 'Private Message' icon lit up. He wipes his fingers and turns away from the others to read it.
THIS IS RIDICULOUS. THAT FOOD LOOKS DISGUSTING. AND I REALLY NEED TO PEE. AND IF YOU SAY ANYTHING ABOUT A LITTER BOX, YOU'RE GOING TO BE SLEEPING ON THE COUCH WHEN I GET MY HANDS BACK.
Ahh. He hadn't thought of that yet, had he?
"Be right back," he sets his napkin on the table and rises, waiting for Paul to hop down, "just be a minute."
Hugh taps the control and the bathroom door slides shut behind them, reaching for the lid.
"What?"
Paul keeps staring until Hugh turns his back, busying himself actually folding his damp bath towel.
"It's not like I haven't seen everything before."
"Mrowwwwww."
"Look on the bright side," Hugh chuckles once Paul is done, "at least you don't have to unzip and wash your hands. And technically, you're probably flexible enough now to lick your own ba- hey!"
The bite doesn't break skin, but he gets the message loud and clear. Paul releases his big toe and, yes, he does actually look like an affronted cat for once.
"Do I need to feed you to get you to eat? Or is it just having Adira and Tilly here that bothers you about it."
Hugh drops down to a crouch in front of him, petting his ears. His suspicions are confirmed when he gets what sounds like an affirmative meow.
"Okay. After they leave though, promise me you'll eat something?"
Tail swishing, Paul looks very pointedly at the closed door.
"All right."
This is going to be a very long night.
Notes:
This was supposed to be a two-parter, but uhhh, Cat!Paul has demanded more. I hope this doesn't seem too ridiculous in a bad way?
To be continued!
Chapter 327: Shapeshift, Part Three
Summary:
Space Family movie night isn’t exactly the same.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul had pointedly ignored any suggestions that he eat when they return to the table. Instead, while the three humans work their way through dinner, Paul busies himself typing. His whiskers twitch as he works, and Hugh can’t help but notice the way Adira is sneaking covert glances at him. They’ve been subdued since bringing Paul to the medbay, and he’s not sure if it’s simply that the shock of the situation that hasn’t worn off or if something else is at work.
You’re not exactly one hundred percent calm about it either.
In contrast, he hasn't seen any hesitation from Tilly in speaking to Paul as if he's still human, nothing on her face to suggest that she's bothered he's currently sporting two large pointed ears and four paws.
And furry balls.
…don’t go there right now.
He suppresses a sigh and starts in on his salad. The missive his partner has been working on turns out to be a multi-paragraph affair addressed to Tilly about the properties of the alien spores with an occasional aside to Hugh about genetics. He spares a thought to marvel at the fact that the writing does sound exactly like Paul speaking; not everyone does that, and it’s comforting to read the words with Paul’s voice in his head.
The caps lock doesn’t return - he has the sneaking suspicion it wasn’t on by accident earlier - and by the time Adira sets down their fork and Hugh folds his napkin, there’s a three meter square narrative floating beside the table with Tilly’s diagrams sketched between lines and several cross-referenced files. Tilly is frowning at it intently, but he can tell her concentration is starting to flag.
It’s been a long day for everyone.
Part of him wants to send Adira and Tilly home for the night, to be able to speak privately with Paul. The other part is clamoring just as loudly that in the midst of upheaval, sticking to familiar routines can help preserve some sense of control. It’s the latter that wins out, mostly because he doesn’t like seeing Adira so uncharacteristically quiet. He suggests an action-packed holonovel that he knows Tilly and Adira won’t be able to resist picking apart, ushering them over to the couch.
They settle on the floor next to the coffee table as the title sequence plays, and he lifts Paul up onto the cushions beside him. Movie night is usually an opportunity to cuddle (not that they ever needed the excuse), Paul lounging between Hugh’s bent knees or with his head on Hugh’s shoulder. His partner is much smaller now, sitting on Hugh’s lap with his tail draped over his knees, and neither of them are paying much attention to the holo.
He made sure to bring the PADD, stroking Paul’s tail while he types.
I thought I understood the evolutionary advantage of opposable thumbs before. Apparently not.
The fact that he can perfectly hear the sardonic tone in Paul’s voice evokes a chuckle that makes both Adira and Tilly turn to look at him in askance. He smiles and shakes his head, waiting for them to return their attention to the protagonist and her friend dangling precariously from a bridge they’re trying to scale. Paul should have all of the enhanced feline senses, so he urges his head up onto his shoulder where he can murmur directly into a furry ear.
”I know, love. But this is Discovery, if any crew in the universe can find a way to reverse it…”
Paul meows softly. He feels so fragile like this, heart fluttering beneath Hugh’s fingers, and a surge of protectiveness rises up.
”Plus you’ve got me, Adira, Tilly, Tracy, and Reno even though she’ll never admit it. We’ll figure it out.”
They share a look that doesn’t need words to communicate their mutual concern and unease, and Hugh hugs Paul as tightly as he dares in that little body.
Notes:
To be continued.
We’ll get back to our regularly scheduled programming soon, but Cat!Paul has taken up residence in my brain. You have been warned that this is going to be a long one :D
Chapter 328: Shapeshift, Part Four
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
As the holo moves into the second act, he can see Paul eyeing his unfinished plate of food from dinner that he 'forgot' to bring back to the replicator. When there’s a lull in the action, Hugh gets up to use the bathroom and very casually picks up the plate on his way back, setting it on the side table at his elbow.
“Hungry?”
One ear flicks back at Hugh’s whisper. Paul looks over at Adira and Tilly who are enthralled with the elaborate plot point involving sleight of hand and transporter technology, then back at Hugh before climbing back onto his lap. Hugh spreads the napkin over his thigh to catch any dropped bits, picking through the contents he’d already carefully cut up. He waits for Paul to open his mouth, then feeds him a morsel of chicken, smiling as his fingers are licked clean.
"More?"
Two blue eyes stare at him and he doesn’t need to give Paul the PADD to interpret ‘don’t ask stupid questions'.
”Okay.”
He selects a bit of polenta with stewed apple on top, offering it in combination with scratching a furry neck. It’s delicately plucked from his grasp and chewed far more thoroughly than Paul usually bothered with his human teeth. The holo moves into a dramatic revelation, Adira disagrees with the color of the trees, and Hugh steadily empties the small pile of food left on his plate, waiting for Paul to show signs of being full. It's-
Owwww.
Hugh draws in a hissed breath at the prick of teeth on his fingertip when Paul tries to chase a wayward blueberry. It’s barely a nick, although a tiny bead of blood wells bright red in its wake. Paul mewls and immediately starts licking the tiny puncture.
"It's okay, sweetheart," he murmurs, "I'm fine."
Paul captures the injured finger between his front paws, posture radiating apology as he continues to lick the spot until Hugh gently pulls his hand away.
"Are you still hungry?"
A very human headshake, then Paul is crowding into Hugh's chest, pushing his head up under his chin. He wonders if this is really about accidentally biting, or if the day's events are spilling over beyond even his partner's ability to control. Asking him won't get anywhere though, so he just lets Paul rest in the crook of his arm and drops the occasional kiss on an ear.
Eventually, Paul must get thirsty, because he untangles himself from Hugh and heads towards the bowl sitting under the coffee table between Tilly and Adira. He has to step over Tilly's legs to reach the table, and she absently pets his back as he brushes by. The petting continues as he drinks and sits down beside her, and Hugh doesn't think she even realizes she's doing it as her eyes never leave the holo. Over the next few minutes, Paul relaxes more and more, head dipping until he's sprawled on the deck. His tail swishes slowly, brushing over Hugh's bare toes until Tilly's fingers scratching under his chin elicit a surprisingly loud purr and she freezes, inhaling hard.
Adira turns to them, eyes flicking between Tilly's upraised hand, Hugh's raised eyebrows, and Paul's face.
"Tilly?"
Paul's eyes open just enough for a slice of blue to show through, although he doesn't raise his chin from his paws.
What?
Her face suffuses with a dark pink flush, and she snatches her hand back as if scorched.
"Oh my god. I'm so sorry, sir, I didn't mean...it's weird," she winces, distressed for the first time since Hugh's seen her today, "I just forgot."
Eyes now fully open, Paul rises and moves over to the other PADD on the floor.
It's fine, Tilly.
"But...I was just...petting- "
Tilly abruptly stands and, in a blur of red hair and face, nearly runs into the bathroom.
Adira blinks slowly.
"...what just happened?"
Notes:
Deliberate homage to Tilly in That One Scene in Engineering™.
Chapter 329: Shapeshift, Part Five
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Tilly," Hugh leans on the wall next to the bathroom door, "it's okay, please come out?"
Silence.
He supposes that the one upside of Tilly's embarrassed departure is shaking Adira out of their funk as far as Paul is concerned. His partner is sitting on Adira's knees, the PADD in their lap while they talk and he types.
"I should have-"
"Mrowwww."
Paul taps away.
It wasn't your fault, you couldn't have done anything to stop it. So quit that.
"What if you're stuck like this?"
This isn't permanent.
That's a change from the annoyed tone he'd taken earlier, and as Hugh watches, Adira shakes their head.
"I don't..." their voice drops to a near-whisper, but Hugh can still hear it, "I need to fix you, for Hugh. You're not supposed to be a...a cat."
I hadn't noticed.
Paul's sarcasm makes Adira's lips twitch, so Hugh counts it as a win. His ears twitch when Hugh snorts, and he tugs the PADD closer, paws moving rapidly.
I hate this, but it's not anyone's fault. We didn't have a chance to analyze those spores before Book brought Grudge, so tomorrow morning we should do that.
HUGH? I KNOW YOU'RE READING THIS.
He leaves off trying to cajole Tilly out of the bathroom.
"Yes?"
Let me talk to Tilly.
Hugh shares a look with Adira.
"Umm. Babe-"
"Mrrrrrrrgggglllll."
Paul actually knocks his forehead on the PADD, winces, then taps out another message.
I mean, I'll write something and you give it to her.
"Are you sure we shouldn't give her space? I mean, this is like the weirdest day ever. Like I woke up with a squid-" Adira pauses, lips twitching, "sorry, Tal thinks that's funny. A symbiont, so I know weird."
A sigh, and Paul starts deleting text until Hugh crouches down and holds out a hand to stop.
"I think I know what you'd say. Tilly is one of those people who take a problem, chew on it, and then get stuck on the chewing part. Obsessively. Paul does it too, in case you haven't noticed."
A paw bats at his ankle, not hard enough to sting.
"Anyway. She's going to get stuck thinking about too many things, and it'll just get worse if we leave her alone with it."
Adira fusses with their empty mug, swirling the remains of their drink.
"Okay."
Hugh gets up and retrieves a fresh hot chocolate for Adira and, with only a little guilt, pours half a glass of wine for himself. Paul's nose twitches when Hugh sits back down next to him, looking up in askance.
"It's not the good one we were saving. But I needed something."
Something akin to a shrug rolls its way down from Paul's shoulder, and he goes back to typing. It ought to be a bit comical to see his paws tapping on the projected keyboard, but he's mostly still relieved that his partner isn't stuck not being able to communicate with words. Adira is obviously reading the text upside down - and Paul surely knows they can see everything, so it's not private - and Hugh busies himself with petting while he slowly drains the wine.
It takes a few minutes, including some teeth baring that seems to correspond to having to delete and re-write, but Paul finally stops and nudges the PADD in Hugh's direction.
"Ready?"
"Mrowwww."
He stands, groaning a little (more for show than any substantial discomfort from sitting on the floor), and picks up the PADD.
"Okay. Do yo-"
Swish.
All three of them turn to face the bathroom door as Tilly emerges, hair down and hiding most of her face. What Hugh can see of it is pinkened, but she otherwise seems composed. Tilly moves to the couch and sits, chewing her lower lip.
"Tilly?"
"Sorry," she murmurs, "I just, well, freaked out."
"Pretty sure you're entitled to that," Hugh shakes his head, "it's been one hell of a day."
A meow, and Paul is climbing up onto the cushions beside her.
"I mean, Commander...you're a cat. But you're not a cat. And like, you're you, but I forgot, and...yeah."
Hugh holds out the PADD.
"From Paul. Come on Adira," he tips his head towards the immaculate dining area, "let's go clear the table."
Notes:
So we went from pure comedy to more serious, which I didn't expect when I started with the idea. Not mad at it though.
Chapter 330: Shapeshift, Part Six
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The table is, of course, already clear and not his actual destination. Adira opens their mouth to say something when Hugh instead gently steers them past it, giving Tilly and Paul the nominal privacy of the partition between them.
“Hugh?”
Aida and Adira’s quilts are both folded on the end of the bed, and he shakes out his grandmother’s before wrapping it around his shoulders and extending his arm.
”Warmth is good for shock,” he tucks them against his side as they sit together on the edge of the mattress, “and I’d say we’ve all had one.”
Adira leans into his shoulder, spiky hair tickling his cheek.
"Hugs too?"
He turns enough to fold them into an embrace with both arms.
"Hugs too."
”What about Paul? He seems so calm. Well, besides the caps at dinner.”
Hugh huffs a ghost of a laugh as they sit back.
”I promise, he’s not calm. But he’s covering it by focusing on being annoyed and typing out dissertations for us to read. And,” he sobers, “he and I are probably going to have a long talk later.”
They nod, thumb worrying at a hangnail on the other hand.
“Do you think- I mean, you can fix him, right?”
”We,” Hugh is careful to emphasize the word, “will figure it out. One step at a time, starting with how it happened. Then we can start working on a way to reverse it. But he doesn’t seem to be in any danger by staying a cat for a few days, if that’s what it takes.”
”He was there, then Linus sneezed, and then he just wasn't. I didn't check that it was, you know, Paul, but he just gave me this look when he climbed out from under his uniform and it made too much sense. We probably should have called you guys first. But I thought maybe it could happen again, so I just sort of picked him up and ran out of Engineering. Umm. That sounds really weird.”
He rubs their shoulder reassuringly.
“Well, he’s certainly more manageable at this size. Whether he implodes from having to type everything he’d normally say out loud is another story.”
Adira raises their head and they share a smile.
“Grudge is the first real cat I ever saw. You really thought I got a pet cat and named it Paul?"
"I'm sorry I didn't believe you at first. You wouldn't know, but I've spent the last oh, fifteen years, calling him an overgrown cat. You know how he's so finicky sometimes, especially about his research, and he hates being woken up, and that way he hums when he's happy..." Hugh's smile softens, "he's so cuddly with me."
Adira's looking at him with an expression that's both interested and vaguely perturbed. It's such a familiar look, particularly when they come over to find them cuddling and kissing, and a relief to see them relaxed enough to make that face.
"That makes sense."
Leaning forward, he can just see a glimpse of Paul's tail resting on Tilly's knees and her red hair nodding.
"And even if he's stuck this way for a while, we'll manage, Adira. That's what Discovery does."
Notes:
Cat!Paul continues to rule my muse.
Heading out on a roadtrip to a friend's wedding (vaccinated and socially distanced, I promise), so I will either have 1) plenty of time to concentrate on some serious writing or 2) less time / too exhausted to write over the next few days. We'll see if I can get some snippets pre-loaded up to post, but I will be back regardless in a week!
Chapter 331: Statement
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
One of the most common misconceptions about them is that people assume they're either always having sex or that Paul would be disinterested.
Well, when we only saw each other a few weeks out of the year, spending the whole time in bed was a resounding yes.
As to the second part...what he doesn't think they quite understand are the reasons behind it. Hugh's always worn his affection close to the surface, the easy touch between friends and a doctor's healing hands. Getting off is - obviously - a lot of fun, and he thinks Paul is ridiculously attractive, but that's not everything.
His partner isn't one for casual encounters, pure physicality awkward and uncomfortable. With Hugh though, it's the depth of their intimacy that changes everything, a hunger that surprised him with its intensity. He's explained it to him variously over the years, the desire itching under his skin, the need to connect on a physical level as an expression of love. Once, when he was coming down off his high after a jump, he described a golden glow around Hugh, an irresistible warmth.
The fact that he was naked at the time and aggressively snuggling him with earnest eyes that were mostly pupil doesn't diminish the statement.
They're touching at every opportunity now, casual contact that seems to settle a need in them both. Whereas before they kept it strictly professional while on duty, the artificial disinterest is gone. There's no overtly inappropriate behavior in the company of others in uniform, just a release of the tight control on making their connection palpable. They still trade pointed comments - sarcasm and bickering so much a part of them that nothing could change it - but there's a warmth between them that Paul wouldn't have been comfortable with before.
Hugh's never lacking in interest, his desire easy to spark when Paul uses a certain tone of voice or looks at him sideways through lowered lashes. It's partially from age and Paul's knees and hips starting to ache more easily, but the balance has been tipped away from vigorous sex and more towards the slower side of things. Not that they don't still have sessions that leave the sheets tangled and throats raw from moaning, times where Tracy rolls her eyes at Hugh's barely-noticeable limp and freshly-fucked smile and Aisha laughs at the love bites on his neck. It's not all profound lovemaking either, always tender but more about nurturing the connection between them.
He no longer mourns the fact that he can't quite see the glow that Paul mentioned, because he can feel it.
Notes:
I'm back! Intermission for the cat!Paul saga, still untangling some plot points while I recover from my vacation :P
Chapter 332: Seethe
Summary:
Hugh deals with unsolicited advice from a stranger.
Notes:
I started this three months ago, finally finished!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“I’ll see you later?”
Paul is already standing from the table, the two PADDs with his presentation and speaking notes in one hand and a fresh coffee in the other. Hugh doesn’t mind that he seems distracted; Paul’s lecture mode is always a treat to watch, but the lead up leaves him emanating stress for days beforehand. He's had to deal with a twitchy, snappish, and completely preoccupied partner since they arrived and is eager to have his cuddly lover back for the last three days they have together.
“Mmm,” Paul gives him a distracted peck on the lips and turns to make his way through the conference crowd.
Hugh watches his retreating back, and considers which item to cross off next from his list of Things Hugh Wants To Do To Paul’s Ass.
Or possibly add something new to it.
He probably stares a bit too long, because he completely misses the server passing close by with their tray of drinks and nearly ends up with a champagne float dumped on his head. Hugh smiles and apologizes, then turns back until he loses sight of that blond hair.
“Pro tip,” someone snickers behind him and makes Hugh’s shoulders tighten, “he’s not much fun in bed.”
”…excuse me?”
A man in a Sciences uniform and lieutenant's pips on his badge steps into his field of vision.
"The guy you were just talking to. Don't waste your time."
For five seconds, Hugh’s mind goes perfectly blank before it dawns on him that he’s been mistaken for another stranger in a bar trying to pick up someone from the conference. The stranger must take his silence as a question, because he leans in closer and continues.
“If you’re looking for sex, Paul’s not going to do it for you.”
”And how would you know that?”
Hugh's fingers go cold, then flood with heat as his face warms.
“Let’s say, I have experience in that area.”
It's not a comfortable feeling.
”Really.”
The guy doesn’t pick up on the flat tone. Instead, he drops into Paul’s vacated seat.
”Believe me. Unless you want someone who can’t stay hard. Although…” he shrugs, “not a problem if you’re on top.”
He's handsome enough in a conventional fashion, and he supposes Paul might be attracted to a fellow scientist.
"Oh," Hugh sets down his glass before it shatters in his grip, resting his elbows on the table and folding his hands together, "do go on."
"He studies mushrooms or something. Nothing a doctor like you," his eyes rake across Hugh's chest, "would be interested in."
"You work with him?"
Paul's never mentioned a co-worker like this and he's sure he would have, particularly when his partner's list of past lovers is relatively short.
"Let's say I've crossed paths with him...professionally a few times. I mean, he's hot enough and I figured hey, let's see if I can wipe that arrogant smile off his face."
He leans closer, and Hugh forces his expression into something that might be mistaken for interested.
"And how did that go?"
"Gives terrible head. He wanted to talk and kiss and when we got going, he was so loud it was embarrassing. I made a joke about it, and," the guy holds his fingers upright before letting them droop, "that happened."
Hugh takes a long drink of the melted ice in his glass and forces back the red haze starting to creep into the edges of his vision.
(The passion in Paul’s eyes after their first kiss was electric. He’s never experienced a lack of arousal unless Paul was exhausted or in a bad mood. While he’s not as comfortable as Hugh is in expressing his wants and needs, there’s no doubt that Hugh feels intensely desired.
Sure, for their first couple of actual dates Hugh felt like he was going to asphyxiate on his own hormones, but he could always stay in control until he kissed Paul goodnight. Then he’d bury his face in the pillow from the couch, breathing in his scent while desperately jerking off to the ghost of Paul’s lips on his skin.)
He thinks about making love with Paul for the first time, overwhelmed, whimpering and looking at Hugh with such vulnerable want that it made his heart ache. The times they don’t even get to sucking each other, never mind penetration, too excited rubbing against each other to stop. Waking up to Paul riding him, all self-satisfied lust and a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Hugh sometimes wonders if it could truly be that no one else has ever known him that way, and he has his answer. He doesn’t completely understand, but he loves Paul enough to listen. And the kind of crushing disappointment from failed relationships and lack of interest in non-sexual and emotional intimacy strikes him as unspeakably cruel. Thinking about his sweet, loving Paul being associated with (and disrespected by) the smug weasel in uniform across from him makes his blood boil.
Steady. A doctor punching another member of Starfleet on a starbase wouldn't go over well.
Setting down his drink, he glances over at the name imprinted on the man's briefcase, committing it to memory despite his growing repugnance.
Tracy is going to want a go at him too.
Something uncoils in his chest, an artificial calm descending on him.
“Well, the guy I slept with last night was pretty hot stuff.”
He licks his finger and slowly traces the rim of the glass.
”Yeah?”
”Hard enough to drive nails,” Hugh adds a suggestive lilt to his voice, “almost put me through the mattress.”
Rolling the stir stick between his fingers, he lifts it out and sucks a few drops off the end.
"I'm listening."
Oh, I bet you are.
”My partner.”
The guy looks disappointed, but nowhere near what’s coming next.
”Your partner?”
”Yeah. You must know him? About my height, blond, blue eyes.”
A confused blink.
”I…don’t think so?”
He drops the stick back into his glass and leans forward until his lips are a couple of inches from the guy's ear.
”Oh, I’m positive you do," Hugh pitches his voice low and husky, "his name is Paul Stamets.”
”What-“
”Hottest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he sits back and continues conversationally even as his eyes harden, “amazing in bed.”
"I..."
"Did you know," Hugh smiles dangerously, "there's five ways to castrate a human male without anesthesia? I'm partial to the one that involves a dull laser scalpel."
"I didn't, how...I mean..."
The stranger trails off, eyes widening even further when a hand lands on Hugh's shoulder. Given his current state of mind he would be surprised he doesn't flinch, but the air current carries a very familiar scent of woodsy citrus that washes away the cloud of expensive cologne in front of him.
"Sorry, they canc-"
Paul freezes with his hand reaching over Hugh's arm for his abandoned drink. He pales, then reddens, mouth snapping shut as he takes in Hugh's posture.
"Hi babe," Hugh's artificially cheerful tone is sharp enough to cut duranium, "just found someone who deserves a long consult with Tracy. Should I call her, or do you want to?"
"Umm."
He pushes his chair back, opening his own bag to sweep the remaining PADDs into it. As he turns, he slips a hand behind Paul's neck and uses it to pull him close enough to plant a hard kiss on his motionless lips, letting out a quietly obscene moan when Paul opens his mouth and lets his tongue inside. When he pulls back, Paul sways a little on his feet and Hugh wraps an arm around his waist, shouldering his bag.
"Nice to meet you," he offers with patently false courtesy, watching panicked eyes dart back and forth, "you don't deserve him."
Turning his back, he draws an unresisting Paul out of the bar at a fast walk, not stopping until they're in a quiet alcove between labs. Out of sight of any casual passersby, he rests their foreheads together.
"I wasn't expecting you back."
"I...they redid the schedule. Cancelled today's sessions. Problem with the environmental cont- Hugh, what...?"
Shaking his head, Hugh sighs.
"Not important."
"Hugh..."
He cradles Paul's face between his palms.
"I'm sorry."
"For?"
"Him."
They're sharing the air between them, and every breath he inhales of Paul feels cleansing, scrubbing away the last few minutes.
"You didn't do something, did you?"
"I wish I had."
Paul chews his lower lip.
"Hugh, it was years ago."
"Doesn't matter. If I could find everyone who's ever hurt you and let them know just how wrong they were, I would."
"I don't- okay. Okay."
Dropping his hands, he laces their fingers together.
"Come on, since you don't have a session let's go see if we can beam down and visit that botanical garden you wanted to see."
A headshake.
"I think I just want to go back to our room and be close to you."
The first genuine smile since Paul walked away curves his lips.
"I love you, sweetheart."
"I love you too."
Notes:
Mess with Hugh, and he'll respond in a professional manner.
Say something nasty about Paul? Expect Hugh to be vicious.
Chapter 333: Seethe, Part Two
Summary:
Tracy and T'Vala make a most unexpected house call.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Computer, identify visitors."
Doctor Tracy Pollard and Doctor T'Vala
He's overdue for a standard wellness check, but he can't imagine Medical sending two doctors down to remind him.
"Door."
The lab doors swish open, and two women in white cross the threshold, a tall Vulcan and a shorter human wearing her dark hair braided up around her head.
"Doctors...?"
"I'm Doctor Pollard and this is Doctor T'Vala. How are you?"
It's an innocuous enough question, even if he still doesn't know why they're here.
"Fine. Is this about my checkup? I've been busy, and-"
"This," Doctor T'Vala inclines her head, "does not pertain to your health status."
"Sorry, then how can I help you?"
"So," Doctor Pollard smiles at him in a way that's strangely unsettling, "I understand you attended a conference on Starbase Fifty-Three a few months ago?"
"Four point-nine," T'Vala offers.
"Thank you. That was you, right?"
He blinks.
"Umm. Yeah?"
The human gives the Vulcan a look, and she nods before taking a step back.
"Computer, secure doors and indicate 'do not disturb'. Medical authorization T'Vala-alpha-seven-one-four."
Medical override acknowledged.
Facility secured.
"Wait, was I exposed to some disease or something?"
Pollard moves closer, and he finds himself backing up until his shoulders make contact with the bulkhead.
What the hell is happening?
"You spoke with my colleague, Hugh Culber."
He searches his memories but can't match the name with a face.
"Umm. Sorry?"
"Hugh tells me that you...had an encounter with Paul Stamets."
Something slots into place.
"Did that pale ass freak get bent out of shape?"
T'Vala raises an eyebrow.
"We did not speak with Lieutenant Stamets."
"Look, I don't know what the other guy said, but how's that any of your business?"
"It's Paul," Pollard takes another step forward, "that makes it my business."
He snorts at the ridiculousness of the situation.
"And you're here because?"
"See, we get who you are. A jackass who saw a pretty piece of ass and decided to go after it. And when it turned out that you didn't get what you expected, you insulted him. A few years later, you see someone with that same guy, and instead of keeping your mouth shut, you tell him everything. And when that someone turns out to be Paul's partner, well, that's where we get involved."
"What, Stamets got embarrassed that he couldn't keep it up and screams like a girl and sent you to make a threat, Doctor?"
"Oh," Pollard folds her hands in front of her, "here's the thing. Paul's never going to do that, because that's what he has Hugh for. And Hugh's busy, so you get us."
What the fuck?
Pollard leans in, and he realizes she's literally backed him into a corner. He's a head taller at least and could easily push her away, but there's something about her that radiates menace.
"You're one of those guys who thinks he has a big dick and that makes him important. That kind of macho bullshit from the twenty-first century? Rubs me the wrong way."
The Vulcan is still watching him with cool detachment, and he focuses on her.
"You're a Vulcan. You're just going to stand here while she-" he jerks his chin at Pollard, "does this?"
T'Vala lowers her eyebrow.
"While I do not understand the affairs of humans, you were responsible for making disrespectful allegations of a sexual nature and disparaged Hugh's mate. Therefore, it is our responsibility to inform you of the consequences of such an action."
"Consequences?"
"T'Vala? You might want to go outside."
She narrows her eyes briefly, then nods before leaving.
"The testicles," Pollard smiles, "are such a terrible direction for evolution. Full of nerves and reactive to temperature changes, and located outside the body in a very vulnerable position. It just takes a little bit of pressure to make a man scream. Fairly bloodless too, if you know where to go in, to cauterize the testicular artery and snip the vas deferens. Then it's just a useless bag of skin. And removing the branches from the third lumbar nerve barely hurts, but you'll be incontinent and impotent for the rest of your miserable life."
His pulse pounds in his ears.
"You can't talk to me like this-"
"Oh, I can do whatever I want. See, the do no harm part of the physician's oath? Means I'm prioritizing the good of others first, and that includes warning assholes what happens when they hurt people."
"I'm reporting you to Medical."
A laugh, derisive and short.
"What will you tell them?"
He opens his mouth but nothing comes out.
"Consider yourself lucky that I wasn't there when it happened. And that Paul is the kind of person who doesn't want to hurt anyone. So if you ever see him at a conference again, I suggest you steer clear so you won't be seeing me again."
Pollard turns on her heel and is gone moments later, leaving him to sag against the wall in relief.
Bullshit, she wouldn't do anything.
He wishes he actually believed that.
Notes:
No, he doesn't deserve a name.
Re: T'Vala taking part - Vulcans are intensely loyal, and insulting one's mate is going to, by extension, get the attention of those they're close to. If she's not actually in the room to hear Tracy threaten him, she doesn't technically have to know it happened.
Tracy is not someone you want to mess with.
Chapter 334: Shapeshift, Part Seven
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
They see Tilly and Adira off for the night, and for once Adira doesn’t make a face when Hugh presses a kiss to the top of their head. Whatever Paul and Tilly talked about must have worked too, because she carries him to the door and only passes him back to Hugh after he’s done hugging Adira.
Swish.
Paul licks Hugh’s cheek, then waves a paw towards the coffee table. He sets him down, then takes a few moments to carry his empty plate to the replicator and re-fold Aida’s quilt. When he turns back, there’s a block of text waiting for him.
Thank you for letting me talk to Tilly. I think I’ve convinced her that she’s not going to be kicked out of Starfleet for petting me. That sounds really weird, don’t laugh. Is Adira okay?
He smiles, dropping down onto the couch.
”Yeah. I don’t think they really blame themselves necessarily, but they can’t really make sense of it.”
That makes two of us.
“Are you still hungry? If not, I was going to get cleaned up and go to bed. Today’s been something else.”
In response, Paul hops off the table and pads towards the bathroom, looking back over his shoulder once he’s at the threshold. He watches as Hugh stretches then sheds his undershirt and uniform pants, meowing once he’s fully naked.
”Like that?”
”Mrrowwwww.”
“Stupid question, right? I’ll just take a quick sonic, and-“
Paul brushes past his ankles in a ginger blur, sitting in the middle of the shower cubicle and looking at him pointedly.
”Babe, I don’t think cats usually like water. I know you’re not, but Tracy and I still aren’t sure how much of the cat part is actually in there.”
That earns him a very familiar unimpressed stare, tail thumping on the floor.
”All right,” he sighs, stepping in and closing the door, “don’t say I didn- what?”
He’s interrupted again by a paw tapping insistently on his knee.
”You want…oh,” Hugh bends to pick him up, “just watch the claws down there.”
There’s the distinct sense that Paul would be rolling his eyes. He shifts him to the right side, then reaches for the controls.
Instead of the usual rainstorm, he opts for steam first, letting his eyes fall shut as it wreathes them in mist. Paul squirms a little, but otherwise seems comfortable so he switches to water at a cooler temperature than they usually prefer. Fat droplets land on them, darkening Paul’s fur and slicking it back. His partner is fairly large as a cat (and who ever thought he’d be thinking that so calmly?) but the shower erases the fluff. Unlike other cats Hugh’s seen soaked to the skin, he relaxes into the downpour. Hugh’s probably not going to get much of himself washed this way, but can’t bring himself to set Paul down once he snuggles into Hugh’s shoulder.
Eventually, Paul stirs and retreats behind Hugh’s calves once he reaches for the soap. It’s a cursory job, and he just focuses on his underarms and groin before efficiently rinsing and ending the shower cycle.
He lifts Paul off the floor again, wrapping him in a towel and setting him on the counter to rub dry less vigorously than he would in human form. The thought makes him smile, and Paul tilts his head to the side and makes a questioning noise.
”Just thinking that you’re easier to dry off this way.”
Paul nudges his face against Hugh’s wrist, and he gives in to the temptation to scratch beneath his chin just to watch those eyes fall half-closed.
“Babe?”
“Mrooowww?”
”I need to brush my teeth.”
One clumsy hop - apparently a cat body doesn’t come with a full instruction manual - and a stumble later, Hugh turns away again to let Paul relieve himself.
”You don’t have anything on you I haven’t seen before.”
There’s no reply other than a growl, and Paul exits the bathroom with a flick of his tail. Hugh dries himself quickly and puts on his pajamas, already missing Paul’s reflection in the mirror beside him. That end of the day ritual is something he’s not sure he could explain to anyone else, the sense of rightness as their elbows bump and they make faces at each other around their toothbrushes.
No use dwelling on that.
When he leaves the bathroom, it’s to find Paul curled up on his pillow, slightly damp fur stained darker than the rest.
”You’re going to make my pillow wet.”
The PADD is on the nightstand, and Paul only takes a moment before the response appears.
Not the fun way :(
He snorts a little at that, shooing him off and stealing Paul’s pillow to stack on top instead. It’s softer than he prefers, so he rolls onto his side, head propped up on a hand. Paul settles down in the curve of his body, nuzzling into his throat. His whiskers catch in his beard in a way that reminds him of swiping at the phantom tickle of nearly invisible blond hair.
”Hi sweetheart.”
Hugh smooths his fingers through the velvety fur on the top of his head, scratching the back of his neck and continuing downwards. A content hum starts, vibrating against his palm.
"Some things don't change."
Sleepy blue eyes peer up at him.
"You definitely do purr."
That earns him a glare that he's all too familiar with, although the accompanying hiss is something new. Laughing softly, he sets aside all of the concerns swirling in his mind and focuses on the soothing rumble. It’s hypnotic in its own way, and he breathes Paul in, grateful to have his partner with him, claws and all.
Notes:
To be continued.
Paul will eventually get his hands back, but every time I try to wrap it up a new cat!Paul moment demands to be written.
Chapter 335: Seethe, Part Three (Epilogue)
Notes:
I swear I'm done with this particular mini-series...for now.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
>> Message from Huruma, Blair, BRCHADM, Starfleet Medical to S'dar T'lhai T'Vala, LT, Starfleet Medical; Pollard, Tracy, LTJG, Starfleet Medical
>> Subject: Complaint received
>> Attachments: Incident record 11B-6732
To Drs. T'Vala and Pollard,
My office has received a complaint regarding alleged misconduct with behavior unbecoming of an officer. Specifically, an undisclosed member of the U.S.S. Hood crew claims to have been verbally threatened during the Hood's recent stint in spacedock one week ago. It particularly states that Dr. Pollard supplied a threat of bodily harm to said individual, for which they are requesting discipline to be determined as appropriate.
If this is a misunderstanding that took place in the context of doctor-patient confidentiality - understanding that patients may misinterpret a consultation recommending medical intervention - please so indicate and the matter will be properly addressed with the individual's commanding officer.
Please respond at your earliest convenience to the attached.
Sincerely,
Branch Admiral Blair Huruma, M.D., Surgeon General
>> End of message
>> Message from S'dar T'lhai T'Vala, LT, Starfleet Medical to Huruma, Blair, BRCHADM, Starfleet Medical
>> Subject: Reply - Complaint received
To Admiral Huruma,
I have received and reviewed the formal complaint. I would like to offer a clarification as to the circumstances of the alleged misconduct, by prefacing that Dr. Pollard and I do not share a doctor-patient relationship with the individual who has likely filed the complaint.
We visited the atmospheric sciences lab aboard the U.S.S. Hood while in orbit of Earth between 1230 and 1240 hours, which correspond with the approved noon meal break. Approximately 4.9 months prior, said individual came into contact with our colleague Dr. Hugh Culber, and made remarks of a highly personal and inappropriate nature regarding Dr. Culber's mate.
It is a cultural practice of my people - as you are no doubt aware - that a healer bears a responsibility to service for all whom they meet. In addition, the tenet of friendship which is shared between myself and Dr. Culber as well as the professional obligation to integrity allows the transfer of response to a breach of conduct if the offended party is unable or unwilling to respond themself.
Dr. Culber was unable to make a formal response to the challenge of the validity of his mating bond. Thus, I have assumed responsibility of this service and requested that I be allowed to accompany Dr. Pollard in speaking with this individual to resolve the matter.
I did not witness Dr. Pollard perform any such threat as that alleged. She merely wished to ascertain the individual's identity and behavior in regards to the incident above. During the course of the conversation, I was obliged to leave the room, thus transferring the responsibility to Dr. Pollard. Doubtless she spoke of the gravity of the challenge issued, and offered herself as a champion on behalf of the offended party.
Having discharged the responsibility of response to this matter, I am prepared to accept any disciplinary action which is recommended, but do not believe it to be warranted by the tenets of Starfleet or the medical profession.
Peace and long life,
Healer T'Vala
>> End of message
>> Message from Pollard, Tracy, LTJG, Starfleet Medical to Huruma, Blair, BRCHADM, Starfleet Medical
>> Subject: Reply - Complaint received
Dear Admiral Huruma,
Thank you for forwarding the complaint. Having read it, I would like to point out that a review of human physiology hardly constitutes a threat of grave bodily harm.
A false statement regarding the health of Lt. Paul Stamets was made to Dr. Hugh Culber some months prior. Lt. Stamets did not authorize this person to disclose his medical status, particularly incorrectly while in a crowded bar on Starbase 53. As Dr. Culber was occupied making rounds, Dr. T'Vala and I beamed up to the Hood to speak with this person and ensure his awareness of proper procedures and regulations governing privileged information.
As a physician, it is my responsibility to see to the well-being of those in my care. I am familiar with Lt. Stamets' medical history as his second physician of record after Dr. Culber; therefore, it was appropriate for me to speak to this person on behalf of both Dr. Culber and Lt. Stamets.
Sincere regards,
Tracy Pollard, M.D.
>> End of message
>> Message from Huruma, Blair, BRCHADM, Starfleet Medical to S'dar T'lhai T'Vala, LT, Starfleet Medical; Pollard, Tracy, LTJG, Starfleet Medical
>> Subject: Reply - Complaint received
To Drs. T'Vala and Pollard,
Dr. T'Vala, I apologize if there was any suggestion of disrespect for your customs. I was unaware of the obligations placed on you in this circumstance, and of course understand the requirement to maintain integrity of Vulcan laws.
After further investigation into this matter, my staff has concluded that the complaint is unfounded. The case has been dismissed without stipulation. However, I would recommend against further contact with the individual who has made the complaint, in order to avoid future misunderstanding.
Sincerely,
Branch Admiral Blair Huruma, M.D., Surgeon General
>> End of message
Notes:
Huruma means "compassion" or "mercy" in Swahili.
Chapter 336: Shapeshift, Part Eight
Summary:
Sleeping arrangements.
Chapter Text
Hugh's eyes are starting to grow heavy. It isn't until Paul nudges his hand with his nose that he realizes he's drifted off, and he comes to with an apologetic smile and a yawn.
"Guess it's time for lights out."
He reorganizes the pillows and climbs under the covers, and Paul follows, rubbing his cheek on Hugh's shoulder and cuddling into the crook of his right arm.
"Computer, lights. Comfy?"
A content hum.
"Goodnight, sweetheart."
He drops a kiss on top of Paul's head, then closes his eyes. Sleep doesn't take long to find him despite the absence of Paul's arms around him, not when he has a warm little body curled into his side and Paul's scent in the quiet air beneath the sheets.
"...whuh-owww!"
He must have started to roll in his sleep, because he's awakened by a startled yowl and the feeling of paws pushing at his chest with the faintest prick of claws. His shoulder is already twisted underneath, and he immediately sits up to pull back the covers in alarm. The pounding of his heart starts to subside as a rumpled ball of fur emerges, crackling with static but otherwise seeming none the worse for wear.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, hands moving over Paul's cat body to check for harm, "are you okay?"
"Mrrowwwww."
"Sorry love, I don't think this is going to work like that."
Paul's ears and tail droop. He might be a cat, but Hugh can read the disappointment radiating off of him.
"No, I didn't mean-" Hugh scoops Paul up before he can slink off, laying back down and depositing him on his chest instead, "here. Unless you want to sleep on your pillow? I'm afraid if you're next to me, I'll squash you again."
Paul gives it some thought, tail twitching, before shaking his head. Sharp teeth latch onto his collar and tug.
"You want this off?"
A very human nod.
"All right. You'll have to move though."
The fur on his bare chest is a novel sensation, even denser and more ticklish than the thick hair on Paul’s forearms and thighs. A deft tongue darts out to lick his sternum just below the collarbone, the rasp of it making his own hair stand on end.
"Quit that," he chuckles, "or I'm never going to sleep."
"Mmrrrrgllllrowwww."
"I'm going to take that as a 'fine, I promise not to keep my amazing partner awake by licking him all night'."
Paul bats him playfully on the nose, and he captures the retreating paw to kiss the little pink toes. After a bit of squirming, Paul settles with his tail draped over Hugh's hips (and he's fairly sure that was a deliberate swipe over his groin), snuggled into the dip between his pectoral muscles and head up under Hugh's chin. Hugh buries his fingers in the fur on Paul's back, letting the purring lull him back to sleep.
Notes:
Okay, this cat doesn't *quite* have Paul's blue eyes, but we'll blame that on the lighting because it's just too adorable and perfect for this moment.
It's been a stressful few days at work and I know I'm behind on replying to comments. I found out when I got back from my trip last week that my boss (who I've worked very closely with for almost eight years and get on with amazingly well) will be leaving a couple of months, and it's been pure chaos since then on a professional and personal level.
Writing helps me focus, but sometimes the little stuff like replies seems too big - sounds weird, but that's how it works. I promise I appreciate each and every one, and will give them their time due when my brain settles.
Chapter 337: Symmetry
Summary:
Small moments define them.
Notes:
Symmetry here refers to a sense of balance and evenness, rather than being identical.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Above all, being with Paul feels safe.
Falling asleep at night held securely in his arms, his heartbeat beneath Hugh's ear and the soft noises of contentment when he plays with Paul's hair.
Coming home after a long day (or week) and knowing there are no expectations of him to pretend to be anything other than exhausted.
Simply being Hugh, not Doctor Culber, once the doors behind him close.
No expectations at all - be he frustrated, joyous, anxious, or sad - to hide how he feels.
Knowing that Paul will never take advantage of him, won't take and take without giving in return.
In Paul's embrace in all senses of the word, his body tight and hot around him, his trust and love in each kiss.
Being with Hugh feels right.
Holding his hand while watching Nella swing from branch to branch until she demands that he follow her up the tree to see something.
Ankles crossed and bare feet touching under the covers when they're in bed reading, silent but for the sounds of their breathing and the rustle of the sheets.
Not having to hide the parts of himself that other people never seem to like - that he's self-conscious about - because Hugh loves all of him.
Hearing Hugh whisper "goodnight, sweetheart" before his eyes close, a kiss pressed to the back of his neck and Hugh's arm heavy around his waist.
Knowing that their bed is a space where he can say anything, even no, and never be obligated or ashamed.
Hugh inside of him, his weight sheltering Paul from the universe, just the two of them together.
Notes:
Hugh feeling safe in Paul's arms will never not make my heart melt. Paul is the one person - Aida's declared it - who deserves all of what Hugh has to give. Hugh is the only one who has ever seen all of Paul and only loves him more for it.
Chapter 338: Shapeshift, Part Nine
Summary:
Paul’s not actually a cat, but he sure acts like one.
Chapter Text
He wakes before his alarm with a face full of fluff and something wrapped around his bicep. It takes a few seconds for his brain to catch up, and when it does, he quashes the disappointment that Paul didn’t miraculously lose the paws and tail overnight.
Hugh isn’t quite sure what to do with Paul sprawled over him like a living scarf, and does his best to roll slowly onto his side in the hopes he’ll slide off. The bonelessness particular to cats seems to win out though, and all that happens is he ends up with his nose under a pair of very furry balls. Groaning, he gives in and bodily pries Paul off his face.
”Babe?”
The tail tightens as Paul wakes up, yawning and stretching. He makes a sleepy hum of greeting, baring his teeth and tongue.
”Morning love.”
Cat or not, some things don’t change. Paul retrieves his tail and he burrows his way under the pillow, making noises of displeasure.
”All right,” Hugh mutters, “I get it.”
Paul’s still sound asleep when he leaves for his run, snoring when he gets back and goes to take a shower. It’s a surprise then, to find him sitting on the floor when Hugh opens the door again, PADD at his feet.
Hungry.
The first disagreement of the morning is over coffee. Specifically, Hugh refusing to let Paul have any, which is apparently cruel and unusual punishment. He does try to make up for it by not offering cat food, instead replicating a breakfast big enough to share. Paul’s still giving his cafe con leche longing looks when Hugh gets up again to recycle the dishes, flat on his belly in the middle of the table.
Hugh lets it be, and dresses quickly. He kisses Paul’s ears and heads for the door, only to find that he’s being followed.
”Where are you going?”
”Mrrrowwwww.”
Paul drops the PADD from between his teeth.
The lab. Need to run tests on those spores.
”I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
It’s not like they’ll turn me into a cat again. What am I supposed to do, sit here all day?
”I thought you’d be glad to sleep,” Hugh sighs, “you never liked mornings.”
I’ll be fine, Hugh.
”What if we get Adira over here to keep you company?”
Paul makes a sound that’s surprisingly similar to an annoyed huff.
I need them in the lab with me to help figure this out. Same with Tilly.
“You’re going to get stepped on. I-“
Swish
Both of them turn when Adira lets themself in.
”Umm. Hi?”
Tell Hugh he’s worrying too much.
”What?”
”Paul wants to go to the lab.”
”Oh,” Adira shrugs, “so did I, I was coming to get you.”
See?
”What if something happens?”
They shift their weight from one foot to the other.
”I mean, Tilly is gonna be there. And probably Book, because we need Grudge to check the conditions.”
Hugh knows that stubborn look on his partner, and groans.
”Will you at least take your commbadge?”
Paul taps away again.
I don’t think my uniform is going to fit.
”What about an equipment belt?”
”Too big probably. Actually, hang on…”
He retrieves Paul’s badge from the table on his way over. It takes just a few seconds at the replicator, then he kneels down with the item in both hands, reaching out to buckle it on.
“Mrrroowwww!”
“It won’t hurt.”
I’M NOT WEARING A COLLAR.
He’s generally immune to the Stamets stare, but coming from a cat is almost too much.
”Babe…it’s to keep you safe.”
Paul’s tail lashes back and forth and he glares up at Hugh.
NO.
The combination of a hiss and Paul batting the collar away lands square in the middle of the frayed nerves he’s been mostly successfully ignoring.
”Adira,” Hugh turns to the third party in the room who’s trying valiantly to pretend they’re looking out the viewport, “would you excuse us?”
Without waiting for a response, he hefts Paul and the PADD and marches into the bathroom.
Chapter 339: Shapeshift, Part Ten
Summary:
Paul and Hugh have had a lot of conversations at the bathroom mirror, but this one is new.
Notes:
The next installment of cat!Paul heads back towards serious.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul manages to look both surprised at the sudden location change and indignant when Hugh deposits him on the bathroom counter. He glowers, fur fluffed nearly on end and a growl rumbling with each exhale, ears laid back. Heaving a sigh, Hugh faces the wall and taps his commbadge.
"Culber to Pollard."
"Morning, Hugh. Don't suppose you want to bring me a cup of coffee on your way in?"
"There's a replicator in the office, Trace," he feels some of the tension leaving him at the sound of her voice, "you can get it yourself."
"I figured since you were coming from breakfast, you might as well. Oh well."
"I'm probably going to be late, something came up with Paul."
There's a pause, then-
"Please tell me you're cleaning up a hairball or something, not that you're telling me ahead of time that you two are...actually, never mind. I don't want to know."
"He's a cat, Trace."
"Like that's going to stop you. Wait-" her tone changes from long-suffering to concerned, "is something wrong?"
"Mrroowwww!"
"We just need to have a conversation."
Her sigh filters through clearly.
"Got it. Come in when you're done, then. I guess I'll have to get my own coffee. Pollard out."
The raw edges of his nerves feel less like they've been rubbed with sandpaper when he turns back to the counter. Paul still looks displeased, although he's now sitting on the edge of the sink, fur smoothed out. His tail twitches restlessly, and Hugh sinks down until he’s sitting on the floor instead of looming overhead.
"First of all, I love you. Second,” he braces his elbows on his bent knees, “would you please stop and think about this from my perspective?"
Paws tap away.
You’re being overprotective.
“You’re a cat, babe, I think I’m entitled to a very valid concern about what you’d do if something happens. All of the things as humans we handle? Even activating the turbolift when you don’t have hands or a voice, it’s not going to work.”
He doesn’t add ‘did you think of that?’, but it hangs unspoken between them.
”Plus, we don’t know if…whatever did this is stable, or anything. I’ve half a mind to bring you to the medbay with me just in case.”
Paul visibly bristles - and isn’t it so much more obvious when his hackles rise? - letting out a meow that’s distinctly affronted.
“Just…” Hugh drops his face into his hands, “I can’t imagine how frustrated you must be right now, and yes I’m being overly cautious. I honestly don’t know what to do until we figure out what happened. And I want to undo it just as much as you do.”
There’s silence in response. He pinches the bridge of his nose hard between thumb and forefinger, trying to massage away the headache forming behind his eyes.
”Mrrowwww.”
A paw taps his hair gently, and he looks up again.
This is so messed up. What if I’m stuck this way forever?
”I will still love you, no matter what you look like.”
Hugh doesn’t stop to examine that that’s his first thought rather than the dozen other sentiments he could have voiced.
I know.
“If,” he swallows hard, “that’s how it ends up being, then we’ll find a way to make it work. As long as we’re together.”
No more sex, Hugh.
"Well," he tries for levity, "I figured at some point, probably when we're in our nineties, that would stop happening anyway when we can't get it up."
Paul’s ears and tail droop.
Cats don’t live that long.
“Don’t think that,” Hugh shakes his head, “please.”
He lifts his partner off the counter, hugging him close. The soft fur catches on his beard as Paul rubs his face against his cheek, and Hugh closes his eyes, inhaling that familiar scent until the little body starts squirming.
”Babe?”
A paw flails in the direction of the counter, waving until he retrieves the PADD.
We have got to come up with a better way of communicating.
I want to kiss you. And hold you.
”I know sweetheart,” he cradles Paul in his arms, “we’ll find a way to fix it, I promise.”
Notes:
Apologies for the break in posting - I took the weekend off for my birthday (it’s pouring rain so I didn’t go anywhere) and to get some housework done.
Chapter 340: Shapeshift, Part Eleven
Chapter Text
Thankfully, Discovery doesn’t need her CMO for the ten minutes he spends in the bathroom talking to a cat.
It sounds like a setup for a bad joke.
When they emerge from the bathroom, Adira is exchanging text messages on their tri-comm at what should be an alarmingly fast rate of typing at this hour.
“Tilly and Book are already in the lab working. Umm, should I let them know we’re on our way?”
They're drinking what smells like a sugared espresso concoction from an oversized mug, and Hugh resists the urge to remind them about the deleterious effects of too much caffeine. As they set it down on the table, Hugh feels the paws braced on his arm tense and promptly gets a good grip on Paul’s tail.
”No.”
“No?”
”Sorry, I meant no caffeine for cats. No matter how much the human inside it thinks he should be drinking it.”
Paul tries to squirm free, although Hugh suspects it's more for show than anything.
”Ggggrrrrrmmmggglll.”
He gives up trying to get away a few attempts later, but Hugh doesn’t relax his hold until Adira recycles the mug.
"So..."
“I’m taking him to the medbay for a full scan, then we’ll both meet you in the lab.”
“Okay.”
Swish.
Hugh sets Paul and his PADD on the table long enough to retrieve his badge - and discarding the offending collar - turning it over in his palm.
"I know you don't want the collar, but we have to have a way to keep this with you. There might be a way to get it to at least recognize you so you can use the PADD there, but I'm not sure."
Paul's ears flick forward, whiskers twitching.
"I wonder though...hang on."
The drawers in their closet could use sorting, and Hugh mentally files it away on his list of Things to Bring Up When Paul Complains Hugh Doesn't Pay Enough Attention to Being Neat. He considers and discards the phaser holster (too unwieldy), a medical scanner pocket (wrong shape), and a utility pouch (too large). Paul winds his way between Hugh's ankles as he goes back through the contents of the drawer one more time, trying to imagine the familiar equipment in different configurations.
"Hmmm."
This could work.
"Mrrowww?"
He studies the phaser holster again, this one from the field kit meant to be secured to the thigh at two points. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he fiddles with the setup, detaching the holster itself and untangling the straps. They're durable, adjustable, have a little bit of give to them, and most importantly, are already designed to allow a badge to be attached.
Perfect.
"Let me try something?"
Hugh pats the sheets next to him, and Paul climbs up.
"Just stand there for a minute, babe."
Frowning, he opens all of the clasps, turns the collection of straps ninety degrees, then does up the buckles beneath each leg before snapping the connectors in place. A bit of adjusting later, and Paul's wearing a slightly oversized but serviceable harness that doesn't seem likely to come off. Lastly, he affixes Paul's badge to the strap running across his chest.
"Is it too loose? Too tight?"
Paul tugs at the straps with his teeth, wiggles his shoulders, then rolls on the mattress. When he stands up again, everything is still in place.
"Perfect."
Hugh forbears commenting on his partner grooming his ruffled fur back into place.
"Ready?"
"Mrrowww."
No one seems the least bit surprised to see Hugh walking through the corridors with a cat. He gets the usual nods in greeting and, much to his surprise, more than one nonchalant 'good morning, sir' clearly directed to the large ginger tabby in his arms.
Word spreads fast.
The medbay is empty when he gets there, save for Tracy working at one of the consoles.
“Morning Hugh. Paul.”
Tracy already has yesterday’s scan of Paul-as-a-cat up alongside the one on file and what turns out to be a sample from Grudge.
”Any luck?”
”Well,” she raises an eyebrow as Hugh absently brushes off a few ginger hairs clinging to his sleeve, “at least he doesn’t seem to have a genetic disposition towards any feline ailments.”
He sets Paul down on the console, balancing the PADD beside him.
Really not planning to be stuck like this long enough for that to be an issue.
Hugh squints at the schematic, zooming in on a few portions.
"Well, the base pairs have been swapped but the RNA primer is the same. Huh."
He gets an absent nod in response. Long experience tells him it's not that Tracy isn't listening, but that she's working something out in her head.
"You have a hypothesis."
"So far it's just a theory..."
Beside him, Paul eyes the stool that's been pushed back about two feet from the console.
"It's more than we had yesterday."
“Horizontal gene transfer.”
”…from the tardigrade DNA in Paul’s genetic structure?”
”My guess is that it's some sort of DNA virus for lack of a better term. Except it must have picked up some of Grudge’s DNA first, enough to cause ‘cat’ when it affected Paul.”
Thump.
Paul misjudges the hop and misses the stool completely, landing on the floor in an indignant heap. Hugh is very careful not to smile as he picks his partner up and sets him on the stool with his PADD before returning to the conversation.
"So much for cats always landing on their feet."
Tracy's comment earns her a hiss, and she shrugs.
"What's stopping it from continuing to exchange genetic material?"
"That's the question," she sighs, "I can't pinpoint what activates the virus, or the parameters it uses. And I might be totally wrong."
"Paul?"
Doesn't sound impossible.
"Thanks for the ringing endorsement."
No, seriously. The way you explained it isn't impossible, especially the tardigrade DNA. I just don't know what was in those spores that made it happen.
"Do we have a sample?"
Hugh nods.
"Down in the lab. Tilly and Adira and Book are working on it. I want to get a full scan of Paul, then we'll head down too."
Turning to the nearest biobed, Tracy calls up the instrument panel and taps in a few commands. As she works, Hugh can see a smirk forming.
"What?"
"You know, back in the twenty-first century when they used to use radiotracers and dyes to illuminate organ function?"
Lifting Paul off the stool, he sets him on the biobed.
"Yeah."
"The scanning modality was positron emission tomography. PET."
Paul doesn't hesitate before tapping at the PADD.
I hate you.
Notes:
Sorry LadyRiona, I couldn't *quite* get a miniature uniform for cat!Paul :P
I completely did not intend for this to be a series of its own, but uhh, you try saying no to a ginger tabby.
Chapter 341: Stop
Summary:
“No” is always an acceptable answer.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“-fuck...mmmhhhnnnhh…sweetheart, you’re so- oh! So hot.”
Paul’s fairly certain he heard that correctly, although it’s completely possible that his brain has short-circuited. He and Hugh are a tangle of limbs and clothing - one sock barely hanging onto his toes, Hugh’s shirt caught around his neck with one arm still in its sleeve, Paul’s pants around his knees - undressing becoming far less important than satisfying the hunger pulsing deep in his pelvis.
“…fuck me…”
His whole body is on fire as he thrusts into Hugh’s oh-so-clever hand, his own wedged between Hugh’s half-undone fly and a wall of hard muscle. Fingers tug on his hair, hold his head at the perfect angle for their mouths to fuse. He knows he’s moaning too loudly, but Hugh only works him faster.
”That- mmmuhh,” Hugh murmurs into his lips, “that can be uhhh…arranged.”
He barely registers the words, finally succeeding in getting Hugh’s pants out of the way to allow full access, palm slick with the evidence of desire. Paul’s getting close, he can feel it, hardly notices it when Hugh releases his head and shoves his hand down the back of the boxers Paul is somehow still wearing.
It’s good, it’s so good, it’s-
Hugh’s almost far enough gone that he doesn’t recognize the slight tensing when his fingertip teases a very sensitive spot. At first, he writes it off as Paul’s usual inability to hold still, the way he gets so deliciously squirmy when he’s fully aroused. The second time, he’s interrupted by Paul’s legs shifting against the hopelessly rucked-up covers. He tries again a moment later, but…
”Wai-“ he gasps into Paul’s mouth, “h-hang on…fuck! Time out.”
There’s a rather obscene smack as their lips separate.
”Are you,” Hugh pauses for a breath, “do you not want me to…?”
“…whuh?”
Paul’s appreciation of directness is occasionally frustrating, but he’s grateful for it here.
”You keep moving. Should I not play with your ass?”
Paul looks almost drunk, face flushed and eyes glazed, but there’s just the tiniest bit of defensiveness.
”What? It’s fine, go ahead.”
He deliberately glides his finger further down and-
That’s a definite flinch, even if Paul tries to cover it by kicking his one remaining sock off. Hugh retrieves the hand from the back of his lover’s pants, and wonders how to word his question.
Just ask, the worst thing that could happen is he rolls his eyes and gets annoyed you thought that.
”Babe…you know you can say no to me, right?”
For a moment, Paul’s open mouth forms a perfect O-shape, as if that’s the last thing he expected to hear.
“What? Wh- of course. Obviously.”
That’s not terribly convincing, and Hugh reluctantly disengages his other hand. Somehow, a conversation about consent doesn’t seem appropriate while holding an erection.
”Paul-“
”I mean,” Paul gives a short laugh, “didn’t I say no when you wanted waffles for breakfast today?”
He did, but that’s completely not the point.
Chewing his lower lip, Hugh strips off the shirt and pants and climbs under the covers, holding out his arms. Paul doesn’t hesitate to follow, and he pulls him into his arms until they’re sharing the pillow.
”I’m talking about in the bedroom. Or wherever else we’re having sex.”
That draws an upward quirk of the lips, given their propensity to jump each other in other places.
”Okay?”
”You know you can say no,” Hugh presses on, “to me for anything. And you don’t have to tell me why, but it helps so I understand and don’t do it again.”
“You were into it.”
That’s not an answer. It could sound dismissive or sarcastic, but instead Paul’s earnestness tugs at his heart.
”Would you expect me to just go along with it if I wasn’t enjoying myself?”
”Of course not.”
”So…”
Paul looks away, the pink in his cheeks returning.
”I- I’m just not really in the mood for that tonight. I don’t know why, it’s not something you did, I just…don’t want to.”
“Okay.”
”…are you sure?”
”It’s about what we both want, sweetheart. And if you’re not in the mood, then we don’t have to do that. Did you,” he wracks his brain for an explanation, “think I’d get mad at you for that?”
A head shake.
”It’s stupid.”
”It’s not stupid.”
”Does that mean you still want to?”
”Love, you’re here in bed with me, not twenty light years away and on the other side of a screen. Of course I want to.”
Paul tips his chin up for a kiss, sweeter than the ones of a few minutes ago. Then he makes a noise of distaste when the skin of his belly sticks to Hugh’s boxers.
”Umm. Shower?”
“Shower.”
Following him into the bathroom, Hugh smiles.
We’re good.
Notes:
Consent and communication are sexy as hell.
Chapter 342: Somnolence
Summary:
Five places Paul and Hugh fall asleep.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
One: Their bed
“Love?”
“…mmuhh nuhhhh…”
Hugh chuckles fondly and doesn’t bother trying to get Paul to repeat what he’s muttered into the pillow. He tugs the covers up higher and snuggles close, Paul’s heartbeat beneath his hand.
Two: Starfleet Medical
Tracy cracks her knuckles, sighing at the release of tension. Kicking her boots off, she slouches into the armchair with a groan. She’d much rather be asleep in her own bed, but the on-call room will have to do because no one is awake enough to make it home. Even T’Vala looks a bit worn at the edges, the Rigellian measles running them ragged for forty hours.
Across from her, Hugh seems to have passed out while in the process of taking off his jacket, one arm still in its sleeve and the fabric bunched between his side and the couch arm. Paul’s marginally more awake - he’d been helping out in the lab while they analyzed and tried to stay ahead of the newest mutation - but the only thing he seems capable of is blinking owlishly in her general direction. As she watches, he slumps further down, one arm wrapped around Hugh’s thigh.
She has just enough energy left to give T’Vala a tired smile before blessed sleep claims her too.
Three: The holodeck
“Commander?”
Hugh glances up to find Tilly sticking her head past the tent flap, hair a tangled halo of red curls.
“You know you can call him Paul,” he reminds her gently. “Everything okay?”
”Yeah. Adira and I just had this idea, but…” Tilly’s nose wrinkles as Paul murmurs something into Hugh’s neck and cuddles closer, “we can wait.”
”Okay.”
He stifles a yawn, but he needn’t have bothered when Tilly gives a jaw-cracking one of her own.
“Night, Doc- Hugh.”
”Goodnight, Tilly.”
The tent flap closes, and Hugh drops his head back down on the pillow. Their sleeping bag is warm and cozy, the holodeck programmed to simulate a crisp winter night. Kissing Paul’s forehead, he rests his cheek against his hair and falls asleep with a smile.
Four: Aida’s house
Conversation has died down past midnight, no few members of the Culber family having wearily climbed the stairs to find their beds and one of Hugh’s uncles snoring intermittently in the armchair next to the fireplace. For his part, Paul is concentrating so much on trying to stay awake that it takes him longer than it should have to realize that Hugh and his cousin Mina are no longer discussing Christmas decorations. Mina seems to have drifted off curled against one of the oversized floor pillows, and Hugh himself with a mug still in the hand not tucked beneath the hem of Paul’s shirt.
He’s going to drop that.
He can’t seem to summon up the energy to move though, courtesy of good food, even better conversation, and no little rum-spiked cider. While he’s thinking about it, an age-worn hand appears, plucking the mug from Hugh’s loose grip.
“Sleep,” Aida’s voice is full of something he can’t identify but fills his stomach with contentment, “Christmas won’t come if you’re awake.”
Paul considers protesting that he’s an adult, but the holiday experience with Hugh’s family is magical in a way he never knew growing up.
“G’night, Abuela,” he manages as she covers Mina with a blanket.
”Goodnight, Paul.”
His eyes grow too heavy to stay open. The fire crackles away merrily, Hugh’s arms are around him, and there’s no place he’d rather be.
Five: Deneva
He said yes.
Paul’s body is languid with the aftermath of their second round of lovemaking, but his heart feels light enough to take flight. He’s still sweaty, sore, and sticky, but none of that bothers him tonight. Above them, the stars twinkle in the endless sky, illuminating his boyfri-
Not just that.
…his partner’s beautiful form where he’s napping in Paul’s embrace.
Love, he decides, is even better than you ever imagined it could be.
Notes:
Finally trying to pick up my other multi-chapter works again! If you’d like to read an alternate ending to “Such Sweet Sorrow”, head on over to Chapter 6 of Paths Not Taken.
Chapter 343: Shapeshift, Part Twelve
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
”Jett, he’s not actually a cat.”
Reno takes a bite of the licorice inhabiting one side of her mouth and flicks open her tri-comm, scanning.
”Mmm, tricorder says he is though.”
Book pulls a device out of his pocket that looks like it’s cobbled together from Starfleet, Emerald Chain, and some bits of tech that he can’t identify. He passes it through the containment field into the workspace - because no one wants to risk the spores activating again - where it generates a vaguely purple glow, chittering as he scans. Beside him, Tilly and Adira are busy staring at a molecular analysis of the spores, oblivious to everything and everyone else.
”Fancy that.”
Reno taps her wrist to activate a small laser pointer, waving it on the console in front of them.
Paul glares.
”Well bobcat, looks like I’m prescient. Actually scratch that, that word sounds so presumptuous. Like something you’d say,” she ignores the hiss the comment evokes, “but I’m not wrong.”
Eyes narrowing, Paul arches his back and puffs his fur out.
”Oh, he doesn’t like that Reno,” Booker comments dryly, “might want to cut back now that he actually might bite you.”
From her perch on Tilly’s console, Grudge surveys the scene with an air of superior disinterest as Paul deflates a little and walks stiffly over to the PADD.
I wouldn’t bite her, she probably tastes terrible.
Instead of any offense, Reno chuckles.
”Oh man, this is good, Stamets. You finally can’t talk back. I bet the doc appreciates that now.”
Hugh decides to keep his mouth shut, even though he’d like to point out how much he misses that voice.
I still don’t like you.
”Feeling’s still mutual. But I am willing to help fix that communication problem of yours, if you ask nicely.”
Baring his teeth, Paul abruptly stops typing and sits on the PADD.
“-still grumpy? Got something that might fix that.”
Eyebrows raised, Hugh isn’t sure what to make of that tone of voice. For his part, Paul watches Reno open her utility case, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
”Here.”
She takes out a small, brightly colored fabric bundle. Hugh can’t pick up anything besides a faint minty aroma with a hint of cut grass, but as Reno bounces it in her palm a couple of times, Paul’s nose twitches.
“Jett…”
”Don’t worry, it’s harmless.”
Reno waves it back and forth, and Paul stands, whiskers quivering and gaze fixed on the bundle. His tail swishes back and forth languidly, and Hugh can see Paul’s pupils dilate from two meters away.
“What are you…“
Reno sets the object down in front of him and takes a step back, arms crossed. Paul sniffs at the bundle, then abruptly flattens himself on his belly, rubbing his face on it before rolling onto his back with it clutched between his paws. A rolling purr fills the room, hind legs kicking as he licks it, body twisting in sinuous waves. It reminds Hugh of Paul’s overstimulated post-orgasm squirming, which is actually fairly disturbing.
”Paul?”
He starts forward, intent on rescuing him, when Reno catches his sleeve.
“It won’t hurt him.”
”What,” he keeps one eye on Paul, now gnawing at the object, “exactly is ‘it’?”
“Nepeta cataria.”
Booker looks up from his scanner.
“Catnip?”
“Mmhmm. Looks like Crankypants - or is that Crankypaws now? - is enjoying it too.”
Adira tosses something from their model over to where Hugh is running simulations on genetic transfers, but he’s too distracted to see what it is. Paul’s now sprawled over the console, PADD forgotten and blinking slowly, tail dangling from the edge.
”Paul?”
”Relax, doc. He’s finally gotten that stick out of his-“
”Eww,” Adira calls over, not looking up as Tilly manipulates sections of code.
It’s against all of his instincts to leave Paul with something so obviously mood-altering, but no matter how much his partner and Reno went at it, he knows she’s probably not going to do anything actually dangerous.
Hopefully.
She retrieves the PADD from under Paul’s boneless form, then plucks the badge off his harness.
”My wife loved cats. Used to say they were the only animals more ornery than me. Can’t say she was wrong.”
”Did you have any?”
”What, cats?”
”Yeah.”
”A few.”
The quirk of the lips she gives him is supposed to be a smile, but there’s still a tinge of sadness.
”Sorry,” Hugh murmurs, “I didn’t mean to-“
“Hey Red,” she raises her voice and waves the PADD in the air, “share the scan of Stamets?”
Tilly sends it over, and Reno opens a palm-sized folder to reveal a set of microtools.
”Why aren’t you just programming it to cross reference?” Book asks when Reno selects a chip from her utility case and starts poking at it. “Would be easier.”
”Nope. See, if I do that-“ Reno calls up the interface and Hugh winces at the high frequency alarm, “it still expects him to be human.”
Genetic mutation detected, medical alert flashes over the display until Reno collapses it back in.
”Ahh,” Book shrugs, “hadn’t thought of that.”
“This,” she taps the chip, “should override any of the ship’s sensors so they recognize him now.”
Reno attaches the chip to Paul’s harness, then replaces the badge. Paul lifts a paw, but there doesn’t seem to be any intent behind it as he drops it again a moment later. He’s facing Hugh, eyes seemingly focused on the middle distance and catnip forgotten on the deck. Hugh carefully picks Paul up, made more challenging by the way all four paws are waving in different directions.
”Thank you.”
”Yep.”
”Paul?”
He supports Paul’s lolling head with his free hand, unsure if he’s even being heard.
”Mmrrrooorrrruuummmmgggrrrrllll.”
”Still high,” Reno chuckles, “it’ll wear off soon. I’m out.”
”Wait,” he sighs as Paul starts suckling on the tip of his thumb, “where are you going?”
”I’m thinking Jefferies tube eleven-gamma. Should be far enough away when he sobers up.”
Notes:
Adira and Tilly are mostly busy science-ing, and also might be avoiding the awkwardness of the situation because their parental figure is now a stoned cat.
I hope this doesn’t disappoint. The catnip will very likely make another appearance later…
Chapter 344: Salacious
Notes:
Umm. A little filthier (in a good way!) than I usually post in this series. AKA, just over 1,000 words where Hugh feeds his oral fixation on Paul’s ass - please skip if that’s not your cup of tea.
Chapter Text
Hugh’s not expecting any reaction in particular - although he’s very much hoping for a pleased one - the first time he lets his tongue wander down the cleft of Paul’s perfect ass.
What he gets is the husky moaning cut off by a surprisingly high-pitched cry, the thighs resting on his shoulders spasming as Paul jerks like he’s been hit with an electrical shock, legs flailing.
Fuck.
Pulling back in alarm, Hugh sits back on his heels, rests a careful hand on Paul’s knee, and tries to figure out what just happened. His lover is still spread out over Hugh’s bed (and isn’t that just a sight that’s going to live in his fantasies), but his arms are splayed wide, fingers clutching the sheets and eyes screwed shut.
”Sweetheart?”
A moment passes, then Paul’s eyes open and he looks…embarrassed?
”…umm.”
”Are you okay? Do you not like- should I not do that?”
A glance downward shows that he’s still gloriously aroused, which allays some of Hugh’s fears.
Not that an erection is a foolproof indicator.
Color floods Paul’s already flushed cheeks.
“No! I mean. I uhh, liked it. That.”
There’s a ‘but’ hanging in the air, and Hugh waits for him to continue.
”Err. Just, no one’s ever done that before?”
Paul’s experience in bed is less than Hugh’s, but still…
”Really?”
”I mean, why would they?”
Hugh’s thoughts screech to a halt. It’s not a conversation that should accompany Paul’s legs in the air, so he nudges his knees down and climbs up until he’s propped on an elbow at Paul’s side.
”Because it feels good? And your ass is…” he searches for a word that isn’t going to be somewhat obscene, “well.”
”Well?”
He gives up trying to be eloquent.
”You’re gorgeous, sweetheart. And I’ve been wanting to bury my face in it.”
Paul blinks at him, mouth slightly open. Hugh can almost see him replaying the last sentence in his head.
”Why?”
“You know how I like things in my mouth?”
That gets a nod and a tiny smile.
”I’m not complaining.”
“I like giving head,” Hugh smiles only a little self-consciously, “front or back.”
”I see.”
Hugh would ask what kind of guy who’s been lucky enough to be naked with Paul and hasn’t bothered to do that, but they’ve established that already. He sighs internally at the reminder of just how disappointing Paul’s other lovers have been. That’s neither here nor there though, and not worth thinking about when he has a chance to make up for all of that.
”Are you weirded out by it?”
Eyes narrowing, Paul takes a good twenty seconds to think about it. Hugh doesn’t press, just tangles their fingers together and uses his thumb to rub circles on the palm of his hand.
”Nooo…just, I don’t know?”
”Would you like to try again? We don’t have to.”
The thought of it makes his groin tighten, but he’s more than happy to devote his mouth to other areas if Paul doesn’t want to continue.
“You really want to?”
“Love,” he chuckles, “I’ve jerked off imagining the sounds you’d make with my tongue up your ass.”
”Oh. Ohhh.”
”Mmhmm.”
”Okay.”
”You’re sure?”
”Yes.”
There’s the Stamets decisiveness he’s grown to love, in bed and out of it.
“Turn over for me then? It might be easier this way.”
He releases Paul’s hand with a kiss to the inside of his wrist, waiting for him to roll onto his stomach.
“Is this…?”
”Mmm, not quite.”
Hugh guides Paul’s hips up until he’s kneeling on the bed, face and shoulders resting on the pillow. Then he retrieves another pillow, tucking it beneath Paul’s stomach. He urges his knees just a bit further apart, then presses gently on his lower back until Paul arches.
Oh fuck.
It’s one of the most erotic sights in the universe, Paul ass up and waiting for Hugh to pleasure him. He traces his fingers up the backs of his pale thighs, then lets them wander down to give Paul’s half-hard erection some attention. Hugh continues stroking until his lover is panting into the pillow, then shuffles a few inches closer. He tucks his thumbs into the cleft and spends a moment just taking in the view before leaning down for a long lick.
”Okay?”
Paul moans.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
He starts with delicate licks, just letting Paul get used to the sensation. They’re met with increasingly louder moans as he nibbles and flicks and Paul rubs himself on the pillow beneath him. When he thinks Paul is relaxed enough, Hugh uses the tip of his tongue to press inwards just a little.
“Fuck! Ohhh mmmm…Hugh…”
The speed of Paul’s pillow humping increases, and he pushes back against Hugh’s mouth. Hugh hums, and is rewarded with a louder cry. A minute later, he thrusts his tongue deeper, seals his lips on the tender skin, and sucks.
Paul lets out an obscene moan that ends on a whimper and comes all over the pillow. Hugh doesn’t let up, intent on pleasuring him to the fullest, feeling the aftershocks on his tongue as he wiggles it until Paul collapses down onto the bed.
”Mmmmmmhhhhhnnnnn…”
His own erection has been mostly ignored, so he wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand and gives himself a few good pulls. Paul doesn’t seem to be capable of moving, just lets out another breathy moan when Hugh uses his free hand to spread him open again. The sight of Paul’s ass slick with spit goes straight to his balls, and there’s no pulling back from the edge.
”Fuck, sweetheart, I’m going to- I'm coming…”
Hugh spills hot over his own hand, over Paul’s ass. It feels like it goes on forever, and when it’s finally left him weak, he slumps down, head resting below Paul’s shoulder blades.
”Wow.”
He wraps his arms around Paul’s waist, heedless of the mess between and beneath them.
”Yeah.”
They stay like that, breathing slowly returning to normal. Eventually, Paul squirms his way around until they’re face to face.
”Thank you.”
”What?”
Paul doesn’t elaborate, just captures his mouth in a kiss that lingers, no reluctance even given where Hugh’s mouth has just been. When he pulls back, Hugh huffs a quiet laugh.
”Hugh?”
”Mmm, just happy. I’d ask if you enjoyed yourself, but…yeah.”
That earns him a giggle.
”We are definitely doing this again.”
Chapter 345: Sublime, Part One
Notes:
Short and sweet.
Chapter Text
Hugh waxes poetic over Paul’s creamy pale thighs, their skin almost translucent over the tracery of blue-green veins beneath.
He pets and strokes them, licks and bites and happily rubs his cheek there, beard catching on the thick blond hair.
He showers them with kisses, stopping to pay them court when he needs to catch his breath while going down on his partner.
When Hugh’s gazing at him with ardent admiration, the affection shining in his eyes, Paul feels as beautiful as Hugh says he is.
Chapter 346: Sublime, Part Two
Chapter Text
Paul is full of sharp rejoinders, quick with a verbal volley and detailed in his explanations. He’s also rendered speechless by Hugh’s body, clever tongue gone clumsy as it stumbles over the words to describe him. His features are aesthetically pleasing, even and well-formed, but it’s more than his face; it’s the person inhabiting the form that still takes Paul’s breath away.
It's his hands, so gentle and careful or wicked and strong.
It’s his eyes, crinkling at the corners and sparkling with mischief and love, his lips curved into a smile that belongs to Paul alone.
It's those same full lips that kiss him so gently, so passionately, so familiar.
Handsome is too common a term, inadequate when Hugh is so much more.
Gorgeous is Hugh’s word for Paul.
Perfect is ridiculous, because it’s his imperfections that remind Paul how much he loves him.
Hugh is Paul’s, and that means everything.
Chapter 347: Shapeshift, Part Thirteen
Summary:
A quieter intermission.
Notes:
I'm now realizing this probably should have been a standalone series, but uhh, I have way too many of those already.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Even thirty-second century computers, Hugh is mildly surprised to learn, still require processing time if the algorithm is sufficiently complicated. He can just about follow the explanation of the analysis Tilly and Adira programmed in, comparing the structure and properties of the mysterious spores along with Paul's new genetic structure against a database of all known substances while simultaneously cross-referencing scientific publications (Hugh notes with some sadness that they've drastically decreased in frequency in the last century) and case studies from the Starfleet Medical archives, discarding correlations below a certain threshold that's recalculated with each iteration. Adding in Booker's suggestion that they also incorporate Emerald Chain data quadruples the processing time needed, the system simultaneously extracting information and screening it for malicious components.
The genetics and medical science are all within his understanding, but the finer details are far beyond his proficiency.
There's a reason you're a doctor, not an engineer, theoretical or otherwise.
In short, Hugh's left sitting with Paul cradled in his lap while the other three finish up. His partner still appears to be coming down from the catnip, paws occasionally opening and closing and reaching for things in the empty air with his eyes half-closed. The soft purring is a much more pleasant alternative to the distressed mewling that began a few minutes ago, Paul only quieting when Hugh gave him his thumb again. He's slightly concerned about the possibility of being bitten, but thus far Paul seems content to lap at his fingertip, making small satisfied noises as he suckles.
Hugh may have also used his free hand to call up his tricomm interface and take a few holos.
He gives in to temptation and, after a few light touches to make sure Paul doesn't object, rubs his exposed belly. It's something human Paul very much enjoys, even if he gets a little self-conscious at times, and it seems to have carried over to his feline form as well. His new tummy is significantly more furry, and Hugh's fingers wander over the arch of his ribs, scratching beneath the straps of the harness and up under his chin. Paul lets his thumb go, front paws kneading at the front of Hugh's jacket as he burrows his face into his white-clad underarm. The rhythmic motion reminds him of Paul absently fondling his chest, fingers pressing into his pectoral muscles. Paul's warm weight is comforting, and Hugh uses the time to carefully soothe the exposed edges of his own worries with his familiar scent, tucking them away from Dr. Culber's mind to be examined when he's at leisure to do so.
One crisis at a time.
Chapter 348: Shapeshift, Part Fourteen
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The tip of Paul’s tail is twitching, back and forth, back and forth, in the same rhythm as he would normally rub thumb and forefinger together while concentrating. It’s such a habit that Hugh doesn’t really notice anymore, but it’s harder to ignore when the fluffy metronome keeps brushing over his cheek. He’s not sure if Paul’s even aware of where his tail is, raised but draped over Hugh’s shoulder while he’s seated on the console in front of him.
How does it even feel to have a fifth appendage?
Hugh turns an inappropriate chuckle into a cough.
A fifth prehensile limb.
As predicted, when the catnip finally wore off, Paul wasn’t terribly happy. He’d gone from cuddling Hugh and making all sorts of soft purrs to stalking over to the PADD and demanding to know where Reno was. Pointing out that she’d programmed his tricomm to recognize his cat form was only slightly mollifying, and Hugh had hidden his smile at the peevish message he typed out to send.
I take back what I told Book, I think I WILL bite you. That stuff makes psilocybin look mild. I was tasting colors, Reno. When I get my hands back, you’re toast.
That was ten minutes ago. A quick scan showed his vitals returning to normal, and he’d prowled - there was no other word to describe it - across the console to stare at the algorithms blinking across the display. Grudge hadn’t lifted a paw as he passed, although she did sniff at the air in his wake before gracefully leaping off the surface and winding her way between Booker’s shins.
“Doctor? What do you think?”
Tilly’s question brings him back to the present where four pairs of eyes were trained on him, waiting for a reply. Hugh sighs, flicking the diagram over to her while pinching the bridge of his nose before briefly hiding his face in his hands.
“That communication interface works because there’s been centuries of mapping neural networks and we not only know how to tap into the language centers of the brain, but we also know how to translate it. There’s extensive training needed for users too, to make sure their neural pathways connect with the synthetic nerves. I wouldn’t even know where to start with a feline brain, and even if we found the right place to make connections, it would take weeks to program the output.”
Paul’s ears droop, and he lets out a very human sigh.
So I’m stuck doing this.
”For now,” Hugh shrugs, “I don’t know what might be possible besides that.”
Adira’s nose scrunches up, then they turn their head to have a muttered conversation with the air beside them. Consulting Gray doesn’t ease the frown, but it turns thoughtful in a way that Hugh hopes will end up in another of their brilliant leaps of innovation.
Paul stands, turning and prodding Hugh with his nose.
”Mmm?”
A paw gestures at the deck. He lifts Paul, crouching to carefully set him down. Paul immediately starts heading across the lab, although there’s nothing that direction besides several crates holding specimens.
“Where are you going?”
Paul ignores him, disappearing around the stack. A moment later, the door beside it swishes open and closed again.
Ahh.
At the very least, Paul should be grateful that Reno’s modification is saving him from having to ask Hugh to walk him to the bathroom. When he turns back, it’s to see Book scooping up Grudge and nodding at Tilly and Adira.
”Someone’s hungry,” he pets Grudge’s side, “be back a bit later.”
Tilly gives a distracted hum, still staring at her display as he exits. Since there’s nothing else he can do at the moment, Hugh calls up the medbay logs to review, scrolling through the routine checkups and notes.
Swish.
He looks up from Aisha’s evaluation of a patient’s mysterious kidney dysfunction long enough to see Michael enter and make a beeline for Tilly. They start a conversation about their findings that Hugh eventually tunes out, adding his own recommendation for synthesizing a new organ if they can’t identify the source of the issue.
“Actually-“
Hugh starts at the loud hiss and sudden ginger blur in his peripheral vision right before something collides with his ankles.
”Uhh…”
Michael is frozen in the act of bending down, hands outstretched awkwardly towards the floor and a confused expression on her face.
”I guess he doesn’t like being picked up.”
He can feel Tilly’s side eye - she had carried Paul into the room from the larger biology lab - and does his best to pretend he doesn’t see her elbow Adira whose mouth snaps shut.
“Not at the moment,” he manages with a neutral expression that even surprises himself, “don’t worry about it.”
A tail thumps against his shin, and he casually drops a hand under the console, letting it twine around his wrist. Now’s not the time to talk about it, but he suspects they’ll need to have a conversation later. At some point, if they don’t get Paul changed back soon, Michael’s going to notice someone else carrying him. It might not even register for her, but she’s observant enough that he thinks it’s more likely that she’ll pick up on it.
For now, he waits until Michael is busy talking to Adira before lifting Paul up onto the stool beside him and going back to his work.
Chapter 349: Steady
Summary:
Quiet thoughts.
Chapter Text
Hugh has plenty to say about connection from the hours and days and weeks spent at one remove from his own feelings and memories.
Disconnect is terrifying, the basic framework of defining oneself gone like stepping off the stairs into an abyss.
Connection isn’t in the dramatic or showy, it’s the little moments that are touch-points between bigger things.
It’s handing a hypospray to Tracy and knowing exactly how she turns her palm to receive it.
It’s waking up beside Paul and watching his partner sleep, hair pillow-mussed and drooling just a little.
It’s holding hands in the turbolift, having lunch with their ankles crossed beneath the table, showering together without worrying about stray elbows and knees.
It’s Adira resting their head on his shoulder during movie night, a counterpoint to Paul cuddled against his other side.
It’s laying in bed with Paul half on top of him, limbs entwined, occasionally trading soft kisses but otherwise silent. Paul has one hand under Hugh’s pajama top, fingers following a familiar idle path over his stomach, tracing each muscle before starting over again. They’re breathing in sync, and he can feel Paul’s heartbeat against the right side of his ribs, steady and strong.
Just like Paul.
Hugh could drift like this forever, content and whole.
Connected.
Chapter 350: Steady, Part Two
Chapter Text
Paul’s hair is so soft between his fingers, the fine strands tickling his palm. It’s a pleasant enough sensation, but what’s even better is the content hum that rumbles against his throat when he gently scratches. The sound seems to slow everything else down, his body sinking further into the bed, completely relaxed. He’s not tired or dozing, but his awareness blurs at the edges, anything beyond their bed receding into the background.
Some time later, Paul squirms a little in Hugh’s embrace. It takes a moment to find his words, to make his mouth cooperate and do something besides kissing.
”Babe?”
The restless motion stops.
”Hmm?”
Paul raises his head, and there’s nothing amiss in his expression. Hugh wonders if Paul might simply have had an itch somewhere. He’s warm and content with Paul’s arms around him, and the thought melts out of his mind when lips begin to nibble at his neck.
”Nothing.”
He kisses Paul’s forehead and goes back to floating blissfully on the rasp of stubble against his throat. Paul smells so good, his scent even stronger here in their bed. They should probably change the sheets, but he enjoys the heady rush of inhaling deeply and breathing in both of them together.
A few minutes later, Paul makes a quietly displeased noise, barely a vocalization at all. His petting of Hugh’s stomach comes to a halt, and he shifts his hips.
”Hugh?”
”Yes?”
He contemplates asking Paul to take his shirt off so they can cuddle bare-chested.
”Umm.”
Another wiggle.
“Are we done with cuddling?”
Hugh lets the question trail upwards and off, a bemused half smile on his face. It doesn’t happen often, but once in a while his lover gets too twitchy to be held for long. If that’s the case, Hugh will be a little disappointed, but as long as they’re still sleeping beside each other, he’ll be fine.
A sigh.
”I want to snuggle.”
”But?”
Paul peers at him sidewise, as if unsure of Hugh’s response. He waits patiently while Paul’s expression narrates him arguing with himself over whether to say whatever it is. Disclosure seems to win out though, and Paul groans only slightly dramatically.
”…I’m horny.”
That draws a surprised, pleased chuckle out of him.
”Why didn’t you just say so?”
“Because you looked so happy like this.”
”Babe,” Hugh pecks him on the lips, “you know I’m always up for getting off with you.”
Paul scrunches his nose a little, acknowledging the slight ridiculousness.
“Did I mention, I’m also too tired to move much?”
Lazy sex generally requires Hugh being in a certain mood. Lazy - or really any kind of - sex with Paul though, always sounds fantastic. Nothing is stirring below the waist just yet, but a thrill of anticipation sparks in his groin at the thought.
“I think I can help with that,” he steals another kiss, “nothing too wild.”
He leans to the side and stretches his arm out off the bed, fumbling in the nightstand drawer for the lube. As he drops it on the sheets within easy reach, a thought occurs to him.
”Did you want to top?”
Paul leaves off kissing Hugh’s other wrist to consider the question. His breath is hot across the damp skin, lips brushing against his pulse. Really, there’s pleasure to be found in either scenario. Or the third option where they dig further back in the drawer for that new toy they haven’t tried yet, and share-
“Mmm. Next time?”
They roll onto their sides, kicking off their pajama pants, and Hugh hitches Paul’s thigh up to rest on his bare hip.
”Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
”Have I ever mentioned,” Paul curves his hand around Hugh’s jaw, “that it’s also about what you want?”
It’s a familiar bit of teasing that has a grain of truth.
”We’re both in luck, then, because I want to make you feel good. Problem solved.”
More unhurried kisses. Kissing Paul is delicious, knowing the exact way to angle his head so their noses don’t collide, how to part his own lips just enough to entice Paul’s tongue into his mouth. The hand not occupied stroking Hugh’s cheek travels across his chest, slips back under Hugh’s shirt to tickle his navel, then follows the trail of hair as it thickens.
Paul’s grip is sure and firm, not too much right away. A thumb rubs under the tip as he thickens, just this side of gentle. He returns the favor, rubbing the flat of his palm over the underside, and swallows Paul’s moans.
It takes his lover a little longer to get fully hard than it used to. Hugh doesn’t mind though, not when it means he gets to spend more time kissing and caressing. He retreats without complaint when Paul releases Hugh, lets him take over stroking himself while he breaks the kiss to push Paul’s shirt up and tease both nipples with licks and the gentlest of bites.
He’s just so pretty this way, animated face reflecting arousal as Hugh leaves off his chest and starts sucking his fingers. There’s still no sense of urgency even as Hugh rubs himself against Paul’s thigh, damp with sweat. Lazy sex doesn’t necessarily mean drawing things out, but rushing would break the mood.
A hand pressing on his chest gets his attention.
“I want to suck you.”
Hugh licks his lips and gestures downwards.
”Mmmhmm.”
Paul gives him a look from under his eyelashes, and he laughs at the hint, sitting up to straddle Paul’s waist.
”Spoiled.”
“You’re the one about to get his dick sucked, and I’m spoiled?”
The faux-affronted pout melts away as Hugh shuffles further up the sheets until he’s nearly sitting on Paul’s chest. His lover sticks his tongue out and wiggles it, but there’s still a gap of several inches between Paul’s mouth and his erection.
”Am I going to have to do all the work?”
”Well,” Paul huffs, making a big show of stacking another pillow behind his head, “I suppose I could help. You kno- mmmmmmmmm.”
Hugh shuts him up by the simple expedient of rubbing his leaking tip along those bitten-pink lips. He doesn’t immediately shove all the way in; that’s rude, but more importantly, he doesn’t want to startle Paul into biting.
Paul’s mouth is burning hot as ever, tongue teasing his slit. The first suck has Hugh’s eyes falling shut, and he forces them back open. It’s worth it for the sight below him, blond lashes fluttering as Paul concentrates on taking him as deeply as possible. His hand on Hugh’s ass encourages him to thrust just a little, and he maybe loses track of time because Hugh suddenly notices that he’s too close to coming.
”…sweetheart…”
”Mmm?”
The vibration makes him reach down and squeeze himself hard.
”If you want me to do anything else, you should stop.”
”Mmmm.”
He gets one last wet kiss, then sits back on his heels.
“How do you want it?”
Paul wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, then taps Hugh’s hip to move. He rolls onto his stomach, draws up one knee to the side and glances back over his shoulder.
“This. Please?”
Hugh kisses his shoulder, his neck, his temple while he searches for the bottle. It’s made its way under the covers somehow, and he shakes his head even as he thumbs the lid off. He doesn’t bother teasing, not when Paul’s this relaxed, just works him open one finger at a time. When he finally spoons up behind his partner and slips inside, Paul’s breathless moan is as sweet as any aria. Hugh wraps his arms around him, lets Paul adjust himself until he’s comfortable.
Neither of them speak as Hugh moves his hips, as they find a rhythm of rocking together. It’s not a position that lets him pull back much, but it’s perfect for keeping their whole bodies in an embrace. Paul’s sighing into the pillow, whimpers and mewls when Hugh finds his sweet spot and tightening around him in response.
He can feel orgasm approaching not as a tsunami as it sometimes does, but growing closer like the tides rolling in. Reaching down, he finds Paul already there, stroking himself languidly. Hugh smiles into a sweaty shoulder and adds his own hand in counterpoint.
Paul’s frown of concentration, his mouth open and flushed cheeks, push Hugh over the edge first. His hips stutter, trying to get closer when they’re already joined as deeply as possible. Climax washes over him in a full-body shiver, as he empties himself in a few pulses.
“I love you,” he breathes into Paul’s ear when he’s able to speak, “and I want to see you come.”
He’s still hard, still able to give Paul the pleasure of riding back into him while he chases his own release.
“You’re so beautiful,” Hugh murmurs, freeing a hand to flick at a nipple, “and mine.”
A sharp inhale and a drawn-out moan accompany Paul making a mess of the sheets. Hugh fucks him gently through it, until he softens too much and they both sigh as he slips back out.
“Love you too.”
Heedless of sticking to the sheets, Hugh snuggles closer and inhales deeply. The bed smells even more like them now, sweat and sex and love.
It’s perfect.
Notes:
Chapter 350!! I thought some sweet, intimate lovemaking would be appropriate to celebrate.
Chapter 351: Sacrificed
Summary:
Aida has a very difficult conversation with Nella.
Chapter Text
“Nella,” Aida calls quietly once she's read the message for the fifth time, waiting for her great-granddaughter to climb down off the windowseat, “come here for a moment.”
She has the same expressive eyes and curiosity, seeks out the same places that he used to when he was her age. It stings, pain knifing through her chest that has nothing to do with the pacemaker steadily keeping her heart beating.
”Abuelita?”
Aida gestures her closer, feeling every year of the last century in her bones. Frowning, Nella sets down her PADD and crosses the room, and Aida wonders how she went from a leggy child to awkward but self-possessed teenager seemingly overnight.
“Abuela, what’s wrong?”
Ahh. Yes. Her expression right now doesn’t bear considering.
”I need to tell you something.”
Nella freezes.
”You're not...sick-"
”No, I'm fine.”
The afternoon sun lights Aida’s study, glinting off the framed holos lining the walls. One in particular catches her eye, and she swallows down the tightness in her throat, forces calm.
”Discovery,” she takes Nella’s hands, “Discovery is back. It was a classified mission, they weren’t...lost.”
”I knew it!"
The radiant smile she receives settles in her aching shoulders, bitterness at having to crush what should be a moment of joy that the ship was no longer listed as ‘missing’.
“They’re not coming home. Not yet. But,” a deep breath, “something happened. Tío Paul was hurt.”
A heartbeat. Then-
“Tío Hugh can fix him.”
The firm declaration, Nella’s complete surety in her uncle’s skills, cracks the dam holding back Aida’s grief and she feels a tear slipping down her cheek.
”Abuela!” Nella’s eyes are wide with alarm, “what-“
Aida shakes her head, feels Nella set the hover chair’s brakes with her foot and drop to her knees in front of her.
”...Nellita, Tío Hugh is gone.”
”Gone?”
She freezes, not even breathing
”Your uncle. Something happened while they were missing. He’s- they couldn't save him.“
Nella leaps to her feet, hands pulling free to cover her mouth. Her great-granddaughter stumbles back a few steps, face reddening and eyes darting wildly. Aida can see her refusing to understand, wishes it was just a poor choice of words.
“No...he’s a doctor, he’s supposed to be safe. You’re- they’re wrong.”
Nella stares at her, pleading and denying and disbelieving.
”It’s true.”
"No!"
Spinning on her heel, she's past Aida and out of the room, arm colliding with the doorframe and her cry of pain turning into a sob. Aida should go after her, try to comfort her, but she's paralyzed, as if caught in a gravity well with the effort needed just to breathe steadily.
Hugh.
Notes:
Even though we know it’s fixed...yeah.
I sat on this one for eight months, waffling between wanting to post and wanting to delete because it was so difficult to write.
Chapter 352: Sustain
Summary:
A grieving Paul still can’t say no to Nella.
Notes:
On request from potterfan2006, who wanted to know how Hugh’s family took care of Paul when he’s back on earth after Hugh’s death.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Paul,” Aida’s quiet voice pulls him out of the grey haze his days have descended into, “are you hungry, mijito?”
Hearing the term of endearment that she always said to-
To Hugh.
An age-worn hand gently pulls back the covers, strokes his hair back from his forehead. It’s such a familiar gesture that the grief living in his chest wells up again, even though he’s long since stopped being able to cry.
”No.”
A sigh.
”All right.”
The hand and presence retreat, and he goes back to staring blankly at the wall. If he tries hard enough, he can almost pretend that the en-suite bathroom door will swing open, that the sound of bare feet on the hardwood floor will be followed by the mattress dipping and warm arms wrapping around him, that lips will brush a kiss beneath his ear.
Almost.
Instead, he’s left lying alone in Hugh’s childhood bed, waiting for the emptiness to swallow him entirely.
”Tío Paul?”
He can smell something savory, oregano and garlic, that should make his stomach rumble. The physical void inside feels insignificant compared to the missing part of his heart, but he forces his eyes to open.
”Abuela made dinner,” the clink of crockery landing on the small desk, “I brought you some.”
Paul should thank her, should get up and go downstairs to eat with the rest of the family. Even considering it is exhausting, and his eyes close again.
”Tío,” Nella’s voice is closer this time, “please.”
It’s the please that rouses the part of him that keeps breathing and living. Slowly, inch by painful inch, he rolls over to face Hugh’s niece. She’s kneeling next to the bed, face solemn.
“Nella.”
A nod.
”Please, Tío?”
His throat is dry, voice rough.
”I’m fine.”
The look she gives him is so completely familiar that it feels like a punch to the stomach.
”No, you’re not.”
“You should go,” he mutters, “downstairs.”
”I’m not really hungry, but we could share?”
Brilliant, self-possessed, clever Nella has him trapped, because he’s never been able to say no to her. He doesn’t have to say anything at all though as she retrieves the tray and sets it on the bedside table. Sitting up leaves him lightheaded, ears ringing. When the room stops spinning, she’s still there, uncovering a bowl of soup and a small plate of plain rice. Nella holds out a spoon, and he tries to summon up an appetite under her watchful gaze.
He remembers Aida’s vegetable soup from days he was feeling unwell. Days when Hugh would feed it to him after carrying Paul to and from the shower, tucking the blankets around him and kissing his forehead. It’s probably just as tasty, but he doesn’t notice. Instead, he focuses on lifting the spoon from the bowl to his mouth, on swallowing without choking.
The warm liquid melts a little of the ice inside.
Eating the rice feels like chewing sandpaper, but he does so dutifully while Nella finishes the soup. It’s so unlike her adolescent hunger that concern fights through the dull haze, bright and prickly.
She shouldn’t have to take care of you.
She hands him a glass of water, waits for him to finish before moving the tray back to the desk.
“Tío?”
He finally looks at her properly, sees the dark circles beneath her eyes. Guilt pushes aside some of the grief, and he pats the blanket next to him. Nella sits, leaning into his shoulder, and neither of them speak.
Maybe he’s not quite so alone.
Notes:
To be continued.
I can’t believe this series has just passed 40k views and 3500 comments! I’m so grateful and humbled by the support of my fellow Culmets fans - thank you.
Chapter 353: Shapeshift, Part Fifteen
Notes:
I'm sorry for the angst in the last two chapters! Here's some literal fluff with the next cat!Paul installment.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Surprisingly, Tilly's the one who calls a halt for the evening when Adira's slumped down so far that their forehead is touching the tabletop.
“Hugh?”
His brain stutters back to life.
”Mmm.”
”Are yo-“ she pauses to yawn, “I need to go pass out.”
Considering that Hugh has been blinking bleary-eyed at the same string of data for the last ten minutes, he’s probably right there with her.
”Yeah.”
In true cat form, Paul's fallen asleep sprawled over a stack of specimen cubes, chin resting on Adira's arm and tail wrapped around Hugh's right wrist. While he secretly enjoys the possessiveness of the gesture, he untangles himself from the furry restraint and stands, wincing as his spine and elbow pop.
”Paul?"
There's no response other than one of Paul’s ears quivering.
"We can't leave them here," she yawns again, setting the algorithm to continue overnight.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he shares a look with Tilly. He's past the days of allowing his human partner to sleep in the lab, much less the (smaller, much more helpless) cat version. Plus Adira is going to have another crick in their neck in the morning if they stay like that, youthful recovery or not.
"No. Help me?"
Adira snores on and refuses to rouse to gentle shoulder shaking or the sound of their name. He gives Tilly a grateful smile for picking Paul up as he does the same for Adira, who sighs into his shoulder but otherwise remains still. Together they exit the lab, making their way to the nearest turbolift. A few people look at them in bemusement as they pass, but Hugh's too tired to do more than offer a weary smile.
Tilly follows him to Adira's quarters, waits as he takes off their boots and tucks them into bed. She's absently petting Paul's back, and he wishes he dared take a holo of it - although he suspects he'd never be allowed to share it without embarrassing them both.
"I'll take him," Hugh holds out his arms once they're back in the turbolift, "you should get some sleep."
Paul stirs just a little as he's passed over, but settles again when Hugh kisses his forehead. He catches Tilly's smile out of the corner of his eye, and winks at her.
"Goodnight, Tilly."
She waves and exits, stumbling slightly over the threshold. Hugh leans heavily on the wall, glad that it's only a short journey home lest he fall asleep on his feet. Once back in their quarters, he sets Paul down on the bed and slowly undresses, kicking his uniform halfway towards the laundry pile in a way that's sure to get a complaint later.
Oh well.
He should probably shower, but there's no harm in waiting until the morning when Paul's awake and can join him. Pulling on his pajama bottoms, he visits the bathroom only long enough to brush his teeth and take care of other business, then is back to contemplating the bundle of fur on the bed a couple of minutes later. It's exceedingly tempting to just pass out, but he needs to do a couple more things.
A quick trip to the replicator produces a bowl of water that he leaves on Paul's nightstand. Hugh unclips the harness, easing it down over Paul’s front legs and setting it aside before climbing into bed. Once the pillows are arranged comfortably, he lifts Paul onto his chest, scratching gently behind his ears while the other hand strokes his tail.
"What am I going to do with you?"
A wiggle, followed by a ripple in Paul's fur traveling from shoulder to hips.
"Sweetheart?"
Another movement, this one a bit more purposeful.
”...mrrrowww?”
It’s an adorably half-awake sound, and Hugh smiles, kissing his nose.
”Hello sleepy.”
Whiskers twitching, Paul’s eyes open just a fraction.
"We decided to call it a night," he explains, probably unnecessarily, "the algorithm will ping me and Tilly if it comes up with any significant matches overnight."
Paul yawns, showing off a set of sharp teeth, but nods. Hugh expects him to fall back asleep almost immediately, and is surprised when he nudges the covers aside, nose wrinkling as he sniffs. His whiskers tickle, and Hugh does his best not to squirm when Paul spends an inordinate amount of time at his underarm before snuffling into his sternum.
”Do I smell different now?”
”Mrrrowww.”
Huffing, Paul disengages from Hugh and looks around for...something.
"Wha- oh. Sorry."
He retrieves the harness and tricomm, and Paul swipes open the interface with his paw before typing.
Same. But stronger.
Hugh stifles a chuckle at the sight of the font Reno had programmed in, a fancy scrolling calligraphy so completely opposite his lover's unembellished style that Paul's frustrated yowl when he discovered it made everyone's ears ring.
”Mmmm. I see.”
He sniffs his own armpit, but all he picks up is soap and more than a hint of sweat. Paul had always been oddly enamored with how Hugh smelled after coming back from the gym, and the increased sensitivity of a feline olfactory tract is probably to blame. Instead of arguing, he merely raises his other arm and runs his fingers up Paul’s spine, ruffling the fur the wrong direction before smoothing it back down, over and over.
It shouldn’t be as adorable as it is when Paul flops onto his back on Hugh’s chest, paws splayed wide in a blatant invitation as he squirms. Chuckling, Hugh scoots higher against the pillows and scratches the milky white belly with one hand, cradling Paul’s head with the other. A content purring starts in counterpoint to the thrum of his heartbeat, eyes narrowing to slits as Hugh rubs the downy soft fur on his tummy. Minutes pass, and he can feel his eyelids growing heavy.
"You know..."
Paul pauses in licking his thumb.
"I'm glad you're still snuggly like this."
He's a little disappointed when Paul rolls back over and reaches for the tricomm.
Hugs?
Ahh.
"Always. Hang on..." Hugh moves until he's laying down again, "computer, lights."
"Mrrowww?"
"Come here, you."
He's still getting used to the feeling of Paul's paws as he makes himself comfortable on Hugh's chest, as well as the purring blanket complete with tail. Hugh folds his arms around him, squeezing carefully.
"Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you."
A rough tongue licks his chin, then his lips, and Hugh gives in to the pull of sleep.
Chapter 354: Shapeshift, Part Sixteen
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Movement - and the feeling of paws walking over him - wakes Hugh from a dreamless sleep. It’s still night cycle, 0328 according to the chronometer on the nightstand, and he groans quietly.
“…y’awake for, babe?”
The fluffy shadow pauses, then the ethereal blue-grey of the tricomm interface illuminates the top half of the bed.
”Oww,” he grumbles, more out of habit than any actual complaint.
(He’s lost track of the number of times he’s woken to the glow of Paul working away on his PADD, some idea unwilling to wait until morning.)
Sorry.
Paul licks his cheek, then hops off the side of the bed more gracefully than yesterday’s blunder off the console.
“What-“ he rolls onto his side, “oh.”
He gets a flick of Paul’s tail before he disappears into the bathroom.
”Don’t fall in,” Hugh yawns, tugging the covers up against the cat-less chill.
He’s almost asleep again when he hears a quiet mewl, followed by whiskers tickling his nose. Paul swipes the interface closed, then climbs up onto the pillow, nestling against the side of Hugh’s face. He smiles when Paul’s head comes to rest at his temple, offering a kiss in the vague direction of the paw on his chin before letting his eyes close the rest of the way.
The pillow is empty when Hugh surfaces to consciousness again, although the dim light tells him that it’s at least close to his usual alarm and not the middle of the night again. He would wonder where Paul’s gone off to, but there’s a distinct motion under the covers as something furry works its way down his side, sniffing as it goes. Hugh suppresses a laugh when that nose explores the arch of his foot, then prowls back up the inside of his leg. It does feel nice in an odd way, particularly when a paw tentatively rubs at his knee and inner thigh.
“Having fun down there?”
He doesn’t need to speak loudly, and he gets a slightly muffled meow in response.
What is he up to?
Paul abruptly thrusts his face into Hugh’s groin, sniffing at the crease where the ridge of his oblique meets his thigh.
Ahh.
Cat or not, his partner rubbing his face in Hugh’s crotch eventually makes something below the waist stir, giving a lazy twitch. He tries to ignore it, slipping a hand beneath the covers to find a paw and stroke it with his thumb.
”Mrrrowww.”
The sheets rustle as Paul emerges, fur static-fluffed. He picks up the harness between his teeth from where it’s migrated to the other side of the bed, dropping it onto Hugh’s chest before typing.
I can smell you.
He yawns.
”Pretty sure we’ve already established that.”
Paul manages to give him a look that feels a lot like him rolling his eyes.
You’re horny.
Hugh shrugs one shoulder, scrubbing a hand over his face.
“It’ll go away. Unless,” a thought occurs to him that on objective inspection seems really weird, “you want to watch me jerk off?”
A sigh.
”Sweetheart?”
Not the same.
“Open offer for later.”
I’m a CAT, Hugh.
As if to emphasize the point, his tail winds itself around Hugh’s wrist, seemingly without its owner’s attention.
“I’m serious.”
”Mrroww.”
Wait, does this turn you on or something?
”What? No- hah, not what I meant. It’s just that you’re still you, even if you look like this.”
Paul stares at him for a few seconds, blinking slowly. He arches his back in a stretch, kneading at Hugh’s shoulder before sitting down again with another huff.
”It’s the cat part, love. I don’t mind.”
Hugh leans in for a kiss and is surprised to find nothing but empty air.
”What?”
Can you brush your teeth?
“Seriously?”
Yes.
”See? You really are still you,” Hugh mutters, sitting up, “idiosyncra- hey!”
The gentle swat from Paul’s tail barely brushes over his shoulder, but it gets the point across.
”Fine, but only because I love you.”
Hurry up.
Yawning, he swings his legs over the side of the bed.
“Were you this cranky as a human?”
”Mrrrowwwwwwwwww.”
”All right, I’m going.”
Chapter 355: Spent
Chapter Text
Before the universe came between them, they shared countless sweaty sessions between the sheets. They know each other intimately, but the second first few times are like learning Hugh’s new body all over again. It’s reawakening desire, reminding Paul what sexual hunger feels like when he’s no longer blinded by grief and loss. They pause to share sweet kisses in the middle of passionate ecstasy, lips meeting tenderly. Physical release is almost overwhelming, a deep sated peace making their limbs heavy.
”I just want to hold you,” Paul murmurs, arms circling Hugh’s bare chest, “feel you close to me.”
”I’m here,” Hugh smiles, eyes full of love, “as long as you’ll have me.”
”Forever. And then some.”
”Yes.”
Notes:
I’m so impatient for the premiere! Going to stay up and watch it as soon as it goes live on Paramount+. Last time it was around 11pm Pacific, so we’ll see.
For my non-U.S. fellow Culmets fans, I promise to tag any spoilers as usual.
Chapter 356: Sartorial, Reprise
Chapter Text
“Mmm.”
Paul fusses with the gorget plaque, tugging the collar into place.
”Hmmm?”
Booted footsteps, then hands land on his waist.
“Oh nothing,” Hugh’s voice is tinged with playful delight, “just…enjoying the view.”
Closing his eyes, Paul leans back into Hugh’s embrace.
“Dress uniforms are a lot more comfortable now. And- wait, are you…?”
A kiss just below his left ear, and the arms around him tighten a little as Hugh wiggles his hips against Paul’s backside.
”Mmhmm.”
Fingers trace a teasing path diagonally upwards from the clasp at his right hip, following the gold braid until they reach Paul’s collar and snapping the charcoal grey fabric open. He tilts his head to the side, giving Hugh better access to his neck, brings his own hands up behind himself to knead Hugh’s thighs.
”What’s gotten into you today?”
”You did,” Hugh’s words whispered over saliva-dampened skin make him shiver, “this morning.”
”Mmm. I did, didn’t I?”
Four or five years ago, Paul would have added a quip about being late and turned the caress of Hugh’s hips into a grope. This morning’s enthusiastic - and completely unplanned - round of lovemaking though, means he’s not likely to be able to go again for at least another few hours.
”Yes.”
Another lick, followed by a gentle nip.
”I’m going to enjoy peeling you out of this later.”
“Is that a threat, dear doctor?”
All hands, the Starfleet Academy induction ceremony begins at thirteen-thirty. Senior officers, please be ready to transport in five minutes.
The wandering hands pause at the shipwide announcement, and Hugh laughs quietly.
”It’s a promise.”
Paul sighs, refastening his collar and turning in the circle of Hugh’s arms.
“I’ll hold you to it.”
“Mmm. You’d better.”
A chaste peck on the lips, then Hugh releases him and steps back, holding out his hand.
”Shall we, Commander?”
”Might want to wait a minute or two.”
Hugh squeezes his fingers and gives him a quizzical hum.
“Unless,” Paul raises his eyebrows, “you’re planning to meet the President of the Federation with a hard on?”
“Another advantage of these - besides how hot you are in it - jacket hides all of it.”
He does have a point.
”I miss your whites.”
“I’ve still got some in the closet, love.”
”Are you offering to wear them for me, Doctor Culber?”
He gets a wink just before Hugh taps his badge and vanishes. Shaking his head, Paul follows.
There’s too many people at the transport site, so he doesn’t get a response until they’re standing on the balcony. Detmer and Owo have their heads together (Paul gets the distinct sense they’re plotting something), and Rhys is busy reading a comm when Hugh leans in close enough that no one should be able to hear.
“Only if you’ll let me do a full exam, Lieutenant.”
The wicked promise in his tone settles in Paul’s stomach, waiting.
”That can be arranged.”
Notes:
They’ve redeemed themselves from those drab uniforms at the end of Season Three :P. I might have squee’d at the sight of Owo, Keyla, Hugh, Paul, and Rhys on the balcony.
Paul and Hugh 150% occasionally roleplay with rank, nothing can convince me otherwise.
Chapter 357: Survivor('s Guilt), Part One
Summary:
*** SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE 1 ***
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The aftermath of Adira's first mission.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Medical personnel to main shuttlebay. Repeat, emergency and medical personnel to the main shuttlebay.
It takes decades of training not to drop everything and race down there, not when the EPS grid is still unstable. Paul works one-handed on the displays, the other clenched into a fist at his side so tightly that his knuckles burn, re-routing and patching and making sure that Discovery isn't going to lose power even after jumping to safety.
"Go," Reno takes the steps down into the bay two at a time, Nilsson on her heels, "we've got this."
"I-"
Her usual sarcasm gone, she catches his forearm, squeezing almost painfully.
"I can handle power stabilization. Check on your kids."
Paul bursts into the medbay at a pace just below a run, only slowing when Tracy steps into his path. She takes in his soot-stained face and the minor burns from flying sparks, scanner appearing in her hand.
"Stamets- Paul, are you all right?"
"What? Fine, I'm fine. Adira, where's-?"
Tracy nods as if to herself, waving at the door leading back to the private exam suites.
"They're fine," her voice cuts through Paul's heart rate jumping at the implication, "just needed somewhere quiet."
He should care about the others on the biobeds with burns and crush injuries, he really should, but right now all he can think of is making sure they're in one piece with his own eyes. The privacy indicator is up, but the doors swish open to admit him as soon as he approaches.
"...I don't understand. We were fine. Everything was- how could it-?"
His heart climbs back down from his throat at the sight of Adira pacing restlessly from one side of the small room to another, stumbling against the equipment. Tilly - and guilt hits him like a freight transport that his level of worry for her isn't as frantic - is following them, trying to keep the blanket trailing half off their body from falling.
You knew Tilly would be okay, his conscience tries to soothe the self-recrimination, she's always okay.
Don't you trust her to look out for Adira?
Paul ruthlessly silences his thoughts when they both turn to face him, holding out his arms. Adira rockets into him, blanket floating to the floor, sharp nose digging into his sternum, and he gives himself two breaths to hug them tightly before reaching out again to gather Tilly into the embrace.
They're okay.
They're safe.
They smell like burnt paneling and ash, but he doesn't loosen his grip. Tilly's shivering a bit, seemingly holding back whatever her reaction is as Adira sobs against his shoulder.
"Hugh's in surgery," she rests her chin on his shoulder and he nods against her cheek, "they're in shock."
It's an obvious statement, and he understands the need to speak to work through it. Adira's mumbling into his uniform between harsh breaths, and it takes a moment to translate the muffled words.
"Doesn't make sense. Was fine. We landed, it was fine. Then- no, why-"
"Shhh, it's okay," he murmurs to them both, "I've got you."
Adira reels back, eyes wide.
"It's not okay! He wasn't...no one was supposed to die! We were safe. We got everyone back, and then..."
He knows the bare bones of what happened, checking the Bridge logs as he sprinted up from Engineering.
"He was supposed to go home," Tilly's lower lip wobbles, sounding more like the cadet he first met than the lieutenant she is now, "there was nothing we could do."
"Who?"
"Commander Nalas."
Any loss of life is saddening, and he kicks himself again for being far more grateful that the two people he's holding onto are safe now.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this. If I- if we'd maybe just..."
"Adira."
Paul bites his lip as Tilly lets go of him to take their hands, tears shining in her eyes but an unmistakable steel in her spine.
"It wasn't supposed to be like that. But there was nothing else we could have done. It's not your fault."
"How do you know that?"
"Because you never do anything less than you can," Tilly closes her eyes, breathing deeply, "I know you do. Paul does too."
"I...I can't."
"I know. Gray," she addresses the air off to Paul's left, "can you tell them that too?"
Adira covers their face with their hands, shaking their head.
Their first mission wasn't supposed to end like this.
There's nothing to do, he realizes, nothing he or Tilly can say in this moment to make it any less painful. Not for the first time, he wishes he had Hugh's gift for knowing what to do in difficult situations. Instead of saying anything else then, he pulls them both close again, just holding on.
Notes:
To be continued.
Chapter 358: Survivor('s Guilt), Part Two
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
They’re all technically off duty, but he doesn’t think any of them will come down from the edginess for a while. It’s going to be at least another hour before Hugh is done with surgery, so Paul simply beams all three of them to his quarters, bypassing the long walk back from the medbay. Away from the clinical white walls, he’s paradoxically more aware of how gritty and damp he feels. He sheds his sweaty jacket, rinses his face and hands, and then brings out a warm towel for Adira to do the same. They take it with a mechanical stiltedness that’s equal parts worrying and a relief - the silence is ten kinds of wrong, but they’re still aware of their surroundings and not completely shutting down.
Tilly could just as easily go home, but instead accepts the silent offer when he nods towards the bathroom, lips pressed into a tight curve that more closely resembles a grimace than anything mirthful or joyous. She gives Adira another hug, then replicates a fresh uniform and absents herself for a shower.
“Here,” Paul keeps his voice quiet and even, “let’s get you out of this.”
It’s rhetorical of course, the programmable matter of the field suit neatly folding itself back into a flat square the size of his palm that he sets aside. Adira’s eyes are downcast, demeanor compliant as he gently guides them to the couch and removes their boots before sitting beside them and wrapping them both in the fluffy throw. He’ll never have Hugh’s healing touch or natural ease with physical comfort, but it doesn’t seem to matter as Adira slumps against him.
”Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
A negative head shake.
“Okay.”
The lack of response is incongruous when their normal reaction of late when he’s trying too hard to parent is a testy reminder that they’re perfectly capable of taking care of themself. As much as he sighs and complains to Hugh, he'd much rather have that than the brittle silence.
What would Hugh say right now?
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Adira's head turns to the side, and not for the first time Paul wishes he could hear Gray too.
"Do I have to?"
"No. But I'm here to listen, if it would help."
A noncommittal noise, and he stifles a sigh that might not be interpreted correctly.
Chirp.
A message pops up on his tricomm, and he frees a hand from the blanket to respond.
[Reno-Jett-CMDR/ENGR] Kids okay?
[Stamets-Paul-CMDR/SCI-ENGR] Shaken up. Home now.
There’s nothing after that, but he doesn’t take it personally when Reno is probably busy. Tilly steps out of the bathroom not long after, recycling her old uniform and coming to sit on Adira's other side. She chews her lip for a few seconds before fixing a stare on Paul.
"No offense, Commander, but do you think you should...clean up?"
Tilly's gotten more direct in the past few months, and while he appreciates it, he thinks it might also be her kicking him out to be able to spend a few minutes talking to Adira.
"Are you saying I smell?"
The pointed look he receives confirms his suspicions.
Rising, he gathers a set of off-duty clothes and makes his own way to the shower. The hot water pounding down on the back of his neck helps relieve some of the tension knotting his shoulders, head resting on the wall and eyes closed. It only goes so far though, not when he still isn't sure what to do next. Paul's never liked feeling helpless, and stalling until Hugh gets back feels like a cop out but also the best course of action. He takes his time, far longer than he has any reason to be in the shower by himself. After ten minutes, the need to know what's happening on the other side of the door overrides the part of him wanting to give them some space.
Opening the cubicle door, he reaches for his towel and sees a series of notifications on his tricomm.
[Culber-Hugh-CMDR/MED] Tracy just took over, I'll be home in fifteen.
[Culber-Hugh-CMDR/MED] Tilly just messaged asking if I can hurry up. What's going on?
[Culber-Hugh-CMDR/MED] Is Adira okay?
[Culber-Hugh-CMDR/MED] Paul?
Wincing, Paul taps out a reply.
[Stamets-Paul-CMDR/SCI-ENGR] Sorry, was in the shower. Tilly's here, but I don't know what to do. Adira doesn't want to talk about it.
[Culber-Hugh-CMDR/MED] Be home soon.
Paul finishes toweling off, dresses and brushes his teeth. When the door opens, he finds Hugh just over the threshold on the other side of their quarters, unzipping his boots. Tilly and Adira are where he left them, although she's clutching a mug of what looks like hot chocolate and seems to have managed to get Adira to at least hold a mug of their own as well.
"Hi," Hugh gives him a quick kiss in passing, "should we have dinner?"
He and Tilly exchange an indecipherable look, and her response is prompt and even, no false cheer in sight.
"I'm hungry."
"Babe?"
"Yeah."
"Adira?"
"Not hungry."
He opens his mouth to say something - probably an attempt to coax Adira into it that's going to fall flat - but is forestalled by Hugh's barely-perceptible head shake.
"Okay," his partner continues, "that's fine. Asopao? Or maybe Abuela's vegetable soup."
Paul makes eye contact, a silent conversation flitting between them.
What are you doing?
Trust me.
Are you sure?
Yes.
"Soup sounds good," Tilly pipes in, "unless it has squash in it."
Smiling a little, Hugh stands and heads to the replicator, calling up the menu.
"No squash. I can add dumplings though."
"Sure."
Mystified at the change of tactic both his partner and erstwhile protegée seem to have agreed upon, Paul waits until Hugh returns from carrying dishes to the coffee table before catching his elbow.
"Hugh-"
"Not now," he murmurs, kissing Paul's cheek.
Hugh doesn't dish a fourth portion that he would have expected him to leave in front of Adira. Instead, he engages Tilly on the new class of eighteen cadets, asking after her own time at the Academy and what she thinks the experience will be like for them. It's a bit tight for all of them together, and Paul finds himself with Hugh sitting crosswise over his lap, back to the arm of the couch. The deliberate normalcy doesn't feel overly forced though, and he starts eating after Hugh elbows him in the chest under the guise of chasing a dumpling with his spoon.
Aida's recipe for soup is something familiar from bouts of being under the weather, and while he's not particularly hungry, the dumplings are fluffy and comforting. Hugh's weight on his thighs is grounding in a way that even sitting beside him wouldn't be. He finishes half the soup before setting the bowl aside and curling an arm around Hugh's trim waist, just listening to the rhythm of conversation while he lets his mind turn over the problem at hand in the way it does best: scientifically.
Problem: Adira is clearly upset by the outcome of the mission.
Question: Is it trauma from the crash?
Observation: Adira seems focused on the fact that they landed safely prior to impact, but hasn't expressed their own fear of danger.
Question: Is it because of the loss of Commander Nalas, or because they witnessed it?
Observation: Hugh had theorized that Tal communicated to Adira more in emotion and showing them memories, so while the symbiont probably has experience, showing Adira images of Senna Tal losing fellow officers probably won't help.
Proposed solution: ...?
With appalling timing, he also remembers that Adira had to watch Gray die, and wonders if it might be a very painful reminder despite his continued presence. He lets his forehead come to rest against Hugh's shoulder, running through things over and over, but as so often happens in dealing with others, can't come up with a satisfying solution that he's confident about.
This is why Hugh is the doctor, and you talk to mushrooms.
Tilly practically shoving something warm and flat into his free hand brings him back to the present, and he finds himself holding a cookie.
Snickerdoodle.
It's just this side of ridiculously oversized, a fact that doesn't make sense until Tilly breaks hers in half.
"I should have made them smaller. Don't think I can finish it."
Hugh smiles.
"Were they supposed to be this big?"
"When I was hungover and programmed them into the synthesizer as a cadet? Yeah. Now, not so much."
Crumbs land on Paul's thigh as Hugh starts in on his, making an appreciative noise.
"Where'd you get the recipe?"
"My grandma Adèle. Adira, want to try some?"
Paul takes a bite and tries to act like he isn't watching when Adira frowns at the offering before nodding slowly.
"Okay."
It's a start.
Notes:
To be continued
Chapter 359: Shapeshift, Part Seventeen
Notes:
No end to cat!Paul in sight! I already know how he’s (eventually) going to transform back into his usual human self, but where’s the fun in cutting the adventures short?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Once he brushes his teeth (and dries Paul off after he accidentally slides into the sink), he carries his lover back to bed for proper snuggles. Hugh takes his time, scratching under Paul’s chin and behind the ears as they nuzzle cheeks and foreheads. Paul finally lets him kiss his nose, purring and licking Hugh’s lips in response. It’s a different kind of satisfying than having human Paul in his arms and trading kisses while Hugh plays with his hair, and he admittedly misses being held in return. They’ve gone weeks and months in the past without seeing each other in person of course, but it’s hard to tell his body that the familiar warm scent is currently attached to a cat.
He’s off duty today, but suspects it will be spent in the lab again once everyone else is awake enough to head down. With that in mind, he orders up an extra strong cafe con leche and settles down at the table with breakfast and a cat in his lap. Paul rubs his face on Hugh’s bare chest a few more times, then climbs up onto the table to examine the contents of his plate with interest.
“No,” Hugh puts his hand over the top of the mug just before a velvety nose reaches the rim.
A huff.
Can I at least smell it?
Hugh can’t deny him that, watching as Paul sniffs at the steam rising off his coffee and gives it a longing look.
I suppose caffeine withdrawal is psychosomatic right now?
”Well…” Hugh sets down his fork and calls up his tricorder, squinting at the results, “assuming the readings from before serve as a baseline, I don’t see any active neuromodulation effects.”
Paul’s tail twitches, moving restlessly back and forth.
What about decaf?
”Sorry love, I checked that yesterday. Theobromine causes serious digestive issues in cats.”
It’s the 32nd century. They haven’t figured out how to replicate it?
Hugh wipes his mouth with his napkin long enough to school the smile of commiseration into something less likely to make Paul crankier.
”I don’t know that anyone ever tried to make cat-safe coffee.”
Tail thumping in frustration, Paul slumps down onto the table.
I hate this.
He doesn’t need to ask if it’s about more than the coffee, just sighs and gathers Paul up for a hug.
“I know.”
Paws pat at his cheek and chin, claws sheathed, and he turns his head to kiss the little toes one at a time the same way he would Paul’s fingertips.
One thing at a time.
As much as he’d be content to sit here and cuddle, his stomach reminds him that dinner last night consisted of a hastily-eaten sandwich hours before they went to bed.
“Hungry?”
”Mrroww.”
He sets Paul down on his lap again, smiling when he curls his tail around Hugh’s bicep. Breakfast is mostly silent after that, save for the clink of silverware on the plate and the occasional murmur when offering bites of food.
You know you don’t have to feed me.
“Should I stop?”
Paul plucks a piece of ham from between Hugh’s fingers carefully, then eyes him as he chews.
I didn’t say that.
“It’s nice,” Hugh uses the napkin to dab a stray bit of strawberry pulp off Paul’s chin, “I like doing it.”
Sharing food is familiar, and it brings to mind another instance of Paul perched on his thighs over breakfast. Of course that had been him feeding Hugh from a decadent spread, refusing to let him handle the utensils on his own. The thought is accompanied by a rush of affection, memories of a week spent spoiling each other with sensual delights rising to the surface.
“Remember Risa?”
Paul’s very pink tongue cleans a smear of egg off his own nose.
I loved that.
”Me too.”
He stands to recycle the plate, turning back to find the table and chairs empty.
”Babe?”
”Mrrowwwwwww.”
Hugh crosses to the couch, opening a few reports to read. It’s still too early - 0700 - for Adira and Tilly given how late they were up last night, and he figures he might as well get some work done in the meantime. Paul cuddles into his side, nudging Hugh with his nose until he starts petting him.
Sometime later, the furry body slips out from under his arm. He looks up from Aisha’s analysis of a mutant viral strain to find Paul standing on the arm of the couch, almost eye-to-eye.
No run?
”Nah.”
You can leave me and go do things, Hugh.
”I know. But,” he smiles, “since we’re not planning to let this last forever, I’m enjoying you like this while I can.”
That earns him a long stare, Paul’s head tilted to the side and what looks like a familiar frown. In the end his response must suffice, because Paul climbs onto the back of the cushion to rest his head on Hugh’s shoulder. He falls asleep sometime between the fifth report and fourth paper on DNA splicing, the paw occasionally playing with Hugh’s hair gone still.
Tilly and Adira checked in twenty minutes ago, promising to let him know immediately if anything comes up in reviewing the overnight data. The tardigrade-induced horizontal gene transfer must have a very narrow set of circumstances for activation, but until they pinpoint it, working backwards is going to be slow. Hugh isn’t sure if he can add anything at this point, not when they haven’t narrowed down the field much.
Sighing, he kisses Paul’s paws. It must tickle, because the paw abruptly stiffens and reflexively bats at him, succeeding in landing squarely on the bridge of his nose.
”Owww.”
”Mwwwroorrr?”
Paul blinks up at him, takes in Hugh rubbing his nose and the self-deprecating smile.
Sorry.
“My fault. Did you want to come in the shower with me?”
Standing, Paul stretches, claws flexing and catching at the fabric of the cushion before he sheathes them again. Then he hops off the couch, leaving Hugh to trail in his wake into the bathroom.
It starts off well enough, holding Paul while the steam settles on his skin. Soap isn’t needed for cats, but he does enjoy the opportunity to scrub gently with his fingertips just for the contented noises they evoke. Eventually though, shifting his burden to the other arm, he glances at the shampoo bottle and wonders if he can wash his hair one-handed. There’s certainly a lot more room in the shower when sharing now, but there are also two less hands and Hugh doesn’t think he can juggle his partner and the soap at the same time without dropping one of them. The solution should be simple, and he bends over to set Paul down.
“Mrrowww!”
The way Paul wraps his sodden paws around Hugh’s forearm in protest is adorable even if it isn’t getting him any closer to being clean.
”Babe, I just want to wash my hair. Please?”
Tricomm and harness are waiting on the bathroom counter, but it’s not difficult to interpret the displeased yowl.
“Two minutes, then I’ll pick you back up again once we’re out of here.”
The stubborn Stamets glare is universal as Paul sits but doesn’t let go of Hugh’s arm.
”You might like the way they smell,” he tries a different tactic, “but I’d really like to wash my balls.”
Hugh gives Paul’s own furry pair a pointed look and is finally released with reluctance. He makes quick work after that, rinsing thoroughly before turning off the shower. Paul waits with palpable impatience while Hugh wraps a towel around his waist, then lifts him onto the counter and uses a hand towel to dry him off. There are a few knots in the fine hairs, he notices, and starts in untangling.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Hugh smiles as Paul rubs his cheek against his chin, “but I thought cats took care of this themselves?”
“Mmrrrggglllmmmm.”
I’m not going to lick myself.
“Cat tongues are apparently designed for it though.”
Hair. On my tongue.
”I’m sure-“
Did you know I’m supposed to SWALLOW it?
Paul’s tongue darts out in disgust.
”Well, that’s why cats end up with hairballs.”
Exactly. I’m not going to swallow it AND have to cough it back up. Yuck.
”Not interested in that part of the cat experience?”
A growl, followed by pointy teeth on display.
Would you lick yourself?
”Depends where I suppose.”
Don’t tempt me.
Chapter 360: Sprite
Summary:
Nella has a Very Important Science Question, and sneaks down the hall after bedtime to ask Tío Paul.
Chapter Text
Nella listens carefully for the sound of footsteps in the hall and voices downstairs to cease before climbing out of bed. It takes longer than usual, and she waits impatiently with the reader in hand and covers pulled over her head to hide its glow. Abuela Aida notices everything and made her leave her PADD downstairs so she would “get some sleep”, but it’s Christmas tomorrow and Tío Paul gave her one of her presents early so she’s been awake for the last three hours reading the volume on tropical root systems. He’s the best uncle and always listens to her and never says she should be reading something else or tells her no.
She’d really like to ask him about taproots, and thinks he and Tío Hugh might still be awake because last night when she got up to go to the bathroom, she could hear them in Tío Hugh’s room. They must have been wrestling, since she could hear the bed bumping into the wall.
At last, the house falls silent. She waits an extra five minutes, then climbs out of bed and creeps towards the door. Abuela’s house is old and the wooden floors are creaky, so she’s careful to avoid the noisy spots. Crouching down, she lays her head on the floor and peers underneath the door to check for lights. It’s dark in the hallway, no sound coming up from the living room.
Satisfied, Nella pockets the reader and opens the door, lifting up on the knob to keep the hinges from squeaking. Tío Hugh’s room is around the corner at the other end of the hall, and she has to pass six other doors to get there. It takes two whole minutes to make it that far - Nella counted - but at last she reaches the corner and pauses just outside the door, pressing her ear against it.
She doesn’t hear any snoring, and she’s pretty sure that’s Tío Paul laughing quietly. Tío Hugh sometimes locks his door (that’s when she knows they’re kissing), and she wiggles the knob just enough to check. It seems unlocked, and Nella really hopes they’re not kissing again, because that’s the only time Tío Paul seems like maybe he doesn’t want her to bother him.
Light spills around the corner and she ducks behind the small table in the hall. Peeking through the legs, she can just make out Tía Mina going to the bathroom. It’s maybe not polite to not knock first, but she knows her uncles will understand if she explains. Nella opens the door enough to slip through, closing it behind herself. She has to wait for her eyes to adjust to the dark again after the light in the hall, just the starlight coming through the window to illuminate the room.
They do seem to be awake, which is good. Even with the covers pulled most of the way up, she can see Tío Paul hugging Tío Hugh. He’s laughing like she heard, but it looks like they’re tickling each other and that’s not fair because she gets in trouble when she and her cousins have tickle fights.
Grownup rules are weird.
Nella gets about halfway to the bed and realizes they didn’t notice her coming in, so she should let them know she’s there.
“Tío?”
There’s a gasp, then Tío Hugh snatches his hand out from under Tío Paul’s shirt.
“-Nella?”
Tío Hugh mutters something against Tío Paul’s neck that she can’t quite understand, but does hear the word ‘door’.
Oops.
“I’m sorry, I know I’m supposed to knock.”
“Nellita,” Tío Hugh’s voice sounds a little scratchy, “what are you doing up?”
“It’s Christmas tomorrow,” she’s not sure why she has to remind them, “and I was reading.”
Tío Paul pulls the covers up a little further, even though it’s not really very cold.
”I had a question,” Nella holds out the reader, “about the taproots.”
Tío Paul’s hair is all messy, and he looks very surprised.
”Umm. Can we talk about it…at breakfast?”
”We were just going to sleep,” Tío Hugh smiles at her, “and you should too. I promise we’ve got a whole week here, so there’s lots of time later.”
Tío Paul yawns, and Nella thinks about it. Her uncles don’t just say that like some adults do when they’re too busy to talk to her, so she doesn’t think they’ll forget in the morning.
”Okay.”
”Goodnight, Nellita.”
She comes closer and bounces up on her toes to kiss Tío Hugh’s cheek. Tío Paul is too far away to reach, but he waves and she waves back before letting herself back into the hall. Once back in bed, she takes the reader out of her pocket. She’s not sleepy yet, and should probably re-read the last part so she remembers her questions for breakfast.
Decision made, she thumbs the screen on again and sets to work.
Chapter 361: Sprite, Part Two
Summary:
Paul and Hugh's conversation after Nella's interruption.
Notes:
Follows on from the previous chapter.
Chapter Text
Click.
The door closes behind Nella, and Paul holds his breath for a few seconds, listening. When it seems clear she isn't going to come back in for any reason, he climbs over Hugh and goes to lock the door.
"That was close."
Hugh has his head under the pillow, shaking with what sounds like barely suppressed laughter.
"...oh my- babe, she-"
"You said you locked the door," Paul crawls back under the covers, "while I was in the bathroom."
The pillow moves enough for Paul to see one eye watching him.
"No, I was asking if you had. You said yes."
Groaning, he slumps down, hiding his face in Hugh's chest.
"I thought you were asking if you should."
Hugh's arms wrap around him, and he kisses Paul's temple with a tickle of beard.
"Could have been worse."
Lifting the covers, Paul looks very pointedly at Hugh's pajama pants still somewhere around his knees.
"You don't say."
His partner squirms for a moment, wiggling a hand beneath himself. When it emerges a moment later, triumphantly holding a small bottle, Hugh winks at him.
"Want to pick up where we left off?"
"Hugh!"
"Shh," Hugh drops the bottle to wave his fingers, "I guarantee Nella's not asleep. If we're too loud, she'll come back."
"Are you serious?"
Clever fingers tease the hem of his shirt up and flick at his right nipple before tugging it gently.
"I'm horny."
"Your bed's too noisy," Paul mutters around the bolt of pleasure racing down between his legs, "can't."
"I could suck you off."
As much as the idea is appealing...
"I thought we needed to be quiet," the protest sounds weak even to his own ears, mumbled into the underside of Hugh's right pectoral, "that's not going to be any better."
The fingers pause.
"Well...oh! Sixty-nine?"
"Hugh-"
Abandoning his nipple, Hugh tilts Paul's head up for a kiss.
"You can't scream if you've got my dick in your mouth. Also, no mess to clean up."
His libido points out that it's eminently practical and combines two of his favorite things to do with Hugh.
"All right."
"Could you sound more enthusiastic about it?"
It's said in a teasing tone, and Paul rolls his eyes affectionately, scooting as far back as possible until he's against the wall.
"Flip."
"Hmm?"
"This was your idea and you forgot to lock the door, so you can turn over. Also, I want the pillow."
Chuckling, Hugh squirms around until his head is pillowed on Paul's thigh instead, nuzzling into his groin.
"Christmas is coming early?"
Hauling Hugh's leg up, Paul bites his hip.
"I'll show you who's coming."
"Mmm. You'd better."
Chapter 362: Surf, Part One
Summary:
It seems to be a day for awkward conversations, and Paul would really like to go back to talking to his mushrooms instead.
Notes:
*** MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE TWO “Anomaly” ***
*
*
*
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“I wouldn’t know what to say to Book on a good day,” Paul points out.
The only entity close enough to overhear them is the DOT, but Hugh takes a half step closer into his personal space anyway, voice softening.
”Well, when you lost me, what did you want people to say to you?”
Nothing. I wanted them to leave me alone.
“It’s not nearly the same thing.”
Paul closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them again, Hugh’s head is tilted to the side, expression full of too much understanding.
“Grief is grief,” Hugh rubs his arm, “and everyone moves through it differently. Let Book guide you.”
Paul huffs out a breath but lets Hugh guide him into the chair.
“Are you sure? Things have been seriously awkward with him since he jumped Discovery to the dilithium planet.”
That’s a whole other issue he can’t devote thought to right now, at least not any more than has already been living in an exiled corner of his brain since.
Focus.
The neural link is cool on his temple in contrast to the warm fingers pressing it into place.
“Trust your instincts.”
Side-eyeing him, Paul feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as Hugh squeezes his thigh, higher up than he really ought to on duty.
”You should know better than to say that to me.”
Fifteen years later, and Hugh’s answering smile still makes his heartbeat quicken.
”You’re better than you think you are.”
Notes:
Okay, can I just say? Watching Hugh say, “you’re better than you think,” and Paul being all nervous about knowing what to say to people…when I’ve written the exact same thing as part of my fics?!
I’m dead in a Culmets puddle in the best possible way. The quiet conversation in Engineering is so tender and intimate, and Anthony and Wilson put so much into their body language.
The validation of getting the characters canon-compliant to the point that the writers used the same phrasing is mind-blowing. And that conversation with Book is EVERYTHING I need for inspiration.
(Also, minor criticism, I hope they cut back a little on Anthony’s makeup. Maybe it’s the lighting, but i honestly prefer the slightly pinker tinge we’ve seen in the last three seasons.)
Chapter 363: Surf, Part Two
Summary:
*** MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE TWO “Anomaly” ***
*
*
*
Notes:
All dialogue comes directly from the episode except the last three words.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“It did just pass through a planetary system- I’m sorry.”
Fuck.
Forget worrying about putting his foot in his mouth, this is more like his entire leg up to the knee.
This is why you’re not a people person.
Chagrined or not, he has to try and reach out again.
”Hey, are you okay?”
Booker is so far from okay that there probably isn’t a word for it. Paul recognizes the look of being closed off and isolated all too well, but standing on the other side of it is drastically different. He may not be physically in the same danger, but the weight of their mission might as well be.
Data comes in fits and spurts, too fast for him to focus on individual readings. He tries to shunt it back to Discovery, but the stream keeps being interrupted by the gravimetric distortions. The only other option is to store it locally, and after a moment’s hesitation, he calls up the subsystem to create a storage space.
With appalling timing, Michael asks again how much time he needs.
“I’d be lucky to get it in five!”
Do you really think the ship will hold that long?
If they make it through, he’s still not going to admit to pulling that number out of the ether. He needs a real engineer, someone like Reno with Adira’s understanding of the systems. Fingers flying over the controls, Paul grits his teeth as the uncertainty threatens to distract him when his focus is already split between making sure all of the sensor readings are being recorded and keeping Booker from falling into whatever visions come when his eyes are open but unseeing.
Discovery experiences some sort of gravity disturbance, but he can’t worry about that right now. Hugh is on the bridge and will take care of everyone, he reminds himself, refusing to consider the possibility of him being injured by it all.
Words are dammed in his throat, bursting to come out. They bubble over, crashing through defenses too shredded by the last forty-eight hours. He hopes he’s not about to make things any worse.
”You know, I was told to follow your lead, that you would let me know what you needed.”
Booker pauses for a split second.
“What are you talking about?”
Gripping the phase discriminator, he starts working on the boson energy transfer unit.
“I’m talking about me trying to be sensitive, and you being…you.”
Good job making sense, Dr. Stamets.
“You do realize you’ve spoken to me more today than you have in the what- five months?”
Booker’s tone is too calm, still waters before a tsunami.
”That’s not true,” is out of his mouth before he can think better of it.
”Ever since you found out I could run the spore drive, your ego got bruised and you blamed me.”
If only it were that simple. His professional pride had taken a hit, feeding into the lingering doubts as to the necessity of him onboard, but it’s nothing compared to the real reason. No, Booker couldn’t have gotten it more wrong.
“That has nothing to do with it.”
”What is it then?”
Tell him, Hugh’s voice murmurs in his head, stop running away from it.
Taking a deep breath, he gives voice to the things only ever spoken of with his partner, usually in the safety of their bed with the covers pulled high.
“You remind me of how helpless I was.”
He can feel Booker looking at him, but stares resolutely into the transfer unit.
”When I look at you, all I can see is how close I got to losing everything. Again. I-“ another impact rocks the ship, “you were the one who saved my family. I wasn’t able to do anything. I hate that feeling.”
Ice shards pierce his chest, freezing his blood. Five months or five minutes, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to examine those thoughts without horror. Instead, he pushes back with the memory of waking up with Hugh snuggled in his arms this morning, warm and peaceful and loving. Reminds himself that he’s been granted a third chance with the love of his life, that his pain isn’t what matters in this moment.
”You’re not even here. No one’s here.”
”I’m here. We’re all here.”
Paul’s qualified to fly a shuttle in the twenty-third century, but this ship? He could take the controls, could calculate the changing vectors and trajectory needed, but he doesn’t have a pilot’s intuition. If Booker can’t pull it together…
They hit the distortion wave with a terrible groan from the ship itself, tumbling in the gravitational eddies before stabilizing. He holds onto the console out of habit, regardless of his current inability to be bruised. Doesn’t let go until they’re safely back in the still of Discovery’s shuttle bay.
“Cutting it close there for sure.”
The tension between them is all the more obvious for its absence.
”Well, this data should be a gold mine.”
“Don’t look at me,” Booker sighs, “that was all you. I just drove this thing.”
Booker is significantly younger than he is, he realizes. Centuries ahead or not, he wonders if there are still some things that come with age. His part in the battle is over today.
Paul chews his lip, leaning forward.
“Thank you, for saving my family.”
Booker finally looks at him, and Paul’s resolve grows stronger.
”I’m gonna figure this thing out. For you. Whatever it takes. I promise.”
A pause, then-
”You know, I do get arm tingles in the spore drive. Weirdest thing.”
You’re done here.
Time to go home.
Dr. Culber’s concern is waiting for him when he opens his eyes, scan hovering in the air between them. As he swipes it back into his tricomm, his shoulders relax enough and it’s just Hugh again. He doesn’t say anything when Paul launches himself at him, arms coming up to return the fierce embrace. Paul breathes Hugh in, the smell of burnt bulkheads and sweat unable to hide his scent completely.
“Welcome back,” Hugh murmurs, heart beating against Paul’s, “I’ve got you.”
Notes:
Anthony’s acting was superb in this episode.
Sorry if this part isn’t as developed. It’s 3 am and I’m exhausted - may edit more after sleeping.
Chapter 364: Start
Summary:
*** SPOILERS FOR S4E2 “Anomaly” ***
*
*
*
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It takes a month for Paul to wake without panic if Hugh isn’t in bed beside him, terrified that his second and third chances were no more than a dream. He hates the fact that even Hugh getting up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom throws his equilibrium off, catapults him back to memories of a cold and empty bed. Hates that his partner now starts his run later in the morning, that he wastes precious seconds in getting to the medbay for emergency calls in the middle of the night because he has to shake Paul awake to let him know he’s leaving. Despises his own weakness even as he knows it’s justifiable.
”Shhh…” Hugh rocks him against his chest as Paul clings to him, “I’m here.”
”Sorry,” he mutters into Hugh’s shoulder, “m’sorry.”
”Don’t be. Whatever you need, I’m here.”
It takes five weeks for him not to flinch whenever someone mentions Osyraa.
It takes two months before he starts wearing pajamas to bed again, when he no longer has to twine their naked bodies together to calm the need in his chest. More than sex, he needs Hugh’s heartbeat and steady breathing to quiet the thoughts in his head. The first night he doesn’t strip down to the skin before climbing into bed, Hugh doesn’t question the change. Instead, he stops in the middle of removing his own clothes, lays down and cuddles into Paul’s embrace, relaxed beneath his touch as they spoon together.
“You’re okay.”
It’s not a question, but he nods anyway.
It takes nine weeks before he asks Hugh to tie his hands together while they make love, to let kisses and tender caresses erase the memory of being restrained.
It takes three months before he can call Michael by first name again, using her rank as a barrier between them.
He needs four and a half months to talk about the lingering disquiet with Hugh without his heart pounding.
“You don’t…resent,” Hugh’s expression makes it clear he knows it isn’t quite the right word, “Book being able to operate the spore drive?”
Paul closes his eyes for a couple of breaths. As ever, his partner waits patiently while he examines his thoughts, hand rubbing idle circles on Paul’s bare waist.
”No. Yes, but no.”
”Which part?”
”Yes, I’m…I don’t know, envious? That he was able to communicate with my spores in a way I’m not capable of. That he can speak with them like the tardigrade.”
They're already sharing the pillow, but Hugh scoots just a little closer.
”But?”
”But he was able to-“ he breaks off, biting his lip, “he saved you. And I couldn’t. And it reminds me that I was stuck watching and waiting and couldn’t do a damned thing about it.”
A nod. Hugh kisses him gently, resting their foreheads together.
”And it reminds you that you’re angry with Michael.”
”Being angry would be simpler. I’m…hurt. It hurt that after everything she still doesn’t understand.”
”Sweetheart-“
”I’m tired of feeling that way, Hugh. I just don’t know how to stop. I wish I could, because I know Tilly and Adira and everyone else can tell.”
He shivers at the reminder, even though it’s warm under the duvet.
”You can’t force it. That’s between you and her. And when you’re ready, you’ll know.”
It takes five months of holding Hugh close at night, reassuring himself of his presence, before he’s comfortable making proper eye contact with Michael again. Even then, he’s still snappish and easily perturbed, cloaking it in concern for Adira and Tilly. But…she risks it all to bring his family home; he learns later that she put her own life on the line, and that’s undeniable.
It takes five months and an unknown anomaly that could destroy countless lives for Paul to finally offer up an olive branch to Michael in the form of a joke. In typical Stamets attempted nonchalance, it lands like a fragment of dark matter asteroid, but he thinks it manages to shatter the ice between them. As the moment stretches between them, it doesn’t snap; instead, something grating and discordant quietly backs off from the places it’s rubbed raw.
“Blow me out an airlock?”
Hugh’s incredulous expression is nonetheless a little relieved, and his hand is warm on Paul’s arm.
Paul’s not great with feelings, no matter what Hugh’s spent fifteen years telling him. He feels them too deeply, especially where those he cares for are concerned. But today it gives him the courage to be honest with Booker, to lance yet another wound and make space for a fresh start.
To start to heal.
Notes:
Is five months enough time to forgive? Paul’s short with Michael in the first episode - although that could be attributed to worry for Adira - and I’m on the fence as to whether the airlock joke was an attempt to break the ice or a reminder.
Chapter 365: Survivor('s Guilt), Part Three
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Something drags Hugh to wakefulness in the middle of the night, and he opens his eyes against the darkness, listening. It's not Paul having a nightmare - those are far fewer in the last couple of months, thank goodness - as his partner appears to be soundly asleep beside him. Tilly's still snoring away, there's no shipwide emergency or a message waiting on his comm-
Wait.
More of the sleepy haze clears, reminding him of why they have company.
Adira.
He wishes there was more any of them could do, not when it’s too fresh, too sudden. Adira needs time and space to process, but he’s grateful that Paul thought to ensure they aren’t alone in doing so. The scene in the shuttlebay might not be as bad as the worst disasters he’s witnessed - or the war - but that comparison isn’t helpful.
Still…
A fretful noise cuts through his thoughts, a wordless noise of distress, and he’s on his feet a moment later. Adira's restless twitches don't stop as he sits down beside them, avoiding Tilly’s feet.
"Adira," he places a careful hand on their shoulder, "wake up."
No response. It’s difficult to see in the dark, but he can make out a deep frown as they shiver. He tries again, a little louder.
“Adira.”
"Hugh?"
The voice comes from the other end of the couch, and he turns to find Tilly peering up at him, blinking owlishly past a mass of red curls.
“Sorry," he digs up a smile for her, "didn’t mean to wake you up.”
He tucks the quilt back around her, patting her arm.
”Go back to sleep.”
“…‘kay.”
She’s exhausted too.
More than any other time since landing in the future, he misses his grandmother’s wisdom and care. He wishes he could bring Adira to her, Tilly too after everything she’s been through. Aida would have loved two more wayward grandchildren, probably would have insisted on them staying for a week so she could make sure they were properly fed and fussed over. She most certainly would have teased Paul about adopting them, and he thinks Nella would have been okay sharing her favorite uncle’s attention too.
Making a decision, Hugh lifts them off the couch and carries them back across the room. Paul's rolled the other way, leaving a space in the center of the bed that means he can set Adira down on top of the covers and still leave himself enough room to sleep. He goes back to retrieve the discarded throw, wrapping them snugly in it. The combined body heat should be enough, but the sense of physical safety and weight will help.
He wakes his partner with a touch to the cheek, kneeling beside him on the deck. Paul sighs, eyes opening halfway.
"...mwuhhh?"
"Sorry love," he whispers, "just...Adira was having nightmares."
Awareness seeps into Paul's sleepy gaze, sharpening as he seems to realize he's not alone on the mattress.
"Are they-“ he glances over his shoulder, “…oh."
"Yeah. They wouldn't wake up, and I wasn't sure what else to do."
Paul scrubs a hand across his face, scooting a little closer to the edge to give Adira more room.
"S'okay."
"Sure?"
A nod.
“C’n talk ‘n the morning.”
He kisses Paul's temple, goes to the closet for another pillow, then returns to his side and climbs back under the covers. The covers rustle, mattress shifting, and Paul’s hand appears on the pillow above Adira’s head. He laces their fingers together, squeezes once and listens to Paul’s breathing even out again.
It’s tempting to stay awake in case Adira needs soothing, but he knows he’ll be more use to them well-rested once everyone is awake. Hugh wills himself towards sleep again, surrounded by family. Whatever’s gone wrong out in the universe, they’re together here.
Notes:
Confirmation in the last episode of Adira connecting the loss of Commander Nalas to losing Gray? Oh yes.
I’m good. I’m really, really good.
I’m also very modest.
I hope Hugh putting Adira on the bed between him and Paul isn’t too weird.
Chapter 366: Snickerdoodles
Notes:
Follows on from the “Survivor(‘s Guilt)” chapters.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
She wakes up the morning after the station disaster with a slightly sore neck, disoriented when reaching for her nightstand produces only empty air. The air has a distinctly masculine scent, not unpleasant but one that puts her at ease. Voices penetrate her consciousness, and Tilly’s brain comes fully online to remind her drifting off on Paul and Hugh’s couch the night before. Adira’s nowhere to be seen when she looks around, and that worries her until she recognizes the brightly colored bundle in the middle of the bed.
Hugh’s already sitting up with a mug in hand, the other resting on Adira’s shoulder, talking quietly with Paul. From the cozy pocket of warmth under Hugh’s grandmother’s quilt, she watches her mentor slowly drag himself out of bed and shuffle towards the bathroom, hair standing up at the crown of his head and one pant cuff caught high on his calf. He returns a couple of minutes later, sliding under the covers on Hugh’s side and practically climbing onto his lap before stealing his mug.
“Mmmph.”
”Hmmm?”
”Too much cinnamon.”
”Well, I wasn’t planning on sharing.”
Paul glances at the nightstand.
”Where’s mine then?”
Hugh laughs quietly, giving him a brief kiss.
”Is that better?”
”Yes.”
They continue sharing what Tilly assumes is coffee, and she tries to ignore Paul tucking his pinky under the waistband of Hugh’s pants. Neither of them seem to have noticed that she’s awake yet.
“How are they?”
”Better than last night,” Hugh kisses Paul’s cheek, “but I’m still worried.”
”Yeah.”
”Best thing to do though, is not push them on it.”
”But-“
”Love,” Tilly feels her cheeks heat a little as he tenderly cups Paul’s jaw, “trust me. They need to figure some of it out on their own first.”
Paul adjusts a fold of the blanket around Adira.
“I hate waiting. It feels like I’m letting them down.”
”I know.”
“There has to be something.”
“Tilly, what do you think?”
Her eyes fly open wide as two heads swivel to look straight at her.
”Umm.”
She pushes her hair out of her face, chewing her lip.
”Actually,” Hugh sets down the mug, “hang on. Move?”
That last is directed at Paul, who obediently shuffles aside to let Hugh out of bed, and a few seconds later he sets a double espresso macchiato on the table in front of her. Coffee is coffee, and she appreciates the infusion of caffeine.
“I don’t know,” she mutters over the rim of the china cup, “I’m not really good with people.”
Hugh sits down next to her, beckoning Paul to join them. They’re both barefoot, and while she’s definitely felt less intrusive these past few months, being allowed into their casual intimacy is still taking some getting used to.
”You are.”
Paul states that with the same certainty as reciting the laws of physics, and Tilly hides the bubble of warmth it evokes by staring into the milk foam.
”I should have asked last night,” Hugh squeezes her knee, “do you want to talk about it?”
Some of the thread lines are worn, she notices, tracing them with her fingertip while gathering her thoughts.
”Yesterday was just…messed up. It all happened so fast. Commander Nalas- he cared about his people. And he was scared, but he stayed with us and let them go first. We were just outside the shuttlebay, and Nalas - well, it was tense for a little bit earlier but was okay - said thank you to us for saving his crew. Then…” Tilly shakes her head, “you saw what happened.”
The silence when she stops is contemplative, and Hugh opens his mouth to say something when there’s a groan from the bed. Both of the others are on their feet before Tilly can do more than set her cup down. If she didn’t know better, she might think it’s rehearsed when they sit to either side of Adira, perfectly in sync.
”Hi,” Hugh’s voice is gentle, “how are you?”
Adira rolls onto their back, blinking.
”…I was over there.”
”Hugh thought you’d sleep better here.”
“Actually, Paul kept stealing the covers. I needed something to weigh them down.”
She’s not sure how Hugh can deliver that with a straight face, sees Paul roll his eyes over Adira’s head at his partner.
”Umm. Okay.”
”Breakfast? We’re going to need to start early.”
More awareness crosses Adira’s face, and Tilly can see the moment they remember. They shrug one shoulder.
”I guess.”
“You-“
“Medical to Culber.”
He sighs, activating the tricomm on the nightstand.
”Culber.”
”Sorry, I know it’s your day off, but Tracy’s got two cases of Leptian flu and Aisha only left two hours ago to sleep. Chief Branskiya is having some sort of allergic reaction, and we could really use a consult.”
“Acknowledged. It’s fine, I’ll be there in a few. Culber out.”
Paul smiles ruefully.
“CMO’s work is never done?”
“Yeah. Maybe,” Hugh pats Adira’s arm and stands, “lunch later if you all aren’t too busy?”
He opens the wardrobe, pulling out a uniform.
”Sure.”
The bathroom door swishes closed behind him, and Tilly shares a look with Paul. Adira’s retreated back under the throw, but she doubts they’re asleep again.
”I should go shower and stuff,” Tilly offers, “mess hall in twenty?”
Paul nods, running a hand through his hair and sighing.
”Okay.”
Hiding in the shower for seven minutes is nice, even if she’s eager to analyze the data gathered last night while simultaneously dreading what they might find. It’s bigger than what happened to them, with Kwejian apparently destroyed. She’s sure Michael is busy with Booker, but the faster they figure things out, the better.
Tilly’s in uniform and waiting at their usual table when Paul arrives, Adira trailing in his wake. Breakfast is quiet as she and he read their PADDs, and she doesn’t miss the fact that Adira is mostly moving food around their plate rather than actually eating.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
Another shrug.
”Adira…”
While she knows Paul’s worried, she can also see that his hovering isn’t helping. Under the guise of stretching, she kicks his ankle, probably a bit harder than intended given the way he jumps.
”Sorry,” she tries to smile, even though Adira doesn’t seem to be paying much attention, “was that your foot?”
He frowns at her, but takes the hint. They scroll through the data in silence again, and Tilly counts Adira eating four bites of egg and half a slice of toast. Part of a snickerdoodle last night (no matter how good Granny Adèle’s recipe is) and that isn’t really enough, but it’s at least something. She’s pretty sure Hugh will have a better idea of what to do to get them to eat lunch.
One problem at a time, she reminds herself, even though her brain doesn’t like to work that way, one step at a time.
Starting with more coffee.
Notes:
There’s a new confidence about Tilly this season that tells me (along with her use of Hugh’s name and ease in touching him) she’s finally thinking of them by first name in her head.
I’m currently visiting my parents, so have been working off my phone - will get caught up on replying to comments once I’m back home with a computer.
Chapter 367: Settlement
Summary:
Quiet conversation post-“Anomaly”.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“I’m proud of you,” Hugh murmurs once they’re tucked in bed for the night.
They’re laying side by side, looking up at the ceiling. Paul raises his head off the pillow, enough to see Hugh’s contemplative expression.
”For what?”
“For Michael. And Book.”
Ahh.
“Was it selfish of me to push, when he’s just lost his whole planet?”
Hugh uses Paul’s foot to scratch the side of his own ankle where his leg is thrown across Paul’s knee.
”I think it helped you both find a little peace.”
He reaches across the narrow space between them, encountering Hugh’s hand already waiting for him on the sheet. Instead of taking it, he traces the knuckles with his thumb.
”I thought about what you said, when you asked what I wanted people to say to me.”
A rustle as Hugh turns his head on the pillow to look at him.
”Yeah?”
”Yeah. The difference is…he lost his entire world in a way that the universe will notice. His entire species, their culture, all of it. I still had everyone and everything else. It’s not a direct comparison.”
Hugh’s hand turns over, palm facing upwards, twining their fingers together.
”No, but that doesn’t make it any more or less painful.”
Starlight makes Hugh’s skin glow a shadowed bronze, grounded and solid rather than ethereal. It picks out the grey in his beard, settles into the lines on his forehead.
”But I got you back, Hugh. There’s not a day,” he pauses to swallow down the sudden tightness in his throat, “not a day I’m not grateful beyond words that you’re here.”
The kiss Hugh leans close to brush over his lips is sweet and solemn.
”Me too.”
He shifts closer when he lays down after, shoulders touching. Paul wonders if he ought to leave it at that, a declaration of love and devotion. It’s tempting, but part of it is also a renewed dedication to honesty.
”The thing is, Michael was there, in the network. She saw, and I- she knew. I thought she did.”
Hugh doesn’t say anything, just squeezes his hand and makes an encouraging noise.
”Ever since we got here, into the future, something about her changed. I don’t know what happened in that year before we caught up, but it’s like the Michael I knew is…harder somehow.”
He sighs, blowing out a slow breath.
”I don’t always recognize her anymore.”
Silence, as Hugh turns to examine the darkness of the ceiling again. Then-
“And it’s hard to trust someone you don’t know.”
Paul quirks his lips in something a bit too tired to be a smile.
”Yeah. How is it that you’re always so good at putting everything into one sentence?”
”Learned it from the best. Abuela.”
”I miss her,” he admits quietly, “I wish I could have thanked her, for letting me be part of your family.”
Hugh lifts their joined hands, pulling them out from under the covers and raising his arm until Paul catches on and lets go for Hugh to snuggle into his side.
”She knew.”
There’s an ever-so-slight upwards lilt to the end of that sentence.
”And?”
“She also told me once that you’re never under any obligation to forgive someone for anyone else’s sake but your own. And I agree.”
”So…”
Hugh’s hand settles on his chest, fingers flexing in the thermal weave of his pajama shirt.
”So, you don’t have to forgive Michael. But you also don’t have to feel guilty for it either. There’s not some cosmic balance sheet out there that decides whether you’re allowed to feel a certain way, or a time limit on it.”
He rests his cheek on Hugh’s forehead.
”It would be easier that way.”
Hugh doesn’t respond to that right away, and Paul doesn’t really expect him to. The silence is comfortable, the bounds of their universe stretching only so far as the duvet over them. He does his best to suppress a yawn a couple of minutes later, but can tell that Hugh felt it.
”Sleep?”
”Probably should.”
He turns his head for a kiss, the tips of their tongues meeting in a brief goodnight.
”I love you.”
”I love you too, sweetheart.”
They shift a little, Paul’s arms loosening enough for Hugh to bring his elbow down. His brain takes longer to quiet, to leave off the problems it’s turning over until he wakes up again. Eventually though, the weight of Hugh’s head on his shoulder tugs him down towards sleep, and he goes willingly.
Notes:
I was originally going to use “shrive” in the sense of discussing absolution, but felt like its connotation of penance didn’t really fit.
Chapter 368: Slimming
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“What’s that frown for?”
Paul sighs.
”Computer, cancel mirror.”
Arms wrap around his waist, Hugh’s chin coming to rest on his shoulder.
”What’s wrong? I thought you liked the new uniforms.”
”I do,” he mutters, “I just don’t- never mind.”
“Uhh huh.”
How Hugh manages to convey that much dubiousness in only two syllables will never cease to amaze him.
”They’re just…I don’t know.”
Hugh steps around him, hands coming to rest on Paul’s hips.
”You look just as tasty as ever.”
Paul knows Hugh knows he can’t resist that line of teasing.
”Tasty?”
“Mmm. Particularly edible.”
Those hands roam around and upwards, petting his stomach. He sighs again.
”I’m going to be fifty in a few months, Hugh.”
”Yes, and?”
”…I look like my dad.”
”I- you. Wha-?”
All things considered, Paul should at least add the look of complete shock on Hugh’s face to the very short list of other occasions that he’s managed to render his partner speechless.
“The old uniforms were more…slimming.”
Hugh recovers enough to frown.
”You’re perfect just the way you are.”
He raises his own arms, trailing his hands up over Hugh’s solid biceps to the expanse of his shoulders.
”I’m just saying, looking like this along with losing my hair? You can’t say I don’t remind you of him.”
Paul glances over Hugh’s shoulder at the holos on the shelf, focusing on one of the two of them taken over a decade ago. In it, he and Hugh are posed in front of a waterfall, equally trim figures outlined by the spray.
“Metabolic slowdown in your late forties is a genetic predisposition, sure, but,” Hugh deftly unsnaps his collar and unzips his jacket to fit his hands around Paul’s waist, “the only person you remind me of is you.”
“I’m being stupid again.”
”You,” a kiss lands on the end of his nose, “are not allowed to talk about the man I love that way.”
”Oh?”
”Mmhmm. Do I need to bend you over the table to demonstrate my continued affection?”
Much as the idea is thrilling, they both know it’s not a fully serious offer.
”Can’t. Tilly and Adira’ll be here soon.”
Hugh nuzzles his jaw.
”Well, you do have time to get changed into something else.”
“Was planning on it when you accosted me.”
A quiet chuckle, then Hugh sends him towards the dresser with a swat on the ass.
”Shoo. I need to finish a report before they get here.”
”Yes, dear doctor.”
Notes:
The new uniforms are so much better than the drab grey from the end of Season Three! I just think Anthony’s isn’t tailored as much as it could be (like Hugh, I do think he’s rather attractive regardless).
Almost at 300,000 words…
Chapter 369: Shapeshift, Part Eighteen
Summary:
Protective!Hugh might be acting a little overprotective…
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The quiet cuddles of the morning, followed by another four hours of research, feel about a hundred light years away at the moment. Still…
“I’ll ask Tracy if she can look after you while we’re- what?”
Paul hops up onto the console, fur bristling.
I’m going with you.
”No, you-“
His annoyed growl cuts Hugh off a second time.
I’m not helpless either. I’m not a pet someone has to watch.
”…okay,” Tilly mutters out of the side of her mouth, hooking her arm through Adira’s elbow, “lets just go uhhh, somewhere else.”
Hugh notices their departure to the farthest corner of the bay, but most of his attention is taken up realizing that the phrase ‘angry cat’ has nothing on the real thing.
”I didn’t mean that,” he tries, “just, you might not like it, but you are still stuck like this. Say you do go with us, what happens if you get hurt? It’s not safe, especially if we’re going to be in contact with those spores.”
Returning to the source of the mysterious spores hadn’t particularly crossed his mind, mostly in that he’d rather not expose anyone else to them until they know what caused it, much less Paul for a second time. Tilly had pointed out that they needed a fresh sample to see if it was something to do with a particular part of their life cycle, and he had to admit it made scientific sense. Beaming down in EV suits to retrieve them, however, is a far cry from bringing Paul with them to the surface. The past couple of days have been challenging enough without adding another worry for his partner’s safety.
What’s it going to do, make me a cat again?
“Why take the risk? Tilly and Adira and I can handle it.”
Tilly might not know what to look for.
“Paul-“
A very human huff of frustration.
I’m not stupid, Hugh, I’m not going to go running off into the forest and fall off a cliff.
”But…”
Paul stares at Hugh’s face for several seconds. He sits down abruptly, fur smoothing but tail still twitching.
If you’re that worried, you can carry me.
“Actually,” they both turn at the sound of Adira’s voice, “we can rig up a field generator for Paul so he doesn’t have to be inside one of ours.”
”There aren’t any native predators either,” Tilly chimes in, “nothing larger than a mouse. Which, if you ask me, is kind of weird, but hey! Evolution.”
Hugh’s starting to feel outnumbered, and it’s not a situation he likes. Worry gnaws at his stomach, the sense of unease more than one too many cups of coffee while watching the data process.
”Can you give us a few, please?”
The look Tilly and Adira give each other is about as subtle as a solar flare, and he’s relieved when he and Paul are alone in front of the spore cube.
Here we go.
Chapter 370: Skeptical
Notes:
*** Could be construed as a spoiler for Season 4 Episode 3. ***
*
*
*
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Loss, Paul knows far too intimately, is a black hole. It drains any potential for joy, its inexorable tug forcing one to remain in its orbit, watching with numbness as the darkness approaches but never quite consumes them. Lingering on the edge of oblivion.
He understands Booker’s need to stay busy, but he also remembers too many moments in which Ash Tyler as Voq came up in passing that stole the air from his lungs, and he’s not sure how to walk that line.
”You,” Hugh kisses him softly, “need to trust yourself more.”
Paul chews his lip.
”I keep worrying I’m going say the wrong thing.”
”You might. But second guessing yourself isn’t going to help anyone.”
He closes his eyes, tries to put form to the wordless feeling in his chest.
”I- I don’t want him to…to feel the way I did. Whenever someone talked about you in the past tense, like some historical reference.”
The rustle of fabric as he tugs at his collar seems incongruously loud.
”I know.”
”I wish you were coming with us.”
Hugh’s hands are warm on his arms, their touch strong and sure.
”You’ll be fine. I have faith in you.”
Notes:
Seeing Paul in science mode (collar open and jacket unzipped) but also attuned to Book’s loss? Wow.
I’m not sure that makes sense when written, but it did in my head.
Chapter 371: Stonewalled
Chapter Text
Silence, or at least a lack of distracting noise, is ideal for working through a problem. This though, the statue-like stillness of the Ni’Var scientists, is stifling. Paul might prefer a quiet environment, but it’s only as a backdrop to allow the jumble of noise in his head to assemble itself into patterns and conclusions. Even fidgeting seems out of place, and he’s left edgy and impatient.
The red tea steaming in a carafe beside him (logically designed to promote the escape of steam while not allowing the liquid to cool too quickly) is bitter on his tongue, but he drinks it anyway for something to do. The astringency makes his throat sting, and he’s not certain how it’s supposed to help with emotions.
Maybe it’s meant to make you suppress them so you don’t have to drink it.
He’s not accustomed to failure on this scale, to a problem that he can’t quite grasp. Worse, his own admitted ego aside, every moment that it remains unknown increases the risk of it destroying more planets.
Too many lives at stake.
At last, the chief scientist stirs. Paul’s on his feet immediately as data displays come to life.
Surely they’ve found something.
Notes:
I felt Paul’s frustration coming through the screen. Having been trained as a scientist, I 100% empathize with the data not proving the hypothesis even though everything else points to a conclusion. The juxtaposition of the Stamets fidgeting with the stillness of the Vulcans was extremely effective.
I need to sleep, but am hoping to cover some of Hugh’s perspective tomorrow.
Chapter 372: Strength
Notes:
Revisiting this again, because their relationship is just so healthy.
References Hugh and Keyla finally having that talk in Chapter 280 (“Sport”).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Dr. Culber is calm, steady, sure. People instinctively trust him, know that he’s safe. He manages chaotic triage with focused efficiency, and still radiates compassion even with a genocidal AI attacking the ship and blood spattered halfway up his arms.
He’s a healer by nature, a need to help and fix broken things so much a part of him that it surfaced in the midst of his identity crisis. Practicing medicine again served to ground him, remind him of all the things Hugh Culber was - and is - and allowed him to rebuild his relationship with Paul. This new future, however, demands something he hadn’t expected. While he’s used to putting bodies back together, he’s mostly left anything beyond listening and gentle encouragement to trained professional therapists. Starfleet still has medical officers trained in counseling, but there’s no way Discovery’s battered crew could possibly trust strangers when they’re already so displaced. It builds up, boils over during that disastrous dinner of Saru’s, and they can all begin again once the walls thrown up in response to trauma are torn down.
It starts with Keyla, sweaty and sore from trying to keep up on the Velocity court. That conversation leaves him with the realization that he can do more than listen as well, to fulfill the oath to do no harm by doing good in a different way. After all, Hugh’s been performing the same service for Paul without a second thought, that vulnerable intimacy the only way they know how to be. It stands to reason that Dr. Culber should be able to do the same when the personal emotional stakes aren’t quite as high in the same way.
He reads and listens and learns, and thinks that maybe some of the cracks forming have been patched up enough to hold while their owners begin to heal. It’s exceedingly satisfying, but also draining in a fashion completely different than what he’s used to. Creating that space in himself to let others’ doubts and fears and pain emerge leaves an echo, an impression of it even as he draws it from them to be faced.
When he takes off the uniform and puts Dr. Culber aside for the night, he begins to feel a sort of weight, an exhaustion that isn’t physical at all. He can’t seem to shake it, no matter how many trips he takes to the gym or on the holodeck to unwind. Paul’s more than understanding when he claims fatigue, body not responding as it should to his partner’s kisses and caresses. Instead, he cuddles close to Hugh, pulls him into his arms and holds him until he drifts off to sleep. Hugh writes it off as a fluke, even though his new body doesn’t have any age-related issues.
It happens again a week later, responses dulled by the lingering effects of a difficult conversation with a lieutenant who tearfully confessed to obsessively reading obituaries for his family who’ve been dead for centuries.
“Okay,” Paul’s eyes lose their playful spark as he sits up from between Hugh’s knees, “are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
”Just…a long day. You know I can’t-“
Paul’s fingers flutter dismissively.
”I’m not asking you to break confidentiality.”
Sighing, Hugh slouches back into the pillows at the headboard, gives a weak smile when Paul carefully tucks him back into his pants and goes to wash the lube off his fingers. When he returns, he nudges Hugh onto his side and spoons up behind him, arm snugly looped around his waist.
“Sorry,” he squeezes Paul’s hand, “just not feeling up to it tonight.”
”Didn’t we establish years ago that there aren’t supposed to be any apologies?”
”Neither one of us is particularly good with that rule.”
A chuckle into the back of his neck.
”True.”
”I’ll be fine,” he tries to sound confident, “it was just a lot this week.”
”You don’t have to do it all by yourself?”
”My job?”
”No,” Paul’s arm tightens, “the second job. Fixing people.”
“But-“
”You’ve always taken care of me, Hugh. It’s who you are. But I want to take care of you too.”
Despite his weariness, Hugh smiles at the warmth of love blooming in his chest.
”You already do.”
”You’ve been strong for me for so long, even when I was being horrible.”
He squirms at the reminder, protest on his lips without prompting.
”You weren’t being horrible.”
Paul retrieves the duvet with his foot and bundles them up in it.
”Yes I was, and no I’m not letting you distract me.”
”Worth a shot.”
”I mean it. It’s okay to lean on me too. You know that, right?”
”Of course.”
”You might have to tell me what you need though.”
Instead of making light of Paul’s occasional obliviousness (much less frequent when it’s Hugh versus anyone else), he recognizes the seriousness.
”Sometimes…just hold me? That’s all, sweetheart.”
”Always. But-“
”I don’t know what else I need yet. I promise I’ll tell you when I figure it out.”
”All right.”
They lapse into silence, Paul nuzzling at his hair and fingers entwined. He’s safe here, protected. Some people view connections and vulnerability as a weakness, but Hugh knows better.
Exhaling long and slow, he lets himself lean on Paul.
Notes:
So I originally wrote the first sentence of this with a different story in mind about a month ago, but it resonated more with this concept. I just watched the NY Comic-Con panel, and Anthony jokingly asks Wilson who takes care of Hugh… oh yes, my muse decided it liked that.
Chapter Text
“Ensign Stamets.”
”…you can call me Paul.”
”Very well. May I inquire as to a behavior I have witnessed?”
”Umm…sure? Err, is this about me…kissing Hugh at work?”
”Indeed, your displays of physical affection, while not a Vulcan custom, do pique my curiosity. A Vulcan courtship does increase permissible proximity, but not in the same manner. However, it is not that I wish to inquire about.”
”Uhh, okay?”
”I have noticed that you tend to put your hands behind your back when you enter or notice my presence. I have not observed this behavior with Tracy or our other female colleagues, and so believe it is not associated with my gender. It is also not present when meeting with those of other species, so I cannot conclude as to its purpose.”
”Oh. Umm. Well…”
”If you do not wish to speak of it, please do not feel obligated. I mean no offense.”
”Okay. I mean, none taken. It’s just…Vulcans are very disciplined.”
”Affirmative.”
”And I move my hands a lot. I uhh, had a Vulcan professor at the Academy who used to tell me that it was an inefficient use of energy and served as a distraction to others.”
”I see. And you believe I would share the same opinion?”
”I mean, it’s true.”
”Perhaps. However, if I may presume to speak for other members of my species, Vulcan practices should not be used in judgment of other species. I confess that I find your involuntary movements to be a fascinating means of gauging your emotional state.”
”Really?”
”Indeed. Please do not feel an obligation to suppress your - fidgeting? - in my presence.”
”Wow. Okay, Hugh did say- err. I’m sure he means it as a compliment. He said you weren’t like other Vulcans when it comes to humans.”
”Your potential mate is correct. I find humans to be fascinating.”
”He’s my boyfriend.”
”The term implies a level of ambiguity of purpose which seems imprecise. I have observed Hugh’s practice of pursuing monogamous relationships, but have yet to determine any of his prior candidates to be as compatible as you are based on multiple factors.”
”…right. Uhh, is this a Vulcan thing?”
”It is our custom to perform a thorough evaluation of potential mates for those of our close acquaintance. However, as humans appear to find statement of this intention to be objectionable, I have relied on secondary measurements. For example, his level of preoccupation with you and the lack of your ongoing presence is eleven-point-three times greater than any others. His use of your name in unrelated conversation is also significantly more frequent than expected.”
”You calculated that?”
”It is difficult to place metrics upon human emotional responses, therefore it was important to determine some criteria by which to evaluate Hugh’s behavior.”
“I see.”
”Perhaps, now that you have been made aware of the practice, you would permit me to speak more openly of it? There are certain measures which cannot be reliable ascertained in this manner.”
”Sure?”
”If you are agreeable, may I request you accompany me at fifteen-hundred to the dining common to procure a caffeinated beverage and speak more on this matter? Hugh will be occupied in the clinic and therefore will not be affected by your absence.”
”…okay. Umm, see you then?”
”I look forward to it.”
Chapter 374: Stubborn
Notes:
Inspired by the NYCC panel where Anthony says Paul is probably up all night every night trying to figure out the anomaly. No particular spoilers.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The accretion rate is consistent with a primordial wormhole’s gravitational pull until it reaches the inflection point but it continues to increase exponentially and becomes a fourth-order polynomial and that shouldn’t be possible with the particle flux assuming Planck’s constant still applies but what if we’re not dealing with something that’s fully in our universe do the laws of astrophysics still apply or-
“Come to bed.”
Paul surfaces from his frustrated thoughts and frowns at the empty air in front of him, the viewport over the desk reflecting his confusion.
”Where are my equations?”
Hugh’s hand lands on his shoulder, rubbing gently.
”I put them away.”
”Hugh-“
”Babe,” he sighs, “I dismissed them five minutes ago, you didn’t even notice.”
Paul flicks his hand in front of his chest to open them again, but nothing happens. He tries again, exaggerating the motion, but the tricomm interface doesn’t open. Hugh’s reflection is giving him one of Dr. Culber’s disapproving looks, lips pressed together and brow furrowed as Paul tries for a third time, only to realize that his tricomm is missing.
”Where’s-“
”On the nightstand,” Hugh points, “where it’s going to stay while you get at least six hours of sleep. I’d rather it was eight, but I’ll even settle for five.”
”I’ll be there after I’m done,” Paul promises, standing from the chair on stiff knees, “I just need to finish…”
He stops when Hugh’s grip tightens. Paul could easily shrug his hand off, but his body is too used to reacting to Hugh’s slightest touch and decides for him that he isn’t going anywhere with that anchor.
”Love, you’ve been awake for twenty-six hours.”
”I’m fine.”
”You need sleep.”
”I just need some coffee.”
A louder sigh, and Hugh steps around the chair until they’re facing each other.
”Hold out your hand.”
”Why?”
”Humor me.”
Frowning, he obeys, extending his hand towards Hugh. Oddly, he makes no move to take it, just stares at it for a few seconds before returning his gaze to Paul’s face.
”Can I put my hand down now?”
”No.”
”Are you going to tell me what I’m supposed to be doing?”
“Look at it and tell me what you see.”
Paul does. It looks exactly the same as it probably did this morning, cuticles pinkened from chewing the edges of his nails.
”Umm, it’s my hand?”
”Babe,” Hugh finally takes it in his own, lowering their joined hands, “your hand is shaking so much I don’t think you could even hold another cup of coffee. Which I also think you’ve had enough of. You’re way over the limit on caffeine and need actual rest.”
He shakes his head, trying to ignore the burning fatigue in the back of his eye sockets. The bass drum beating in his forehead doesn’t help his concentration either, or the ache in his shoulders.
“It’s fine. I had a nap earlier.”
”You mean you fell asleep under a console.”
Fuck.
”I was working underne- hang on, how do you know about that?”
Hugh steps closer, releasing his hand to circle Paul’s waist with his arms. It’s difficult to resist the instinct to relax into the loose embrace, but if he leans on Hugh it’s only going to let his partner read his body.
”Harrington was worried and commed medical when she couldn’t wake you up. I told her to let you sleep for an hour.”
Ugh, thanks Saoirse.
“So I’ve slept.”
Eyes narrowing, Hugh studies his face and Paul does his best to keep his eyes wide open. Eventually, he nods and releases Paul, moving back.
”All right.”
Wait…
“What?”
“Go ahead.”
”You’re not going to…you’re going to let me?”
Where’s the lecture on fatigue and neurotransmitters?
”I can’t get between you and your science.”
”It’s math.”
Hugh ignores the comment, resting his hand on Paul’s chest. It’s warm and familiar, and makes him stifle a yawn.
”Just one thing.”
”Okay?”
Before he can react, Hugh flexes his wrist, giving him a gentle shove. Under normal circumstances, Paul would probably sway in place. Instead, as he rocks back on his heels, he’s too slow to compensate for the momentum and stumbles backwards. Cursing, he expects to feel the edge of the table hitting his thigh, but he’s caught and held steady against Hugh’s body.
”What was that for?”
Hugh raises an eyebrow at the demand.
”You’re exhausted. Just admit it.”
His gentle tone melts the stiffness out of Paul’s spine, and he slouches forward, head coming to rest on Hugh’s shoulder.
”I need to find an answer, Hugh.”
”You can’t do that if your synapses aren’t fully receptive and rested.”
Dr. Culber’s reasonable voice reminds him of too many nights spent having a very similar argument during the war. It’s not a time he’s proud of, neglecting their relationship, taking for granted that he would always have Hugh’s arms to crawl into at the end of the day. He knows better now, but the stakes are even more brutal.
“The longer it takes, the more people are at risk.”
”Paul.”
The use of his name gets his attention and he straightens, meeting Hugh’s eyes.
“You’re no good to anyone if you can’t think clearly. I know you know that.”
He does, but it doesn’t take away the sense of trepidation lurking in the background.
“I…I can’t let what happened to Kwejian happen again, Hugh.”
A sigh, then Hugh gathers him even closer, resting their foreheads together.
”Two things. One, you are not responsible for the anomaly. And two…if you collapse, you’re going straight to the medbay for an enforced twelve hour rest.”
”You can’t do that.”
Which is a lie, as the CMO of course Hugh’s allowed to if he thinks Paul’s health is in danger.
“Do you really want to find out?”
The line he’s badly balancing on doesn’t so much crumble as toss him over to one side.
”No.”
He closes his eyes, shoulders slumping.
”Come on,” Hugh murmurs, “let’s get you changed.”
”I can dress myself.”
”Sure,” a hand settles warm on his lower back as he turns towards the dresser, “but I like touching you.”
There’s a suggestive double entendre he’d like to make, but right now staying upright long enough to retrieve his pajamas is taking more focus than he has. He fumbles the drawer open, then clumsily sheds his uniform. Hugh helps him balance without comment, even when he spends far longer than necessary to determine which side of his shirt is the front.
Paul makes it into the bathroom to brush his teeth on his own, hearing Hugh moving around their quarters, probably waving off the various lights and turning down the bed. When he emerges, Hugh’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, a tired smile on his face. He doesn’t say anything until Paul’s managed to make it to the bed and finds himself tucked under the covers, head resting on Hugh’s shoulder.
“Will you stay with me the whole night?”
Another day, it might be a valid question. At the moment…
”I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. Yes.”
Hugh kisses his forehead, the bridge of his nose, then his lips.
”Sleep, you impossible man.”
”Impossible?“
He concentrates enough to move his right knee up against Hugh’s thigh.
”Impossibly stubborn.”
”That’s why you love me.”
A quiet laugh is breathed into his hair.
”Yes, one of the many, many reasons.”
It takes almost all of the energy he has left to slide his hand under the hem of Hugh’s shirt, pinky tucked beneath the waistband of his pants.
”Love you.”
”I love you too, sweetheart. Good night.”
Notes:
I gave Harrington the first name “Saoirse” in When Sorrow Turns to Joy. In my headcanon, she’s part of Paul’s team from Deneva, hence why she’s one of the few who tease him about Hugh and why he might use her first name.
Chapter 375: Salad
Summary:
***SPOILER PHOTO FROM SEASON FOUR EPISODE FOUR "All Is Possible"***
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Notes:
Using a spoiler photo to illustrate a story that is not meant to be a spoiler at all.
Set sometime in the five months after Season Three ends. References the conversation in Chapter 286 (“Strife”).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first time Michael brings her tray and sits down next to Paul, he's not a hundred percent sure whether the cold tightness in the pit of his stomach is fight or flight. Given his usual reaction, he thinks it's most likely flight at this point. It's taken hours of talking it over with Hugh in the past several weeks to take the edges off the raw sense of anger and betrayal, the fact that while he knows she did the right thing, it was in the wrong way.
"Hi," she says, "is this seat taken?"
He sets down the glass he realizes that he's clutching too tightly, folding his hands together to keep them from betraying him in motion.
"It's your ship, Captain."
There, that wasn't outright rude.
"Paul..."
The flinch at her saying his name in that quiet tone of voice doesn’t go unnoticed. Michael sits down beside him, a look on her face that makes him wonder if she’s re-evaluating whatever she’s intending to say. He stays silent, waiting.
”Won’t you eat?”
”I think I’ve changed my mind about being hungry.”
She folds her own hands together, mirroring the way his forearms are braced on his thighs, and he hates that he wonders if she’s doing it in a deliberate attempt to project her interest in connecting with him.
”It hasn’t been easy for me either,” she starts, “none of it.”
Since he can’t think of anything that isn’t either accusatory or an empty platitude, he keeps his mouth shut.
There’s always the third option.
That’s not an option.
Opening up to her?
Did that already. Look what happened.
“I am trying,” Michael leans a little closer, “I understand why you’re mad at me.”
Do you really?
”I have to make decisions for the whole ship, that’s what command is about. And sometimes that means I might hurt a friend, but there isn’t a choice.”
”Did you ever consider,” Paul forces his words to come out evenly, “that I’d just been put under mind control and chained to the railing on my own ship?”
”Of course.”
”And because of that, being knocked out by a…by a friend, and waking up in an immobilization field after you said you were willing to let Hugh and Adira die, wouldn’t be something easy to deal with.”
It’s more words on a subject not related to science than he’s exchanged with her since before it happened.
“You said you needed time.”
He sighs, suddenly weary beyond measure.
”I want to be ready to forgive you, but I can’t.”
A shadow passes across her face, but she nods and reaches for her tray.
”I’ll leave you-“
”No,” he stands and picks up his own tray, “I was done anyway.”
”Paul…”
”Don’t.”
He can feel her eyes on him as he recycles the uneaten meal, forces himself to square his shoulders and briskly walk out.
Not yet.
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SPOILER PHOTO BELOW
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Notes:
I almost screamed at my desk at work when I saw that photo.
I CANNOT WAIT for the episode to drop, and I will be mightily disappointed if they don’t finally talk about it.
Chapter 376: (The Doctor Will) See (You Now)
Summary:
****SPOILER PHOTOS FROM SEASON FOUR EPISODE FOUR "All Is Possible"****
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Chapter Text
Paul's frowning at yet another set of equations when he hears someone clear their throat. He shakes his head to clear the numbers out of it, then turns to find Booker standing a polite three feet away.
"Mmm. Did you find something?"
There's an expression on the man's face that makes him realize this probably isn't about the data.
"Actually," Booker sighs, "can we talk a minute?"
Paul gestures towards the cultivation bay doors, and Booker follows him, silent until they're safely ensconced with the forest of spores. The moist, earthy air settles on his skin like an embrace, and Paul gives him what he hopes is an encouraging smile.
"Go ahead."
"Do you ever feel...broken inside?"
It's not accusatory, nor is it desperate. It's something else, almost-
Hopeful?
Before their excursion into the anomaly's accretion disk, Paul might have blustered or given a denial. Now though, he can only be honest.
"Not anymore. Most of the time."
Booker nods. His hand wanders up to fuss with the fabric just over his sternum, and Paul realizes that he's wearing some sort of necklace tucked inside his shirt.
"I meant, when you lost him. If you're okay talking about it."
Paul presses his lips together to avoid the automatic response of 'I got him back' which wouldn't help here. He weighs potential answers before settling on what he thinks Booker might be asking, no frills or platitudes.
"Yes. I did. Every day, and worse when I forgot for a little while."
"You're really lucky," Booker murmurs, eyes unfocused and gaze turned inward, "he loves you."
"I am."
Another nod, silence extending between them again.
"Talk to Hugh," Paul finds himself suggesting gently, "he's much better with people and feelings."
A quiet huff of almost-laughter.
"You're not so bad yourself, Stamets. Thank you."
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SPOILER PHOTOS BELOW
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Notes:
I'm so impatient to see how Dr. Culber carries out his counseling! Both Book AND Tilly? **flails**
I was a bit disappointed to see they dressed Wilson all in black, but I'll live with it :P
Check out all the photos at https://www.startrek.com/gallery/first-look-star-trek-discovery-all-is-possible/star-trek-discovery-all-is-possible-2946/24.
Chapter 377: Seams
Summary:
Tilly and Hugh have a chat.
Notes:
***SPOILER PHOTOS FROM SEASON FOUR EPISODE FOUR "All Is Possible"***
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(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Okay Sylvia, you can do this.
It's just Dr. Culber - just Hugh.
Breathe.
Now walk...
Tilly pulls herself out of the alcove she's been standing - not hiding! - in, approaching the door with what she hopes doesn't look like trepidation. Asking Hugh to talk to him was difficult enough, and she doesn't appreciate her own anxiety making this worse. Tapping the door panel, she folds her hands together and waits.
Swish.
"Tilly," Dr. Culber's voice is warm and welcoming, "please come in."
"Uhh, hi? Hi. I mean, thanks."
He gestures at the seating arrangement taking up most of the space.
"Of course. Have a seat?"
"Umm."
"Tilly?"
The lighting is soft, everything done in neutrals. Dr. Culber is out of uniform, which probably should help, but she'd almost rather he was back in white to remind her that it's meant to be a professional visit and not just a conversation with her quasi-parental figure's partner.
"...I need to say this before I sit down. Because, umm, sitting down implies being comfortable, and I'm so not comfortable. Not that it has anything to do with you being you, I just...what if I say the wrong thing or- I don't know. Something."
"Hey," he squeezes her forearm, "take your time. It's just you and me. Nothing we talk about leaves here unless you want it to, doctor's oath. Not even Paul."
Taking a deep breath, she nods.
You know that.
Tilly sits on one end of the couch, pulling a throw pillow into her lap. Smiling, he settles into a chair facing her. She can feel the calm radiating from him, the same way Stamets gives off impatience when something is taking too long, and he seems to be patiently waiting for her to speak.
"Okay."
"Where do you want to start?"
The pillow's fibers feel different beneath her fingers depending on which way she brushes them.
"You know how I said I feel off? It's...I don't know. Ever since coming here, nothing seems totally right. Not that you all feel wrong, that's not it, not at all. Although, have you noticed that Stamets is different when Adira's around? Like-" Tilly closes her eyes, "sorry, that's not what we're talking about."
A susurrus of fabric as Dr. Culber crosses his legs.
"We're talking about whatever you want to discuss. I don't mind if that's Paul, but I'm not sure that's what you're getting it?"
"It's not. Sort of. It's just that everyone seems to have found a place, a thing, something to hold onto. Michael's got Book and being a captain, Keyla has flying, Owo and Rhys are kickboxing... and I'm just me. But I'm not. I mean, I knew what I wanted when I joined the Academy, besides getting away from my mom, and I pushed for Stamets to pick me because his work was like the most interesting thing I'd seen. And I had this path all laid out in my head, Command Training Program and promotion all the way up to Captain someday. And then...then we lost Airiam. And I was so not okay with that, but we were so focused on Control, I never really had time to think about it. So now, I'm this lieutenant, and it's the thirty-second century, and it's like sitting back and realizing that I don't know what I'm doing anymore. And you said Adira is looking up to me, but I feel like I'm lying in a way, like, who is Sylvia Tilly?"
Dr. Culber nods as she speaks, and she gets the feeling he's actually listening.
"I could tell you that it's completely normal to feel that way after a major event - and you've been through several - but I don't think that's necessarily helpful."
"Who's counting on this ship, you know?"
"That too. The other thing to remember is that some people are better at hiding what they're going through than others. You're not the only one struggling with this. But I'd like to suggest," he turns his hands palm up towards her, "maybe if you break it down one thing at a time, it won't seem so...overwhelming?"
Tilly tries what he said on for size, like feeling out a shape in the dark. She fusses with the seam on the pillow, tucking one foot behind the other knee.
"Are you sure?"
"It's what I'm here for. Okay?"
"Okay."
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SPOILER PHOTOS
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Notes:
To be continued!
Chapter 378: Steam
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh’s half-awake, enjoying the liminal space between slumber and full consciousness with Paul curled up beside him in their bed. The sheets are pulled all the way up, and he’s a bit warm so he sheds his pajama top before rolling over to face his partner. Paul’s expressive face is slack in sleep, brow smooth and a pillow crease visible on his right cheek.
Waking up a bit more - not that he would object to simply watching over his love’s sleep - he works a tangle out of Paul’s static-mussed hair before rubbing his shoulder and tracing a line down to his wrist. He pets the hair on the back of his hand, feels the callus from handling a stylus on his middle finger and strokes his palm. Paul’s hands are so animated, weaving an accompaniment to whatever narrative he speaks. They’re gentle with Hugh, until they’re not, and he smiles at that thought.
Paul shifts, breathing becoming uneven. He hums into the pillow, opening his eyes a moment later.
”Morning, sweetheart.”
”Mmmuhhhh.”
A sleep-clumsy hand pushes at his shoulder.
”Hmmm?”
” ‘ll over.”
Ahh.
He complies, facing away from Paul to let him spoon up behind Hugh.
“Better?”
”Mmhmm.”
Stubble rasps over his bare shoulder, Paul sighing as he presses lazy kisses in his wake. Hugh tucks Paul’s hand up in the crease between his pectorals, chuckling when that earns him a squeeze. He drifts a bit, the fuzziness around the edges of his mind not unpleasant.
”Hugh?”
Paul sounds more awake, which is surprising.
”What?”
”You’re hot.”
Hugh grins.
”Isn’t it a bit early for that?”
”No,” Paul pushes up on his elbow behind him, hand patting up and down his torso, “I mean you’re hot.”
”Did you turn the enviros up last night?”
“No.”
”Well, ahhh-!”
As Hugh tries to sit up, a splitting pain flashes through his head and sets up camp behind his left eye.
”Hugh? What- are you okay?”
It takes a moment to find his words, palm pressed to his eye socket in a futile attempt to relieve the pain.
”…scanner.”
They’re mostly on Paul’s side, and he hears him fumbling on his nightstand before a tricomm interface pops open. He doesn’t open his eyes, but Paul’s concerned noise means something is off.
”You’ve got a fever. Thirty-eight C.”
That explains the mental fuzz.
”I-“
”Stamets to medbay.”
”Medical,” Aisha’s voice is crisp with a hint of resignation, “let me guess, low grade fever and sudden headache?”
”Hugh is…wait. How do you know?”
“Looks like there’s a strain of Bajoran influenza making the rounds. Two dozen cases already this morning.”
”Aisha?”
He sounds strained even to his own ears.
”Hugh.”
”Prognosis?”
Her sigh echos through the line.
”Mild to moderate discomfort. We’re already synthesizing, I’ll send the sequence to your replicator. Probably still take you a good twelve hours to recover though. And no, we’ve got it handled here, just stay home and rest.”
Hugh nods even though she can’t see it, then immediately regrets it when it irritates the drum solo inside his skull. He can hear the replicator whir, likely with a pre-loaded hypospray.
”Got more coming in. Stamets, make sure he eats something if it’ll stay down. Steam might help too.”
”Okay?”
”Medical out.”
The mattress sways as Paul gets up, presumably to retrieve the hypo. It’s pressed into his hand a few seconds later, and Hugh doesn’t bother opening his eyes to inject.
”You’re qualified to administer,” he mumbles into the pillowcase.
Paul doesn’t answer, and he can already feel his partner getting edgy.
”Should I take the day off?”
Before, he would have sent Paul off just to keep him from hovering and annoying them both. Today though…
You deserve some pampering.
”Don’t have to. Wouldn’t mind you staying though.”
The headache recedes enough for him to open his eyes, and as expected, Paul is kneeling beside the bed looking worried.
”I’m staying then.”
He offers a weak smile, then holds out his hands.
”Help.”
”What?”
”Shower. Steam.”
”Oh. Oh! Yes.”
Paul’s hands feel cooler than usual - that would be the fever - but their grip is strong as he uses them to brace himself. He has to take a few seconds after standing as his body protests, but leans into Paul’s arm around his waist as they walk to the bathroom. Once inside, he steps out of his pajama pants and sits on the floor of the cubicle.
“Go ahead,” he gestures at Paul, “I’m fine.”
He hears the sink start, and the sound of Paul brushing his teeth. Hugh folds his knees up, elbows braced on them and head resting in his hands. One of the nice things about the future is floors that automatically adjust to a comfortable temperature for bare skin, so his backside doesn’t land on an icy cold surface.
Paul closes the door behind himself and taps the control panel, filling the small space with mist. He sits beside Hugh, inside his personal space but not quite touching.
“Does your skin hurt?”
”No,” he addresses his knees, “s’fine.”
An arm settles on shoulders, and he takes the offered embrace with a sigh.
”Are you hungry? Should I get you something to drink?”
”Later. No freaking out, okay?”
He doesn’t have to look to feel Paul’s side eye.
”It’s called being concerned.”
Paul manages to sound both affronted and affectionate. Laughing probably won’t help his head, so he settles for an amused huff.
“Sure.”
He can think of worse ways to spend a day with Paul.
Notes:
No idea where this one came from. It all stemmed from driving home and thinking about Hugh misunderstanding when Paul calls him hot.
Chapter 379: Stamets-ing
Notes:
Set during S4E2 "Anomaly". Can be read as a direct precursor to Chapter 377 ("Seams").
Chapter Text
She’s relieved to find that the science brings the Adira she’s most familiar with back to the surface, some animation returning as they use both hands to build a model of the gravitational flux. Tilly busies herself at the atomic spec, scanning debris for any hint of what might have caused it. There’s still nothing conclusive after a couple of hours, even with Zora searching the entire Starfleet database for similar incidents (having a semi-sentient ship computer does have its perks though, particularly in being able to converse with it directly). None of the substances are out of the ordinary for either an Oort cloud or the kind of matter picked up from a comet or planetoid.
The thing is - despite what her mother may have implied and outright stated over the years - there’s not much when it comes to science that Tilly can’t eventually wrap her brain around at least the basic concepts after throwing herself into it. This though…it defies rational or even irrational thinking. Staring at the strings of data, something pokes at the back of her mind.
Maybe it’s not in the stuff itself?
(“Sometimes you have to give in to chaos to see the patterns in it,” one of her Academy instructors says, “but it’s admitting that you don’t understand that’s the hardest part. Give yourself over to it, and you’ll recognize what needs to be done.”)
“Hmmm.”
Paul’s staring at a model with his eyes narrowed.
“Hmm?”
He walks around it, then through the projection, stopping to look at a particular section.
"...nothing," he mutters, running a hand through his hair and mussing its normally immaculate styling.
Tilly glances across the bay at Adira through the blue glow of Stamets' simulation, chewing her lip in thought. The nervous energy that’s been present since Michael commissioned them is absent. She hadn’t realized how much she’d gotten used to it these last couple of months, and part of her wonders if it has to do with her own promotion when Adira never seemed bothered by rank before. The last thing she wants is for them to start acting weird in the middle of everything else. That’s neither here nor there at the moment, so she sets the thought aside for now.
Focus, Sylvia.
The past couple of years have definitely improved Tilly’s ability to control her nerves, but saying that the anomaly has them all on edge would be an understatement.
Massively.
They’ve spent the majority of the last 48 hours coming at the data from all angles, not just Discovery but the slowly rebuilding Starfleet Sciences division and the best minds on Ni’Var. Maybe almost a thousand years have passed, but seeing Vulcans unable to crack it through logic shakes her to the core. Not just her either, it's really rattling Stamets too - he's wound tighter than an overloaded plasma coil, and seems to be taking their lack of viable hypothesis very personally.
Of course, Murphy's Law is still valid, so the best way to gather the data they need involves flying directly into the accretion disk of the as-yet-unidentified-but-definitely-deadly anomaly. As if that isn't bad enough, being tossed around worse than zero-G disaster training at the Academy leaves her dazed and struggling to focus. Michael's voice cuts through the blaring klaxons and impacts, clear and stressed.
"I need to know if one of those fluctuations will happen again, Tilly!"
While she definitely does her best thinking under pressure, this is like being crushed under a ton of neutronium...or hit by a dark matter asteroid. In the midst of it all, she doesn't mean to snap at Adira over checking their data, but it's out of her mouth before she can stop it.
Since when do you yell at subordinates?
Tilly's not even used to having subordinates, much less ones that sometimes feel like a sibling. She regrets it immediately, but the damage is already done. Cringing, she wonders if Dr. Culber is going to chastise her for her behavior, and stares determinedly at the readings. The cool tingle of the regenerator makes her chin itch, but more importantly, he doesn't seem to be annoyed with her even though there was no way he could have missed it.
"Sorry," she shakes her head around a humorless laugh, "I'm...Stamets-ing right now."
His hand is warm on her shoulder, the calmness he somehow always projects pulling her nerves back from the edge.
"We're all under a lot of pressure. What happened on that station was..." he trails off and they share a look, "and you know Adira's just trying to impress you, right?"
She gives him the best side eye possible while the ship is rattling like a child's toy.
"They really look up to you."
Really though, that's the part that makes her the most uncomfortable. Maybe it's the fact that she still thinks of herself as Cadet Tilly, Ensign hard enough to believe, but Lieutenant? It doesn't seem real, like a reminder of everything that's felt wrong ever since they landed in the future. In fact...
What if that's why Stamets snapped at people? Not just because he has high standards, but because he felt like...some sort of imposter with the responsibility he was forced to have?
For a moment, the deck drops out from under her boots in a way that has nothing to do with gravity waves.
Great time to have that realization.
With a massive effort, she wrenches her mind back from its two-second detour and dashes back out to the bridge.
Step one: stay alive long enough to worry about that later.
Chapter 380: Shadows
Summary:
***SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE FOUR “All Is Possible”***
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Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Dr. Culber wears white when he’s in the medbay, its brightly lit atmosphere one of restoration, returning patients to health. There’s years of training guiding his hands, of practice in putting people back together. He stands straighter in his whites, their crisp lines an armor about him that allows him the strength to heal.
The mind and heart though, are places of shadow and nuance, of grey areas that aren’t defined in absolutes. He finds himself putting on looser clothing, slacks and a butter-soft charcoal sweater Paul gifted him with many birthdays ago (he still remembers the cashmere whispering across their bare skin). His posture is looser, Dr. Culber’s poise unlaced to let more of Hugh show through. It’s not, as he tells Book, recommended practice to share his own life with those he’s counseling. And yet, he’s coming to realize that it may not be possible to effect the kind of healing needed without that vulnerability, that connection. Not without making himself a conduit and companion so whoever he’s speaking to knows they’re not walking alone.
He doesn’t expect his comment about mandalas to be turned back on him with such compassion, even less that Book would offer to listen. Really, he ought to have thought about it in spending time with an empath that he wouldn’t be able to conceal the feelings evoked in witnessing Book taking that first painful step towards an uncertain future. His own shadows and grief are still raw in places, the loss of Aida and Nella and his parents too hard to bear for long when they’d been a constant in his life. Hugh doesn’t regret following Paul into the future, that’s never in question. It’s more that there was never going to be a solution that didn’t tear away part of his heart, that there would be loss no matter what he chose.
He thinks - he knows that using service to empty himself isn’t sustainable forever. Paul’s love catches and holds him when he’s too drained to do more, when he’s tapped out every last bit of emotion helping others. Hugh worries that he’s not leaving enough of himself for Paul, not giving him what he deserves.
Of course, Paul won’t hear any apologies on the matter, and he loves his partner’s stubborn insistence all the more for it.
”Didn’t you tell me there isn’t some ethereal balance sheet out there?”
Hugh’s lips quirk upwards.
”I think I called it ‘cosmic’, actually.”
”Close enough.”
Paul’s heartbeat is steady beneath his cheek, his arms sheltering Hugh from everything except the occasional itch.
“Love…”
”You know,” Paul kisses his forehead, “if there was a cosmic tally, I’m fairly certain you deserve your fair share of rest. And since you’re almost as bad about it these days as you say I am, we clearly deserve each other. Which means, dear doctor, that it’s my turn to take care of you.”
”I’m okay. I will be.”
Fingers stroke over his cheek, trace his jaw gently.
”When you’re ready to tell me about it…”
He raises his head for a kiss. Shadows exist because of the light, and Paul’s love is brighter than any star, illuminating almost everything. He doesn’t have the words, not yet. In the meantime, he savors the connection between them, draws strength from it.
“I know.”
Notes:
First, I loved all the Hugh content!
Second, hearing Tilly talk about being unsure about her path playing out like I wrote? Priceless.
Third, WTF how could they NOT SHOW THAT SCENE WITH PAUL AND MICHAEL? I’m not going to be happy if it’s another “oh they cut that scene but posted the pic anyway” like with the Culmets kiss we didn’t get in “Scavengers” last season. Did they mess up and post from a future episode?
Four, Tilly’s arc better bring her back to Discovery once she’s got her feet under her again. I require her with Paul, Hugh, Adira, and Reno.
Five, the training mission was a definite callback to Picard and Janeway spending time with junior officers.
…that’s probably enough of me ranting for now. It was a very full episode but it didn’t feel bursting like the last couple have, if that makes sense? Well-written, particularly in illustrating Saru’s connection with T’Rina.
Chapter 381: Stamets-ing, Part Two
Summary:
***SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE FOUR "All Is Possible"***
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Notes:
Set prior to Tilly’s conversation with Michael at the end of the episode.
Follows on from Chapter 379.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s a quiet evening, which Paul isn’t complaining about, with an early dinner and both of them already in their pajamas by 2030. They’ve settled comfortably on the couch, his head on Hugh’s lap while his partner works on medical files with his left hand and pets Paul’s hair with his right. (Hugh’s perfectly capable of working the entries with the other hand, but they’ve already tried that and it’s hard to concentrate on the equations he’s studying when notations such as ‘severe bloating and constipation’ drift into his own floating display.) Every now and then, he glances up through the endless variables to watch Hugh frown in thought. There’s an odd sense of peace when the glowing blue figures are overlaid on Hugh’s face, his two great loves in one place.
Chirp.
He pauses the scrolling data and they share a surprised look.
“Are you expecting someone?”
Hugh shakes his head, dismissing his files with a shrug.
”No, but…door.”
Swish.
“Hi Commander, can I-“ Tilly pauses and blinks at them, “Umm. Sorry, I just…?”
"Tilly. What-" his focus sharpens, "what's wrong?"
"Oh! No, not wrong, it's right, I just...can we talk? Only if you’re not busy, I mean."
She's almost bouncing in place, something about her that he hasn't seen since she first joined the project but minus all of the sense of nervousness.
“Come in,” Hugh smiles at her, wiggling his knee and prompting Paul to sit up, “would you like something?”
(Paul’s almost positive that Aida is responsible for Hugh’s proper sense of hospitality, even in his pajamas.)
”No, I’m fine, thanks. Are you sure you two aren’t…you know…actually you know what? I don’t like where that sentence was headed. Umm. Anyway.”
She sits down on the armchair facing the couch, a peculiar unreadable expression in place. Paul collapses the data, giving her his full attention.
”Go ahead.”
“I’m probably not supposed to say that I’ve been talking to Dr. Cu- to Hugh, but it’s really helped me. Like, a lot, and I wanted to say thank you.”
”You’re welcome,” Hugh tucks both feet up onto the couch to sit cross-legged, “any time.”
”Well, see that’s the thing I wanted to talk about. I guess…I’ve felt so…weird. And I haven’t told you, Commander, because I know you’ve got enough to worry about but, it’s just been…yeah.”
”I’m not quite as oblivious as everyone thinks,” he can hear Hugh’s quiet chuckle, “I know.”
Tilly goes still for a moment, before nodding to herself.
”I think I get it now.”
“Hmm?”
”Can I ask you something?”
The question seems to be directed at him, and he nods.
”Okay,” Tilly laces her fingers together, “you don’t really like being in charge of people, do you? Like, not your research team, I mean when you got to Discovery and had everyone you didn’t know. Me, and the rest.”
He’s not expecting that, but it’s Tilly so there’s no point in lying.
”No, I don’t.”
Hugh leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.
”Why do you think he was a Lieutenant for so long?”
”Not this again,” he mutters, “Hugh…”
”Well. You did seem kind of old- actually, I mean, not in a bad way.”
”He never cared about rank,” Hugh somehow makes it sound like an enormous compliment, “just science.”
”I’m sitting right here, you know.”
“Sorry?”
”You're not sorry.”
”Nope.”
It’s telling that Tilly no longer looks like a fish out of water when they rally the proverbial ball back and forth, just watches them with a tiny smile that makes his chest feel a little funny.
“Tilly?”
“So…I just meant, I think maybe I understand why. And until I went on that mission with the cadets, I couldn’t figure out what to do about it.”
”Are you sure you don’t want to talk to just Hugh?”
Warm fingers squeeze his knee, and he untangles his own feet from the throw his legs are wrapped in, ready to make himself scarce.
”No, I guess I just-“ Tilly stops fiddling with the seam on her pant leg, “I think I’m going to take that detour, and I wanted to tell you first.”
The tickly feeling in his chest flutters uncertainly down to his stomach.
”Tilly?”
”Working with you on the spore drive and everything has been the coolest, awesomest thing ever, you know?”
Beside him, Hugh goes still but Paul can see him starting to smile.
”…Tilly…”
“Discovery- it’s the first place that’s really felt like my home for real,” Tilly blinks, and her eyes are suspiciously bright, “and I never thought I’d leave, not until I was ready to be a captain. But…I think maybe that’s not what I really want anymore?”
“A detour,” Hugh’s voice is soft but pleased in a way Paul doesn’t understand, “doesn’t have to last forever.”
Paul’s throat tightens, and he forces himself to breathe normally.
”You’re…leaving?”
A tear breaks free, spilling down her freckled cheek, but she’s smiling wider than he’s seen in a long time.
“They want me to go back to the Academy. To teach. And I said yes.”
Notes:
To be continued!
I ran out of brainpower here, but wanted to get it posted. I hope it’s not too choppy? Trying to capture Tilly this season is more challenging, because she’s going through so much.
Chapter 382: Stolen
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“What’s that look for?”
Tilly plops down next to Adira on one of the plush couches, propping her feet on the dark wood table in front of them. It’s a gesture her mother would have scolded her for, and the thought of earning her disapproval nine hundred years in the future makes her smile. It’s a holosimulation in any case, so there’s no disrespect or permanent damage.
”They’re being all…” Adira scrunches up their nose in a universal expression of ‘eww’, “…that.”
She follows the side-eye past the groups of Discovery crew mingling with other members of Starfleet in the reception hall, past the tables laden with a buffet of treats, beyond the archway and out onto a balcony. There’s classical Earth music playing and - recognizing something in this future makes her stomach feel funny - a simulated breeze wafting through from the starry evening outside. Tilly grins when she sees what Adira is referring to.
On the balcony Stamets and Culber have their arms around each other, swaying slowly back and forth. Instead of her mentor sheltering in his partner’s embrace as she would have expected, Hugh has his head resting on Paul’s shoulder, nose pressed into his neck. For his part, Paul’s eyes look half-closed (she can’t be sure at this distance), and he’s wearing a tiny smile that she’s only ever seen him direct at one person.
”Yeah,” Tilly sighs and sips from her hot chocolate, “they are.”
Notes:
Title references a “stolen” moment.
Approaching 400 chapters. How did that happen?!?
Chapter 383: Stamets-ing, Part Three
Notes:
Conclusion, follows on directly from Chapter 381 (“Stamets-ing, Part Two”).
Chapter Text
“Comma- Paul?”
He opens his mouth, then closes it again when his throat is too tight to speak. The words sink in, and he considers them, lets them sit on his shoulders to feel their weight. It’s not surprising, in a way, but it’s still not what he was expecting.
Not this soon.
Beside him, Hugh stretches out a hand and beckons Tilly over.
”Hugh?”
Tilly sits on his other side, back turned to the arm of the couch and her knee just touching his thigh.
”Give him a minute.”
Hugh’s hand slips beneath the hem of his shirt, settling on the bare skin at the small of his back. The small circles it makes are familiar, undemanding. He blinks a few times and his body slowly comes back online, grounds him in the warmth to either side.
”You said yes.”
It’s not a question or an accusation, more him repeating out loud what’s echoing in his mind.
”I probably should have told you, but-“
Paul shakes his head.
”No, you shouldn’t have. This…this belongs to you.”
She chews her lower lip, worry and hope and a dozen other things in the crease of her brow.
”Are you mad at me?”
Hugh draws in a breath to speak, but seems to think better of it.
”No. I am…” he takes Tilly’s hand, “I’m going to miss you.”
It’s such a simple statement, yet he feels it down to his core. Tilly’s grown so much from the over-eager cadet determined to prove to everyone how dedicated and driven she was, terrified of making a mistake and braver than people twice her age despite her self-doubt. Her steadfast refusal to let him shut her out when he was grieving Hugh…that’s not something he’ll ever be able to repay, nor her leap of logic to bring Hugh back, or saving his life by bringing him to the medbay during the battle with Control.
How could she ever think she wasn’t extraordinary?
Another tear rolls down her cheek.
”Me too. I- I don’t want you to think I wasn’t happy with…with you or- I just, I don’t know.”
Hugh’s voice is gentle, understanding as Paul searches for a response.
”It didn’t fit right anymore, did it?”
“Not since we got here. Finding out about The Burn, then Osyraa,” she cringes a little, “and the DMA…it feels like running away, but the Academy just feels so right to me, you know?”
She’s found her purpose again.
”Those cadets need you,” he nods, “more than they know.”
Hugh nudges him in the ribs, and he turns his head enough to give his partner a questioning look. The raised eyebrows he receives along with Hugh tipping his head Tilly’s direction make the ghost of a smile solidify into something real.
”And I’m proud of you, for what you did on that mission.”
”Really?”
The incandescence Paul has grown to love is back, the sense of feelings always filling her to the brim.
”Really. You brought them all home, Tilly.”
”I did kind of kick ass,” she grins, then sobers. “I wish it had been everyone.”
”That wasn’t your fault,” he squeezes her fingers, “you couldn’t have saved him.”
”He looked so scared.”
Heat blankets his back as Hugh leans around him to take her other hand.
”You made sure he wasn’t alone. And you got everyone else out alive. Not to mention, I think Adira even made friends. That’s the kind of thing you should be proud of.”
Her smile is a little wobbly at the edges.
”I still want to help with the DMA.”
”You’re going to be busy at the Academy,” Paul points out, “but I’ll uplink the data feed to you, and you can check the logs to see where we’re at and if you want to work on part of it.”
“You’re sure?”
”Yes.”
He lets go of her hand, opens his arms instead. There’s a moment’s hesitation as she realizes what he’s doing, then he has a double armful of Tilly hugging him fiercely. Paul’s vaguely aware of Hugh untangling himself, waiting until Paul’s done before giving Tilly a hug of his own.
“Proud of you, kiddo,” he murmurs as he steps back from her at the entrance to the shuttlebay.
There’s tears in her eyes, but her smile eclipses everything else as she accepts a last round of embraces before squaring her shoulders and heading to the waiting shuttle. Halfway, Tilly turns to look back over her shoulder and gives them a wave, red curls bouncing. Paul leans into Hugh’s shoulder as they watch her on her way.
”She’ll come back,” Hugh’s words are quiet, meant for Paul’s ears alone, although he suspects Saru is politely pretending he can’t hear, “it might take some time, but she won’t be gone forever.”
The shuttle’s thrusters power on, guiding it through the forcefield and out into the inky darkness beyond.
“I know.”
Chapter 384: Stomach
Notes:
Dialogue only. Takes place at any point post-Season Two.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Hugh?”
”…hmm?”
”What are you doing?”
”Cuddling you.”
”I see. Comfy?”
”Very.”
”Are you…petting me?”
“Mmhmm.”
”Right.”
”What’s that face for?”
”Nothing.”
”Why don’t I believe you?”
”Because you’re the one fondling my stomach like it’s attractive?”
”Why wouldn’t I? It’s yours, therefore it is attractive . And it makes a nice pillow, so stop moving.”
“Fine- ahh!”
”What?”
”Your nose is cold.”
”You weren’t complaining before.”
”You were on top of my shirt before.”
”Was I?”
”Yes.”
”Oh. Okay. Warmer this way though.”
”For you.”
”Mmhmm.”
”Hnnnnhhh. What am I supposed to do with you?”
”Let me snuggle you?”
”It’s your fascination with my waistline I’m talking about.”
”No, I just love every bit of your body. Including the parts you think I shouldn’t.”
”I didn’t say that.”
”Well,” kiss, “that’s,” kiss, “too,” kiss “bad. Are you planning to file a complaint with the management?”
”Are you the management?”
”It just so happens I am. Now shush and let me love you.”
“That’s easy.”
”Oh good, because I’m too busy cuddling the most gorgeous man in the universe to listen to any complaints.”
“Seriously?”
”Yes.”
Notes:
What should I do next: cat!Paul, Paul pampering Hugh, or attempting to write something with the promo pics?
Chapter 385: Scary
Summary:
Another conversation very early on in their relationship.
Notes:
Just a quick snippet while I chase down cat!Paul :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Babe?”
Hugh’s voice is gentle, as if speaking too loud is suddenly forbidden. He waits patiently - despite the concern stirring inside - for Paul to respond, frustrated that the screen and several dozen light years are between them and he can’t pull his love into his arms.
”Sorry.”
”What for?”
Paul’s looking down to the side, a sign that Hugh’s learned means he’s self-conscious but not upset.
”I- okay,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “this…is new for me.”
He doesn’t ask what ‘this’ is. They’ve had several conversations in the past weeks about their growing relationship, and while Hugh is certain that Paul’s feelings are genuine, there are nuances he still doesn’t quite understand.
”Okay.”
”And, I guess, this…hunger? That’s not the right word. When I think about you, when I miss you, I- it’s like a physical ache, Hugh. In my chest, and my stomach.”
Nodding, Hugh gives Paul his best encouraging smile.
”Me too.”
”But there’s also this other feeling. I mean, yes,” Paul finally meets his eyes, cheeks flushed, “I know what being horny feels like. But it’s never felt like this before. I want you, want to touch you and kiss you and do other things. Everything. Sometimes I want you so much it hurts.”
A spark of comprehension lights up in his mind, empathy seeking a point of entry and finding it before his conscious thoughts land on it.
”And that’s scary for you.”
”Yes.”
“Is there something I can do to help?”
Paul quirks his lips in a wry smile.
”You already do, by being…well, being Hugh.”
”It’s what I do best,” he teases, “all the time.”
The smile slides into something smaller and infinitely more vulnerable.
”I think,” Paul leans closer to the screen, voice dropping to almost a whisper, “I always thought maybe I was wrong somehow, because it never felt like what other people described, what it was supposed to feel like. I’ve thought I could love someone I was with before. But I’m in love with you. And sometimes it scares the hell out of me, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
Paul has told Hugh on multiple occasions that he’s afraid he’s not romantic enough. He wishes his love could understand that what he’s given Hugh with declarations like this, with the little moments, means more to him than a fancy dinner out or expensive gifts.
I want to spend the rest of my life with him.
I'm going to.
He doesn’t know that he’s ready to speak those words out loud yet.
“Hugh?”
Then again, there’s only one reply he could make to Paul, the one he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of saying.
”I love you too, sweetheart.”
Notes:
I want to thank everyone who commented on a much earlier chapter with the sense that I write Paul as demisexual. It’s something I didn’t understand enough of myself until a few months ago, when I was reading those comments and realizing that the bits and pieces of my own feelings and frustrations that I’m echoing in Paul fit together. I’m not a particular fan of labels, but having that as a reference point has helped me defining myself as not broken or wrong. So…thank you.
Chapter 386: Shadows, Part Two
Summary:
****CONTAINS SPOILER PHOTOS FROM SEASON FOUR EPISODE 5 "The Examples"****
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*
*
Picks up from Chapter 380 ("Shadows")
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul watches Hugh in the mirror as his partner zips up his uniform jacket and steps into his boots. As he straightens, a shadow seems to pass over his face and the pleasantly neutral expression he'd been wearing while they were brushing their teeth dissolves into a troubled frown. That in itself isn't necessarily alarming, plenty of times in the past where Hugh was worried about the health of one of his patients or some other stress that could be resolved in a straightforward manner. It's the fact that he waited until Paul's back is turned that bothers him, and he sets down the container of gel with a sigh, patting his damp hair into place.
"Hugh?"
In the time it takes to turn and go through the bathroom doorway, Hugh's smile is back in place. It's easy, sincere, but there's a hint of wrongness to it.
"Hmm?"
Directness is a hallmark of their relationship, so-
"Are you okay?"
Hugh raises a bemused eyebrow.
"Sure."
He's not the master of reading body language that Hugh is, not able to pick up a complex array of signals from the most nuanced gesture, but he's had fifteen years to become an expert in all things Hugh Culber.
"I..."
Hugh takes a step closer, the strange expression slipping into familiar concern.
"Babe?"
"I don't know why I asked. I know you're not okay."
A sigh.
"Look, there's just a lot on my mind. It's nothing to worry about."
Shaking his head, Paul raises his hand, fingers splayed between them. He knows it telegraphs his frustration, but there's not much he can do about that.
"How many times have I said that to you and you never let me get away with it?"
He lets his hand come to rest on Hugh's upper arm, feels the tension in his bicep concealed beneath the white sleeve. Hugh closes his eyes for a few breaths, and Paul lets him, gives him the space to think even though his instincts want to demand an answer.
That's not how we work.
"Paul," Hugh's voice is quiet, "I'm not ready to talk about it yet. I want to be, but I can't."
It's not the answer he was hoping for, but at least it is an answer. Paul chews his lower lip, tries to read the swirl of feelings in Hugh's dark amber eyes.
"Okay."
That earns him a look of surprise.
"Okay?"
"I want to help, Hugh. But it's not up to me, and-" he reaches for Hugh's hand, "just. I'm worried about you."
Instead of the expected 'don't be', Hugh nods.
"I know."
Pulling Hugh into his arms fully, Paul exhales hard, then inhales his comforting scent.
"I love you."
"I love you too, sweetheart. Thank you."
*
*
*
SPOILER PHOTO BELOW
*
*
*
Notes:
I truly can't tell from expressions whether this is a positive or negative conversation. That's not quite a frown on Hugh, and Paul's body language isn't horribly tense, but still...
Ugh! I hate waiting.
Chapter 387: Shadows, Part Three
Summary:
***SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE FIVE***
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*
*
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul knows he’s probably taking it too personally, but professional courtesy is the backbone of scientific collaboration. Even the most seemingly arrogant Vulcans, with no interest in emotional implications, offer respectful acknowledgement.
No, Paul thinks as he shrugs off his jacket, not Ruon Tarka.
Hugh’s warm hands gently grasp his and move them aside before zipping Paul’s jacket. It’s familiar, grounding as his blood pressure rises. Deft fingers fasten his collar, dropping away without the caress of his throat they usually offer.
“Let it roll off you,” Hugh advises, “there are bigger things at stake here. Good luck.”
Tilting his head to the side, he’s surprised when the expected brief peck from Hugh is bestowed on his cheek.
What…?
They’re alone, Hugh’s boots brushing his insoles. There’s no witnesses, so there’s also absolutely no reason for Hugh to not kiss him on the mouth. It’s not that he minds other locations necessarily, but a ‘good luck’ from his partner always accompanies a brush of their lips.
In the time it takes his mind to catch up, Hugh is almost at the door.
”Hey,” he pitches his voice lightly to avoid sounding like he’s nagging, “you’ve already done what, five therapy sessions today? Maybe you could take…ten minutes before you jump into one again?”
Instead of responding with a tease about Paul suddenly being the one worried about overworking, Hugh gives him a smile that doesn’t really reach his eyes.
”People need help, Paul,” the facsimile of a smile vanishes, “knowing that someone made the DMA makes it all the more…unsettling. For everyone.”
He’s already tried asking Hugh about what’s bothering him, and there isn’t the time to try again. Pressing his lips together into a wry quirk, he takes a step forward, reaching for Hugh’s hand.
“Can I give you some advice now?”
Hugh’s reply is too immediate for his liking.
”I’m good. Really.”
Before he can react to that, Hugh drops another kiss on his cheek and is out the door.
What the…
In all their years, Hugh’s never been the one to shy away from discussing feelings, and Paul has zero idea of what to do about it now.
Focus.
The universe - or at least the people on the asteroids below - needs saving, so he has to shunt the thought aside for now. It sits sour in his stomach, but there’s nothing he can do about it at the moment.
It’s not a feeling Paul likes.
Notes:
Okay, Paul in a sleeveless undershirt? Was not expecting that!
Hugh doing up his jacket just…ugh. So intimate.
Wilson posted that scenes with Anthony in Paul and Hugh’s quarters are his favorites. I completely agree.
Chapter 388: Safety
Summary:
***SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE FIVE***
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*
*
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Stamets.”
Paul pauses a half step before the doors. Tarka, of course, continues on down the corridor, posture radiating pique at having their experiment halted.
”What,” he turns to face Reno, “no pejoratives?”
Her expression is for once completely serious, no humor - dark or otherwise - in her eyes.
”You could have gotten us all killed.”
Great.
”Look, I can- next time, I’ll be prepared for what…”
He trails off at her sigh, not one put-upon but hiding a much deeper emotion than he’s used to seeing in their verbal sparring sessions.
”I’m glad the two of you stopped the pissing contest long enough to decide you’re going to find out who has bigger tools.”
”He’s an arrogant ass,” Paul glances around to make sure no one else is in range, “but he’s smart.”
Reno comes closer, the console no longer between them.
”Yeah, all that stuff you don’t like about him? Is dangerous as hell, Stamets. You blow this ship up, it’s not just you and me it kills.”
”I wouldn’t have let-“
She flicks her hand in a dismissive gesture.
”Everyone. Including Hugh.”
Paul opens his mouth, then closes it again.
”Discovery’s not invincible. Sooner or later, being the smartest person in the room isn’t going to be enough. And,” Reno catches his forearm, “then it won’t matter what the DMA does if we’re dead already. Remember that the next time Tarka steps on your ego, when it’s not just an insanely stupid idea to build a singularity next to the warp core. That man is dangerous.”
With that, she releases him and walks briskly up the stairs, leaving him alone with her words echoing in his head.
Notes:
Tarka at first reminded me of the classic Trek arrogant scientist willing to get people killed to prove a theory (TNG episode with the nanobots comes to mind). Then he seemed like a plot device to rattle Paul.
Now?
That Emerald Chain slave scar makes me really wonder what the heck he’s doing there.
Chapter 389: Shadows, Part Four (Conclusion)
Summary:
***SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE FIVE***
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*
*
Notes:
This episode was so unexpected. But I needed this scene more than anything else.
Follows on the previous chapter. Dialogue taken directly from the episode, then expanded on.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh’s quiet when Paul makes it home, but it’s a different sort of silence than earlier, more contemplative than closed off. He lets it be, Reno’s words still echoing in his head as they undress and head into the shower. The steam surrounds them, softens the edges of reality a little. They move around each other without much thought needed, Hugh’s downcast eyes less noticeable when washing themselves and each other.
He doesn’t push when they step out, damp footprints trailing to the sink to brush their teeth. Hugh still seems to be turned inwards, hands moving on autopilot. If he stays standing there, Paul knows he won’t be able to resist saying something. Instead, he brushes his fingers over Hugh’s shoulder and leaves him at the sink, begins the process of removing the throw pillows, the ritual of getting ready for bed easing more of his nerves.
When he finally spots movement in his peripheral vision, he starts with the most innocuous question.
”So how’d it go today?”
Hugh sighs.
”Uhh…refugees are turning in for the night,” he passes Paul and shakes his head, “resettlement begins tomorrow.”
The pause tells him that Hugh knows what he’s really asking. He won’t quite meet Paul’s eyes as he turns down the covers either. Avoidance isn’t his partner’s style at all, and he debates whether now is the right moment to call him on it. Their bed is a safe space, somewhere they’re always completely honest with each other. He doesn’t think it’s breaching that trust to use that unspoken understanding to try and help.
”How was your day?”
To anyone else, Hugh probably just sounds tired.
There’s so many ways to answer that.
”Oh, uhh, crazy. We learned a lot,” he can hear the rustle of sheets behind him, “though not as much as we could have, and umm, Tarka is a genius, no question, but umm, he scares me too.”
It’s an admission he doesn’t make grudgingly, no matter how much the man’s demeanor rubs every inch the wrong way.
“He is so single minded about his work. He cares about literally nothing else.”
Hugh leaves off fussing with the edge of a pillowcase, fingers laced together in his lap. It’s one of Dr. Culber’s mannerisms, but it’s all Hugh when he raises his eyebrows and hums dubiously. Relief surges through him like cool water at the teasing lilt, and he reaches for the covers to climb underneath.
”Actually feels a little familiar.”
Hugh’s still wearing an affectionate half-smile when he settles against the pillows, but his gaze drops again a moment later. Propping his elbow on the headboard, Paul tries again.
“How’re you feeling?”
”Fine.”
Hugh’s shrug and nod tell him otherwise.
“That was an avoiding ‘fine’, not a real fine,” he says as gently as possible, “your eyes are the real tell.”
That gets Hugh’s full attention, and the challenging stare he receives wraps itself around his heart with gossamer lightness.
“Really.”
”You look down,” he adds, “every time.”
Paul reminds himself not to hold his breath, biting his tongue a little to give Hugh the space he needs. Hugh seems to be gathering himself, then takes a deep breath.
”Kovitch told me I’m wearing myself out.”
”He’s right.”
He’s not above leveraging what someone else says.
”Said I’m using work as a crutch,” another breath, “and I need to take a break.”
Agreeing with that is as equally likely to make Hugh retreat as it seems it might draw him out further.
Pick something else to say.
Paul reaches for Hugh’s hand, can’t help but smile when both hands close around his without hesitation.
”Maybe that’s why I fell in love with you,” he murmurs, watching Hugh’s eyes lose their dull shine, “we have the same pathology.”
Hugh huffs a laugh, fingers tracing Paul’s knuckles.
”Making you either a total narcissist, or a glutton for punishment.”
“Little Column A, little Column B,” he quips, pleased when the shadows recede further.
”Look at us,” Hugh shakes his head, “we jumped a thousand years into the future, we helped solve The Burn, and we can’t figure our own shit out.”
The smile is tired but genuine as Hugh curves his palm along Paul’s jaw, fingers brushing the hair behind his ear, when he leans against Paul’s hand on the headboard. He strokes Hugh’s cheek with his thumb, watches as the last of the barriers fall away.
Ask him.
”Are you ready now?”
Hugh closes his eyes, shoulders slumping.
”I don’t know. But…” he glances up at Paul through his lashes, “I suppose if I keep waiting, it’s never going to be right, is it?”
There’s a comment about Hugh being the professional on the tip of his tongue that he bites down on again to prevent it from escaping.
“Maybe not.”
A shiver passes through Hugh, and Paul wonders if it feels too exposed like this. Making a decision, he frees his hand long enough to wave off the bedside lamp and lifts the covers again. He lets Hugh decide how he wants to be held, rolling them onto their sides until their legs are tangled and hands entwined.
”Kovitch…you know,” Hugh’s laugh is pained, “it’s easy to tell other people to talk about what they’re feeling.”
Paul nods, waits for him to continue.
”Some days, Paul…sometimes I don’t know why I got a second chance. Book lost his entire planet, and here I am, trying to deal with the fact that I’m alive. And,” he blinks rapidly, moisture beading on his eyelashes, “then I think I shouldn’t question it, because it means you, us, I get to keep that. I get to love you for a second lifetime.”
A tear breaks free, rolls down the bridge of his nose and onto the pillow. Paul traces its path with his thumb, swiping away the damp trail.
”Yes.”
”I was thinking, about Tilly. How she thought she knew who she was and what she wanted, but this future, the anomaly…it made her question. I have to help people, that’s who I am.”
”It’s not one or the other,” Paul scoots closer, resting their foreheads together, “you can do that and still give yourself the same…compassion, the same thing you do for them. For me.”
Another tear escapes.
”Paul?”
Normally he’d complain about the overuse of his name, but it’s so much less important than everything else right now.
”Yeah.”
”I- I’m not trying to avoid talking about it. I promise. But can we tomorrow maybe?
The dark circles beneath his eyes and the weariness in his voice override any protest Paul might make.
”Yes.”
”Thank you.”
Paul rolls onto his back, arranges Hugh along his side, head on his shoulder.
”I’ve got you,” he kisses Hugh’s forehead, “okay?”
There’s no pause this time.
”Okay.”
Notes:
I…wow. Just wow.
Wilson’s acting was visceral and honest. I wish they’d made the dialogue a bit less pointed, but I can’t complain at the end of the day.
Paul and Hugh turning down the bed together is such a metaphor for their relationship. It’s quiet and routine, and it speaks of knowing each other on a level that’s inexplicably beautiful.
I miss the red pajamas.
Three short chapters immediately after watching, more to write once I’ve processed!
Chapter 390: Shadows, Part Five (Epilogue)
Summary:
***SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE FIVE***
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*
*
Notes:
So. Much. Material. From this episode.
Follows on immediately after the previous chapter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He can tell that Paul's not asleep, but he seems content with Hugh's silence. It's one of the things he loves most about Paul, his honesty and commitment to the things he says, no matter how small.
You feel guilty for being alive.
The prominent ridge of Paul's collarbone is beneath his cheek, his fingers splayed over Hugh's shoulder blade.
Never on Paul's behalf.
The thoughts chasing him stumble at that, and he gives the dark a tiny smile. No matter what, assailing their relationship will fail, doubts shattering on the bulwark of their love. Paul's arms tighten a little, as if reading Hugh's mind, and that gives him the courage to say one more thing.
"Paul?"
It's barely more than a whisper, but the response is immediate.
"Hmm?"
"Kovitch was wrong about one thing."
Paul's other hand leaves off stroking his arm to press their palms together.
"What's that?"
"He asked if there was anything else besides work that meant something, if my life only focused on service."
A kiss lands on his forehead and lingers, Paul's lips brushing over his skin as he speaks.
"It's who you are. You help people."
Hugh raises his knee to cross Paul's thigh, foot tucking itself beneath the opposite calf.
"It's you. And Adira, and Gray, and Tilly...that's who and what matters to me. The people I love."
A fingertip traces the curve of his ear, follows the line of his jaw down to his chin and gently urges him to tip his head up. The kiss is sweet and close-mouthed, and they don't break apart afterwards, content to share the same air.
"I love you too, Hugh. So much."
Notes:
Apologies for so many multi-part stories lately. We Go Together is supposed to be snippets (I mean, 2k+ words in some of them is a snippet, right?), but some can't be told in just one go and I figure it's easier to connect all of the parts if they have the same title.
Read the other parts of "Shadows":
Part One - Chapter 380
Part Two - Chapter 386
Part Three - Chapter 387
Part Four - Chapter 389
Chapter 391: Shapeshift, Part Nineteen
Notes:
Apologies for not getting back to cat!Paul sooner - he’s been sulking and I needed Hugh to crawl behind the couch to get him :D
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Why do you want to go so badly?”
On the console, Paul sighs.
Why shouldn’t I go?
”Because it could be dangerous. And you’re not used to this body,” Hugh tries to keep his tone mild, “you keep missing when you try to jump. If something happens, you might not be able to react like you normally would.”
Predictably, Paul doesn’t seem impressed.
I’m not planning to climb any trees. It’s M-class and we didn’t even use enviro suits when we went down before.
“Maybe that’s part of it. We have no idea what a second exposure could do to you even in EV.”
”Mrrroowwwoooowwww-“
Paul huffs in obvious frustration, baring his teeth as he does. Honestly, Hugh can’t imagine what it would be like trying to speak but without the proper vocal cords and palate to form words. The message that hovers between them, however, is one hundred percent Paul’s voice.
How do you know YOU'LL be safe? What happens if you all end up like me? This is bad enough already.
To the uninformed, Hugh is sure the scene looks ridiculous - him and a large ginger tabby having a stare down, rising tension in the air.
”You need to stay here.”
A hiss.
No.
He can’t quite forget Paul is a cat, but the eyes glaring at him are the same electric blue as ever.
“I-“ Hugh closes his eyes, jaw clenching. “If something goes wrong down there and you get hurt, I wouldn’t know what to do.”
A rippling motion that he’s coming to recognize as the feline version of a shrug rolls down Paul’s side.
You’re a doctor.
“That doesn’t mean- there’s a lot less of you like this. Things that would be dangerous for a human like a rockslide or falling branch could,” he swallows, wets suddenly dry lips, “could kill you.
Paul’s paws tap furiously.
I need to know YOU’LL be safe.
”Babe…”
He continues, ire clearly directed at and increasing every time his rapid typing makes a mistake on the wide-spaced interface.
If you go down there and need help, if Tilly gets hurt or you do, I can’t do anything from here.
Opening his mouth, Hugh hesitates when the typing continues.
I feel so damn helpless. And I HATE that. There’s nothing I can do like this, and I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.
Paul’s tail whips back and forth, knocking a handheld scanner onto the deck with a clang that makes them both jump. Hugh winces, because that had to sting given the force Paul’s tail made contact with it. The pained yowl is followed by a sound that rises and falls, eerily close to crying. Without hesitation, he scoops Paul up and cradles him against his chest. It’s clearly more than just the scanner, as Paul hides his face, paws scrabbling as his body convulses with what Hugh can only imagine is pent-up emotion.
“Shhh,” he murmurs, kissing a laid-back ear, “I’ve got you, sweetheart. We’ll figure this out and you’ll be back to stealing the covers and drinking coffee soon.”
The last sentence is meant as levity, but it falls flat. Hugh tucks the shaking body under his chin and does his best to make calming noises, smoothing his free hand over Paul’s back the same way he would rub soothing circles as a human. He’s so fragile feeling like this, five kilos completely engulfed in Hugh’s arms as the wailing increases. Paul’s in no state to communicate with words, and it’s a horrible feeling to not be able to offer the comfort he needs.
We could both use some comfort, actually.
It’s not until the (unconsciously) unsheathed claws score his chest hard enough to sting even through the uniform that he switches tactics.
”Paul…”
The tear-less crying continues, heart-wrenching. He grits his teeth as the claws dig in harder, concentrating on breaking through to Paul.
”Please, you’re hurting me.”
His body stiffens, then Paul withdraws his front paws and their claws all at once, spots of bright red slowly blooming on the white of Hugh’s uniform in their wake. He tries to set him down on the console, but he clings to Hugh’s arm with all four paws. A distressed mewl reaches his ears when he eases the zipper down one-handed, peeling back his uniform jacket. The undershirt hasn’t offered much by way of protection, neck cut too low to serve as another layer where Paul’s paws were high on his chest.
Paul noses past his hands, frantically licking the puncture wounds. He winces, the rough tongue over lacerated skin like being rubbed with old-fashioned sandpaper. He covers the area with his fingers, dabbing at it. They’re deep, but not enough to be more than a sluggish bit of bleeding and a fiery sting where the lacerations cross. Paul’s still staring at him, and Hugh can almost feel the guilt set in.
“I’m okay,” he tries to remember if there’s a regen handy, “it’s okay.”
I hurt you.
“Just a few scratches, I wasn’t expecting them is all.”
I’m sorry.
He shifts Paul until he’s in the crook of his elbow, raising him up so he can’t hide his face by looking down.
“I know. We’ll figure this out, all right?”
Notes:
I hope that was a believable setup. Sure, it’s only been a couple of days, but stressful and I don’t think I’d react very well to not being able to talk or have opposable thumbs. It’s emotionally charged, ergo everything just sort of collides.
Read the other parts at: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18
Chapter 392: Struggle
Chapter Text
He doesn’t reach out to Kovitch again for weeks, too rattled by the insights that cut his knees out from beneath him.
I can’t.
Now, Paul’s snoring beside him, having insisted Hugh take a day off with him. It would feel patronizing if he didn’t know Paul’s being completely sincere in his desire to let Hugh decide what he needs. They’ve no plans beyond a promised breakfast in bed, not even the expected offer of very personal entertainment. Sex is usually a welcome distraction, but given the difficulties they’ve run into lately-
Limp dick is really the least of your worries.
Counting the freckles on Paul’s nose - all seventy-three of them in their usual places - keeps him busy for less than a minute. He tries to meditate, but can’t reach the state of inner stillness needed for even the most basic exercises. Reading might take his mind away, but he’s been expressly forbidden from doing anything remotely related to work and the temptation to flick open reports would be too great. He groans a bit too loudly, because the snoring stops and Paul wrinkles his nose. Hugh grimaces at the unintentional disturbance, makes wordless soothing sounds until Paul settles again and leaves him alone with his thoughts.
It's exceedingly loud in his head, but Paul's peaceful expression remains.
Do something else.
Petting Paul’s hair occupies the fingers of one hand at least, the familiar motion of combing through it a single brick trying to repair the cracked dam of his composure. The quiet noises of satisfaction accompanying each exhale warm him, thawing a little of the frozen landscape inside, but it’s a drop in an endless ocean of doubt.
Who am I?
Hugh’s known who he is, what he was meant to do since that day in Cabo Rojo. Medicine made him feel whole, serving one of the greatest purposes of existence in helping others and giving him an anchor to return to in this new body. At first, counseling seemed to do the same, coaxing patients to lay out their demons to be mastered and sent away. There’s very pointed irony in him trying to put people back together when he feels so broken inside, when death and life and time travel have finally caught up when he didn't even realize he was running.
Talking with Paul helps, in that he’s not holding everything inside anymore. It takes several false starts over a few days, leaves him feeling bruised and unmoored. Paul's listened patiently, conversations that happen once they're in bed for the night, covers pulled up to banish that horrible exposed feeling when he tries to address it anywhere else. Everything seems permanently off-balance though, like taking a step only to find that the ground is lower than expected, a split second sensation of panic and falling. Unlike that metaphor though, he's not sure when his foot will actually land on something solid.
Take time off and recharge.
It's advice he'd give anyone else, that Paul's gently urged him to do. The problem is, going anywhere physically isn't going to magically transport him away from his thoughts. And if he's not here, there's a large chance that Paul will go back to staying up all night to work on the DMA. With Discovery at the forefront of investigating it as well, the anxiety of not knowing if everyone here is safe wouldn't let him rest either.
He's resisted Paul’s well-meaning suggestion that he speak with Tracy, unwilling to share even with her until he can talk about it calmly. Game Night is hardly the proper occasion, and it seems too heavy to burden Rhys or Aisha or anyone else with. Kovitch is out of the question, and he's not altogether certain that even a confidential therapist would offer what he needs. That leaves-
Abuela can help.
Between one blink and the next, the grief slams into his chest with the force of a blow, stealing his breath. He misses Aida, the knowledge that his grandmother is just a comm away and always willing to listen to her favorite grandson. Her wisdom and kindness shaped him, her love as much a formative agent as his parents. Moreso, even, as he grew older and came to her for advice and comfort, her steady strength a constant.
Hugh’s grieved more than once for his family since coming to the future. He’s cried in Paul’s arms as they read Nella’s file, her birth and death mere history now as they bookend her life, mourned his parents and brothers and cousins, felt the loss of an exuberant Culber Christmas full of tradition and laughter. Two weeks ago he barely suppressed a panic attack when he couldn't remember one of Aida’s recipes clearly, only calming when Paul admitted to having taken his own notes when allowed in her kitchen, meticulously cross-referenced and stored in a personal database labeled 'Hugh'.
The pillow is wet beneath his cheek, and he takes a gasping breath to force it back down. He must be louder this time, because Paul makes a sleepy, inquisitive noise.
"Shh," he murmurs, voice catching, "go back to sleep."
One eye opens, head turning, and he does his best to pretend he's not on the edge of another bout of tears.
"Hugh? 's'it?"
"Nothing."
Unfortunately - though it's usually not - Paul knows him well enough to read him, even while mostly asleep. The other eye opens, scanning his face.
"What's wrong?"
Lying doesn't suit them, so-
"Can't sleep."
"Should-" Paul interrupts himself with a yawn, "should've woken me up."
"I'm fine."
The look he gets says Paul doesn't buy it.
"Sure."
Sighing, Paul pushes up on his elbow long enough to pull his shirt off, groaning quietly. Then he reaches for the hem of Hugh's pajama top, waits until it too hits the floor, then pulls him into his arms for a bare-chested hug. Without the barrier of fabric, he can smell Paul much more strongly, almost taste the soap and sweat from his skin. Paul doesn't say anything, just tucks Hugh's head under his chin and rubs his back, humming softly. The humming soothes the raw edges, every touch of Paul's hands on his skin rebuilding the armor he needs outside of their quarters. Uncertainty and doubt are still there, lurking outside the protective circle of Paul's embrace, but his body is too well-trained to resist the hardwired message to relax. He's urged onto his back, Paul settling half on top of him, another barrier against the rest of the universe.
At last, sleep pulls him under, borne down with Paul's kiss on his lips.
Notes:
Yep, I have an endless supply of stories about Paul and Hugh tucked in bed together. Not sorry about it :)
Question - at what point after an episode airs should I stop tagging spoilers?
Speaking of, I'm not sure what to make of the stills from this week's episode. Also, that's a really distorted angle they've taken on Paul. Grumble.
Chapter 393: Stare
Summary:
President T’Rina has a question for Commander Stamets.
Notes:
I originally started writing Chapter 373 as a prologue to this story, but T'Vala took it in a slightly different direction. I do hope it still works paired together.
Chapter Text
“Commander Stamets, do you have a moment?”
President T’Rina’s voice is serene as ever, and Paul frowns.
What could she want?
“Go ahead,” he gives Booker a tight smile, “I’ll be up soon.”
Booker’s side eye is palpable, but he nods and transports a moment later.
”Madam President.”
“Would you permit me a question regarding today’s activities?”
Something in her inflection reminds him strongly of T’Vala, and he finds himself folding his hands behind his back, a habit learned in the early days of his relationship with Hugh when T’Vala’s Vulcan tendency to stare at his hands made him uncomfortable.
“Sure.”
”Earlier, in an attempt to dissuade him from consenting to a mind meld, you informed Mister Booker that you did not wish him to re-experience the destruction of his homeworld ‘because of your failure’."
He manages a stiff nod, wondering where this is going.
"Like Mister Booker, I do not understand your sense of responsibility for events far outside your capability to control.”
That’s it though, you should be able to figure this out.
He chews his lip, trying to find the correct words.
”If it is too personal in nature, I apologize for the intrusion.”
”It’s not, I just…the DMA exists in our universe, and so it should be bound by the laws of physics and math, but it isn’t. At least not in any theory. And I can’t figure out why it doesn’t.”
”Commander,” T’Rina tilts her head to the side, “you have been in possession of the data from Discovery’s survey for a period of two weeks.”
”Which should be plenty of time to figure out what it is.”
Paul notices his leg bouncing and stills it.
”I must disagree with you. This is an unknown anomaly, and neither the Ni’Var Science Academy nor the other scientists with whom you have consulted can offer a greater understanding of it. Thus, it is not solely your responsibility nor could it be expected of you to determine its nature without further analysis. Moreover, while unproven, your theory still serves as a place from which others may begin their investigations.”
“Still… it’s not enough. Not when there’s billions of lives at stake.”
T’Rina tucks her hands into her sleeves, something unreadable in her eyes.
”I have observed the human capacity for compassion to be greater than that of other species. Therefore, your sense of care must likely be considered praiseworthy. However, it is of personal detriment should a sense of guilt or self-criticism be applied to this matter.”
”Sounds like you’ve been talking to Hugh.”
An eyebrow rises.
"Pardon?"
"Ahh...Doctor Culber. Discovery's CMO."
The eyebrow moves higher.
"I cannot say that I have spoken with him recently.”
”I didn’t mean- ahh. Figure of speech. He’s just been after me about this too.”
”It would be his duty to ensure the well-being of the crew, would it not?”
”He’s also my partner.”
It seems like a ghost of a smile appears, there and gone again in the blink of an eye.
”I would of course not presume to counsel you on your emotional well-being if your mate has you in his charge. If you would consider, though, that if others have spoken to you of it, that perhaps you might re-evaluate your own perspective?”
He nods, albeit reluctantly.
She and T'Vala would have gotten along.
”I shall not delay you any further. Peace and long life, Commander.”
”Thank you,” he fumbles his hand into the ta’al, “live long and prosper.”
Chapter 394: Scrutinize
Summary:
A completely different perspective on everyone.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Life, so far as Grudge is concerned, consists of a series of instances in which her Human leaves their home and returns in varying emotional states with a variety of new smells on him. When he's not busy, her Human spends plenty of time petting her. While he's unable to communicate with her properly, she's trained him to understand when she's hungry, so it's a fairly satisfying state of affairs.
They make an extremely rough landing one day - she's awoken from a nap but experiences only minor discomfort in a carefully shielded area - and he eventually returns home with another Human. Grudge isn't sure what to make of Other Human. They talk loudly, and Other Human holds out her (Grudge is fairly certain Other Human is female) hand in some sort of greeting that Grudge decides to ignore. Her Human always knows when to leave her alone, but it looks like she's going to have to start the long process of training another one.
Other Human spends a long time with them. Grudge is certain she smells attraction between Other Human and her Human, and wonders if she's about to be replaced. However, her Human still pays her plenty of attention, so she tries to keep her complaints to a minimum.
Not that humans are very good at listening when she does.
She's concerned when her Human makes worried noises, then doesn't return home. It's not unusual for her Human to be gone for long periods of time, but it's the first time he sends home somewhere else with her in it.
Other Human's home is much larger, brighter, and significantly shinier. Grudge isn't terribly happy to be left with Other Human - she hasn't managed to teach her more than a few things - but it's not long before she's alone again in a new place. There are plenty of things to explore, including a very soft resting place where Red Human finds her.
She meows a polite greeting. Red Human is the first human with proper fur on her head, and she even picks Grudge up as a sign of respect. Unfortunately, Red Human makes worried noises as well, and Grudge retreats into a dark place to let Red Human do whatever human things need her. She spends an inordinate amount of time trying to talk to Grudge, and eventually she takes pity on the poor human and deigns to climb back into her travel crate.
Pale Human is different than the others. He doesn't seem to like people any more than she does, and he leaves her alone instead of chattering at her in the unintelligible human language. Pale Human's Mate arrives (Grudge could smell him on Pale Human), and when all the other humans leave, she's pleased to see them scenting each other with their cheeks. Her Human lets Grudge mark him in the same fashion, and she climbs onto a console to see if Pale Human can understand her when she speaks.
Alas, he only stares. She's disappointed, but distracted when Small Human joins them. Small Human smells like Pale Human and his mate, and she deduces Small Human must be their offspring. They don't seem to be grooming Small Human correctly though and Grudge attempts to demonstrate by licking Small Human's spiky hair into place. Pale Human's Mate makes a happy noise, and she hopes this lesson will stick. Sometimes humans require multiple tries.
Strangely, Pale Human doesn't seem to like Other Human, which Grudge is surprised to see because her Human hasn't indicated there's anything wrong with Other Human. She recognizes the signs that Pale Human is considering fleeing, and wonders if he has a good hiding spot like she does at home. Surely he and his mate would have somewhere nice and dark and soft to hide when they're upset or angry?
Other Human smells sad and hurt, but no one is listening to Grudge when she asks questions. She's tired and needs to sleep, and decides that when she wakes up she'll investigate the matter more. Maybe Tall Not Human can speak her language? It doesn't seem likely, but it's worth a try. She just has to remember where to find him.
Notes:
Possibly to be continued?
I enjoyed finding ways to frame the crew in ways Grudge might see them (not that I know how cats think), and hope it's as entertaining for you as I found it :)
Chapter 395: Sheets
Notes:
Nella’s back!
Chapter Text
The cushion-and-chair fort really is an impressive sight, and Hugh shakes his head and chuckles affectionately. It’s a far cry from the lopsided mess of sheets and chairs that inhabited the space this afternoon, and looks far less likely to cave in if a breeze comes through the open patio door. As he approaches, he can hear a very familiar voice.
”…that’s right. Chlorophyll makes plants green. It’s one of the things that evolved on completely different planets, all because they orbit a sun.”
Paul sounds serious, not the slightly patronizing tone other adults might take. It’s one of the many things he loves about him, and his nieces and nephews probably now do too.
He’s so much better with kids than he thinks.
He pauses outside what seems to be the likeliest candidate for a door.
“Hello?”
”Hu-“
”Shhh!”
He grins at Nella’s scolding, schooling his features into order again just as she pops her head out.
”Hi, Tío.”
”Nellita, can I have Paul back?”
She frowns in consideration.
”But you get him all the time.”
”Well,” Hugh tries to look serious, “he is my boyfriend.”
”You brought him here, so now you have to share.”
Arguing with his niece never gets him anywhere, so he tries a new tactic.
”May I come in then?”
”Okay, but only if you know the password.”
”There’s a password?”
The look she gives him almost makes him break.
”Ahh. Right, how about…” Hugh wracks his brain for Nella’s latest interest, “photosynthesis? Or mitosis? Adenosine triphosphate?”
One of those must work, because she holds up the sheet and lets him crawl inside. It’s fairly spacious, for all that it’s just over a meter high, and he finds Paul leaning on the back of the couch with a PADD on his knee. Before he can do so much as offer a greeting, Nella’s already scrambled back onto Paul’s lap (Hugh suppresses a laugh when one of her knees nearly ends up somewhere painful).
”Hi,” he leans over her head to kiss Paul’s cheek, “what are you reading, and is it only for people obsessed with plants?”
Paul smiles and wakes the PADD up, showing Hugh the text of an encyclopedia of native Earth flora.
“Just this.”
”Sorry to interrupt, then.”
He makes a keep going gesture, and watches as Nella points at an entry.
”This one, Tío, why’s it have funny leaves?”
”Well, in nature form usually follows function. So if you ever find something and wonder why it looks that way, you have to think about what it does. Those leaves are for a rainforest, so they’re the best shape to collect humidity and sunlight even with a really dense canopy…”
Hugh tunes out the specific words, enjoying the steady rise and fall of Paul’s narration, interspersed with Nella’s questions. The other children are outside, and he’d wondered why she wasn’t with them. Clearly, she’s decided Tío Paul is more interesting than playing freeze tag. His niece is amazingly intelligent, but he suspects she’s not being challenged enough at school if what Aida mentioned is the case.
Well, no one better to understand being too smart for their peers.
Unseen by Nella - who’s already made it clear that her uncles kissing is just so gross - he carefully slips a hand up under the hem of Paul’s shirt and lets it rest on his lower back. Paul doesn’t stop reading, but he can feel him leaning into it.
Eventually, bit by bit, he works his way close enough to rest his head on Paul’s shoulder. It’s been a long several hours in the kitchen, and he ought to have enough time for a short nap before Aida might need help getting things ready to serve. With that in mind, he lets his eyes fall shut and Paul’s voice lull him to sleep.
Chapter 396: (Make) Sense
Summary:
***SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE SIX***
*
*
*
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Could you use the…voids in the mycelial network and map relative to us?”
”No,” Paul closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, “it’s not a one to one correlation with this dimension. It’s like trying to use the topological map of Ni’Var to navigate on Earth. They’re both maps, but not of the same thing.”
He can feel Hugh watching him through the display floating above the console. It’s one part annoying - because anyone staring at him when he doesn’t understand something feels horrible - and ninety-nine parts reassuring. Not for the first time, he wishes Tilly were here, her inexplicable leaps of comprehension and theory something they could all use right about now.
You just miss her.
Yes.
Book’s still muttering behind him, hallucinations clearly still in full force. Even hearing one half of the conversation, Paul can tell that Book’s relationship with his father is in worse shape than his own ever was. He can’t focus on that now though, and shunts it away.
“What about mycelial density?”
”Not enough consistency.”
”Can we jump within the pockets?”
He opens his eyes, meets Hugh’s across one of the voids.
”I can’t actually see the network as a whole when I’m inside of it. It’s just…a road we use, but it’s so fast and vast that there’s no way to navigate.”
”Sorry.”
”For what?”
Hugh shakes his head.
”Not being helpful.”
A glance over his shoulder shows Book sitting quietly for the moment, unlikely to disturb them. He steps around the console until they’re side by side, leaning into the solid strength of Hugh’s body.
“You are.”
Paul does his best thinking with Hugh nearby, his voice, his presence through an open communication link in the weeks and months they were separated. So many nights with a PADD in hand and Hugh asleep beside him, analyzing data and waiting for that moment when something inside clicks and he can see the patterns.
He gives himself the luxury of a few breaths like this, Hugh’s palm warm against his, before straightening again.
Back to work.
Notes:
So…not nearly enough Culmets, but when they were on screen it was mostly together.
Still processing this episode, after the deeply emotional connection I felt last week. It reminded me of classic Trek where the captain puts themself in danger, but I wanted more sense of peril for Michael (like Picard with the particle sweep stopping inches away, Janeway and the macroviruses fighting).
Chapter 397: Stymied
Notes:
Set during S4E5
Chapter Text
Swish.
“You’re a doctor.”
Tracy turns, professional smile in place.
”Doctor Pollard. Can I help you, Mister Tarka?”
The man in front of her actually looks surprised.
”Huh, wouldn’t have thought- well. I suppose my reputation precedes me?”
Tarka’s eyes sweep around the medbay, not even bothering to make eye contact.
”Mmm,” she props a hand on her hip, “did you need medical attention?”
“Yeah. Amazing how they refitted an ancient sickbay though. Muscle spasm, right shoulder, I just need two cc’s of relaxant.”
Tracy thinks his ego needs the relaxant more, but nonetheless runs a quick scan before dialing up the hypospray.
”You’ve been busy. With Commander Stamets?”
”When he can keep up,” Tarka shrugs, “guy’s got a big head.”
Hugh emerges from the corridor leading to the private exam suites, heading to one of the consoles to work.
”Stamets is pretty smart.”
She pitches her voice a little louder than needed, watches Hugh’s hands pause even though he doesn’t do anything so obvious as look up.
”By your standards, probably. I’m thinking I might need to teach him a lesson.”
”Oh?”
Tracy administers the hypo, with a little more force than necessary.
”Yeah. Takes him forever to figure things out. Too afraid of taking a risk.”
Hugh’s jaw tightens.
“I wouldn’t call that a bad thing, Mister Tarka.”
”You like him, Doc?”
”Some days,” her dry delivery seems to go unnoticed, “but I’ve known him a long time.”
”This ship needs better.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Hugh’s patently false smile accompanies him approaching, “heard a familiar name, Mister Tarka, right?”
”This is Doctor Culber, our CMO.”
Tracy exchanges a look with him, Hugh’s expression now unreadable.
”You know Stamets too?”
“Pretty well, I’d say.”
”Guy’s got an ego a light year wide.”
Hugh leans on a biobed, deceptively casual.
”He’s earned that.”
“Whatever. We done?”
“Your shoulder should be fine now,” Tracy sets down the hypo, “try to avoid repetitive strain on it though.”
Tarka turns to leave without even a thank you, and she watches Hugh step into his path.
”What?”
”Whatever you have planned to get at Paul, don’t.”
Tarka snickers, and it’s not a nice sound.
”He gonna get his feelings hurt?”
“I’m more concerned with what might happen to you afterwards.”
”Hah,” Tarka scoffs, “Starfleet needs me, they won’t bother.”
”Oh, I wasn’t talking about Starfleet.”
”So?”
”Insult him to my face one more time, and you’ll find out.”
Tracy smiles.
”That a threat, Doctor?”
”No,” Hugh sounds completely calm, “it’s a promise.”
“Have a nice day, Mister Tarka,” she interjects, gesturing at the door, “and I’d follow Hugh’s advice about Paul.”
”What do you care?”
Hugh squares his shoulders.
”He’s my partner.”
For the first time, Tarka seems at a loss for words. He stares for a few seconds, then shrugs.
”Whatever. Tell him to stay out of my way.”
Tarka is gone a moment later.
”Hugh.”
”Hmm.”
”If he crosses that line, call me.”
”Deal.”
Chapter 398: Solstice
Summary:
Paul’s first Christmas with Hugh’s family.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Family traditions mean different things. There’s the Stamets tradition of awkward holidays, none of the easy flow of conversation across the Culber dining table. Or uncomfortable silences when Paul’s father asks his children about their lives, as if he’s forgotten. Certainly not the warm sense of belonging in Aida’s living room, Paul cuddled up to Hugh on one of the couches and Nella sitting on both their knees.
His palms are warm around the mug of spiked cider, eyes shining as Hugh’s family sing old Earth Christmas carols while the last ornaments are put in place and Hugh’s uncle ceremoniously turns out the lights. There’s a moment of pitch darkness, then the tree comes alive with thousands of twinkling lights. Surrounded by laughter and Hugh’s family - his, too, he’s been informed - he tries to store every detail in his memory.
”Thank you,” he murmurs, snuggling closer under Hugh’s arm.
”For?”
A sort of exhilaration rushes through him, heart full of Hugh’s smile. He’s strangely unbothered by the numerous other people present as he leans over Nella’s head to share a tender kiss. It lingers, Paul trying to communicate everything he doesn’t have words for. Meanwhile, Nella hops off their laps with a shout of glee when Aida starts passing out gifts.
They separate, Hugh’s fingers tracing over his jaw.
”Babe? Is everything okay?”
Paul rests his forehead on Hugh’s cheek and thinks of all of the moments of joy the two of them have shared in just the last week.
“Perfect.”
Notes:
Wilson singing “O Holy Night” is beautiful - watch here.
Chapter 399: Shave
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
There are several things he might expect (or hope) to hear when nuzzling Paul’s groin. Moaning, for instance, or cursing if he’s being a tease. Occasionally it’s also an unrelated thought that Paul absolutely has to get out of his head to focus on the moment, but he prides himself in making his lover unable to think.
So when Paul blurts out, “do you want me to shave?”, it takes him completely by surprise.
Hugh’s nose is buried in the crease between hip and thigh at the time, happily licking the musky skin as he slowly pulls Paul’s briefs down inch by tantalizing inch. He pauses with his fingers hooked over the waistband and mentally replays what he heard a couple of times before concluding that yes, Paul’s non sequitur is indeed what was asked.
”What?”
Glancing up, he can see Paul’s face flushed pink, forearm thrown over his eyes and the visible half of his face looking almost as surprised as Hugh feels. Hugh lets go of the elastic, pushing up on his elbows between Paul’s legs until he doesn’t have to strain his neck. As he does, one blue eye peeks out from under a pale wrist before going into hiding again.
”Umm. Never mind…”
Hugh doesn’t as a rule answer questions with a question when he’s not in doctor mode, but he’s not sure what the problem would be.
”I thought I’ve said that I don’t mind your stubble? I like it, actually,” he rubs his thumb against Paul’s inner thigh, “it’s hot.”
Case in point, the lamp illuminates the barely visible blond scruff along Paul’s jaw and chin. It makes him look a bit older, less like a recent Academy grad despite being in his mid-thirties, and he enjoys feeling it scratching over his own skin.
”…that’s not what I meant,” Paul mumbles, “I- not my face.”
Hugh climbs over a leg, crawling up until he’s beside Paul on the sheets and gently coaxing his arm away from his eyes.
”I don’t think I follow.”
A hand waves in the vague direction of his lower body.
”I…know I’m pretty hairy.”
”Yes?”
He shrugs, unsure why Paul thinks that would bother him. The tickle whenever Paul’s bare forearms or legs brush against him is far from unpleasant.
”Some people, I mean, do you…you’re not ummm, weirded out by it?”
“It’s your body, love. I’ll love it however it is.”
The statement is accompanied by a gentle smile, but he hopes Paul can hear the sincerity. Paul’s body is ridiculously attractive, as is the person inhabiting it.
“Are you sure?”
Hugh cuddles against his side, tracing his index finger down the thickening line of dark blond hair on Paul’s belly, spreading his palm flat where it fans out under his navel. Paul’s head is turned slightly away from him, avoiding his gaze, and that just won’t do. He sighs and sits up again, leaning over to make eye contact. The worried frown seems far out of proportion to the non-issue at hand.
”What, specifically, would I object to?”
A sigh.
”This,” Paul reaches for his briefs, tugging them down to bare most of his crotch, “…you know.”
Oh.
Huh.
Raising an eyebrow, Hugh pets the crisp curls.
“Does it bother you that I don’t shave down there?”
”Of course not.”
”Well-“
”But you’re all this-“ Paul’s hand flaps again, “and I’m…not.”
“Silly,” he tries to keep his tone gently teasing without any hint of patronizing, “I love you because you’re you. And this whole beautiful body of yours, hair and all. Why wouldn’t I?”
Paul chews his lower lip.
”I guess- sorry, it’s stupid.”
It doesn’t take much to put two and two together, and he forces down a surge of protective anger.
”Who told you that, and what’s their comm frequency?”
”…huh?”
”So I can go rip them a new one for making you feel bad.”
”Hugh- wait. You’re serious?”
Instead of answering immediately, he throws a leg over Paul’s hips, lowering himself onto Paul’s chest with his elbows bracketing his shoulders.
“I,” Hugh kisses him firmly, “love every bit of you,” he wiggles a hand between them to cup the soft dick and balls, “exactly as you are.”
Paul stares at him for a very long five seconds before closing his eyes.
”Okay, now I feel stupid.”
”No,” he sits back on his heels, bringing his unoccupied hand down to join the other one, “stupid is whoever didn’t appreciate you.”
A self-conscious but pleased smile tugs at Paul’s mouth.
“If it bothers you,” he continues, “you could trim or…I don’t know, shave it into a mushroom or something, but I’m fine either way.”
”A- a mushroom?”
Hugh wiggles his eyebrows.
”Sure, so it matches.”
”Oh my- Hugh.”
He can’t hold in the giggles any longer, collapsing back down and rolling Paul on top of him as they shake with laughter.
Problem solved.
Notes:
Paul’s insecurity knows no bounds early on. It’s part and parcel of some high achievers to not be able to let go of something we’ve been criticized for, even years ago.
So uhh, Chapter **400** is next zomg! Any objections to some kinky Culmets sexytimes next?
Chapter 400: Silken
Summary:
Paul and Hugh play a game.
Happy 400th chapter!!!
Notes:
Contains semi-explicit sexytimes, toys, and exceedingly consensual light bondage.
This chapter is significantly longer than most - over 3,400 words - enjoy :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Babe?”
Hugh strains his ears, unable to see past the black silk covering his eyes. He can sense Paul in front of him even though can’t reach out to touch, wrists crossed and bound behind his back with a twist of cord. One tug on the ends in his palms would release them, but part of the game is heightened arousal through delayed gratification. Paul’s very, very good at making him lose control, but the longer he resists the urge to break free, the greater the rewards.
”Right here,” Paul’s husky whisper and warm breath on his neck sends a shiver down his spine, “okay?”
”Yes.”
The kiss brushed just beneath his ear is too fleeting, and he can hear Paul’s amused huff as he tries to follow his retreating lips.
”Impatient.”
”I’m naked and the hottest man in the universe just tied me to a chair, so I’m assuming that means orgasms are going to be involved. Of course I’m impatient.”
His partner has very considerately turned up the environmental controls (and given him a towel to sit on), but the air following in Paul’s wake still skitters cool over his exposed skin.
”Well,” Paul’s voice sounds farther away, “you’ll just have to wait.”
”Mmm.”
He can just make out a hint of footfalls, Paul’s bare feet on the deck.
”I want you to tell me what I’m doing.”
”What?”
”Just that. Tell me what you hear.”
Intrigued, Hugh tips his head to the side to listen better. It should be like what he does when he’s in bed with his eyes closed but following Paul’s movements with sound alone. There’s a quiet clink, like something metallic landing-
“Your badge. You put it on the table?”
”Yes. And now?”
A series of clicks or pops starts and lasts a few seconds, and he wracks his brain to connect the oddly familiar noise with an action without any visual cues.
”You…unzipped your jacket.”
Fabric rustles, then more zipping.
”And taking off your pants?”
”Well, they’ll only get in the way.”
Hugh shifts in his chair, knees spreading a little further as the playful tone sends a spark of excitement down to his groin. The expected swish of Paul’s underwear doesn’t follow though, and he tries to identify the low hiss of skin on skin.
”You’re…hands are rubbing?”
”Mmm. Tell me where?”
“How am I supposed to-“
Paul’s breathing picks up a little, and it’s followed by a satisfied hum that pitches up at the end. A pulse of heat settles low in his hips, because Hugh is intimately familiar with what sort of touch and where causes that sound.
“You’re playing with your nipples.”
A strangled noise, like a breath caught in Paul’s throat.
Tugging.
When he speaks, Hugh can hear the smile.
”Mmhmm. I wish it was you though, your hands are always so- ohhhh. Mmm. So gentle until you decide not to be. Fuck.”
Hugh licks suddenly dry lips, the desire coiling between his legs tightening as he hears the rasp of a hand rubbing over cloth. Given that Paul’s chest is bare and he’s already taken off most of his clothes-
“You’re touching yourself.”
The noises stop.
“Good. How?”
”How would I- should I guess?”
Another breeze, then Paul’s fingers ghost over his collarbone, pausing to tweak Hugh’s (much less sensitive) nipples before continuing down his torso and disappearing a frustrating couple of inches away from where he wants them.
”Tell me,” Paul licks the shell of his ear, tugging the lobe between his teeth, “what you’d like me to be doing.”
”Me.”
A sensual chuckle, one that Paul reserves for him and only in their bedroom.
”Not yet.”
He steps back, and Hugh can’t suppress the growl of frustration.
“Seriously?”
”We can stop any time,” Paul’s voice loses the teasing lilt.
Hugh shakes his head.
”I don’t want to stop.”
Paul’s hand is warm on his cheek, and he nuzzles it before depositing a kiss on the palm.
“All right. Where was- right. Tell me how you want me to touch myself.”
Hugh’s nostrils flare as he inhales deeply. Paul’s scent is heavy in the warm air, and he can practically smell the musk of arousal growing.
“Lick your fingers.”
”Which hand?”
Even without his eyes, he knows Paul can read his expression, because he laughs quietly but not unkindly.
”All right. Done.”
”Play with your nipples again for me?”
He can feel Paul standing between his spread knees, mind filling in the blanks for his lack of sight. Hugh pictures the way Paul’s fingers must be moving, flicking the sensitive nubs and pinching them lightly the way he likes best. (Too much pressure too fast makes him wince away, unless he’s in the mood for something a little rougher.) It’s a sight that turns him on like no other, looking up from between Paul’s legs to find his partner busy with his own chest while Hugh pleasures him with his mouth. Paul sighs, humming his enjoyment.
”What now?”
”Use your other hand,” Hugh swallows, throat gone dry, “touch yourself. Through your underwear.”
”How?”
”Your- squeeze the shaft and rub it. Under the tip.”
”Mmm. Love when you use your tongue there.”
The whisper of skin over fabric is tantalizing, painting a vivid picture in his mind.
”Was that a hint?”
”Not yet.”
He groans, more ostentatiously than necessary.
”Are you hard for me, sweetheart?”
“Just about,” Paul’s hands land on his shoulders for balance, long enough to brush his groin against Hugh’s chest, “feel that?”
“Fuck.”
The touch vanishes, and he can feel his own nipples drawing tight with excitement. Hugh’s well on the way to half hard himself, body even more attuned without the use of all five senses.
A swish.
”You took your underwear off.”
The rasp of skin on skin starts and pauses, then a distinctive click.
”Lube?”
”Mmhmm.”
The barely audible slick noises make his mouth water. Neither of them speak for what feels like an eternity, Hugh’s arousal ratcheting up as he listens to Paul jerking off inches away from him. He’s brought back to full awareness when Paul’s heat recedes, and the sound of the nightstand drawer opening reaches him. It’s farther away on Paul’s side of the bed. That means-
“You’re getting a toy?”
He tries to get his lust-fogged brain to remember what ended up in there. The clamps, certainly, and it’s also where Paul retrieved the blindfold and quick-release cord earlier.
”Mmm. A couple, actually.”
“Which ones? Ohhh…yeah…”
Paul’s footsteps are followed by his hand finally closing around him, slippery strokes bringing his erection to full mast in short order. Even nearly a year later, the new body is still so responsive to touch. A thumb swipes over the leaking tip, dipping into the slit, then there’s pressure around the base and a quiet snap.
”Recognize that?”
”You- fuck, babe. A ring.”
Paul releases him, and he groans.
“Mmhmm. Can’t have you getting too excited,” he gives Hugh’s balls a friendly caress, “I have plans for that.”
”Do tell.”
A mouth lands on his, hot tongue thrusting between his parted lips. It’s a more assertive kiss than he’s been used to with Paul these last few weeks, and he melts under it, reveling in the sense of surrender.
“Well,” Paul murmurs into the kiss, “I was thinking I’d get you all worked up, then ride you until I come.”
Hugh’s hips twitch upwards but find only empty air, hands clenched into fists around the cord.
”Like that idea?”
It takes Paul a bit longer to reach orgasm these days, and Hugh doesn’t mind one bit.
”Fuck. Yessss.”
Paul’s hands squeeze his waist, trailing downwards and thumbs fitting themselves in the ridges over his hipbones.
”Thought you might. Going to need to get ready first, though.”
”Want some help? I- unnhhhhh….”
That same scorching hot mouth engulfs his erection, sucking just this side of too hard and doing wicked things with the tip of his tongue. It’s only a minute of ecstasy, because Paul pulls off with a perfectly obscene slurp and he curses as he’s left bobbing, cool air on sensitive damp skin.
“Hugh?”
It takes a couple breaths to find his words.
”…yeah.”
Paul’s legs brush against his knees, and his weight settles straddling Hugh’s thighs. He tries an experimental wiggle, but Paul’s sitting too far back for him to rub his erection on his stomach. Arms circle his shoulders, kisses pressed under his jaw. Being unable to use his hands is frustrating, but Hugh nuzzles their cheeks together instead, inhaling Paul with each breath.
”You’re so fucking hot like this. All tied up,” Paul fondles Hugh’s chest, “just for me. Letting me do whatever I want.”
He flexes beneath the groping hands.
”Only ever for you.”
”I know.”
The smile in Paul’s response is apparent, and the kiss he receives next is sweet, a delightful contrast to the playful eroticism they’ve been sharing. Gentle affection takes the edge off the fever pitch of desire, and he busies himself nibbling Paul’s lower lip just to drink in the sighs it produces.
”Are you enjoying yourself?”
His question vibrates between their mouths, damp skin clinging. Humming, Paul nods.
“Mmm, yes.”
”What’s next?”
Paul laughs, quiet and delighted.
”Well. One more thing, hang on-“
There’s something firm but yielding being pressed to his lips.
”Open up?”
He does. It’s far too cold to be what he was hoping for, the barely discernible taste of bioplastic and silicone giving a few clues as to its identity (not the curved glass rod, or the wicked metal orbs).
”Can you guess which one?”
Paul holds it steady, and he explores it by feel, tongue counting ridges swirling down the length.
“Mmhmm.”
It comes free from his mouth with a pop.
“The new one, we haven’t tried yet.”
With one last caress of his chest, Paul climbs off his lap.
”I figured now’s as good a time as any.”
A hand lands on his shoulder for balance, then Paul’s foot insinuates itself beneath Hugh’s right thigh on the chair. Concern elbows aside arousal for a moment, the medical professional and partner in him in agreement.
”Babe, you can’t just, saliva isn’t-“
”Hold this.”
It’s not rude, but it’s certainly abrupt when Paul shoves the toy back into Hugh’s mouth, stopping just before it gets uncomfortable.
”Of course not,” the bottle lid clicks again, “I’m not planning on needing the regen later. Pity your hands aren’t available, I suppose I’ll have to- ahhh, do it myself.”
A barely audible sound of skin and slick, then Paul’s sigh. Knowing that Paul is fingering himself in front of Hugh makes him squirm in the chair, excitement rising with each moan and choked-back gasp (he thinks Paul might be exaggerating just a little, and he definitely isn’t complaining).
”Ohhhhh. Mmmmhmmm…I- fuck!”
Two fingers.
While he’s beyond impatient, they haven’t gotten beyond sucking each other off and sleepy handjobs in almost two weeks, and he knows Paul isn’t ready yet.
“Mmm…” Paul’s forehead rests against his, “so good. Going to be tight for you.”
”Mmmmphhhhmmmm.”
There’s no way to swallow around the toy while Paul takes his sweet time getting ready. When Paul starts to thrust it in and out of his mouth, Hugh decides not to care about the saliva spilling down to wet his chin as he sucks. It satisfies part of the craving, the enjoyment he gets from things in his mouth, and he tries to pretend it’s actually Paul sliding over his tongue.
“…Hugh?”
”Mmm,” he manages around the object between his lips, just before Paul pulls it out.
”Can I…” he seems hesitant, “could I take a holo like this? Of you. Please?”
Oh, Hugh’s body likes that idea.
“Yes.”
”Are you sure?”
He smiles.
”Are you planning on sharing it with anyone else?”
“What? No! Of course not.”
”Then I’m sure.”
Another kiss, and he can feel Paul smiling too. When they separate, the toy nudges his lower lip again, body-warm from its time in his mouth. He accepts it back without hesitation.
”Ready?”
“Mmmhmm.”
He nods as best he can. Paul steps away - probably to retrieve his personal PADD, the one not tied to ship’s systems - It doesn’t take much to imagine what it must look like, him tied to a chair, blindfolded and hard with a dildo sticking out of his mouth
“Actually, I think we’re missing something.”
”Hmm?”
Footsteps, and the nightstand drawer opening again.
”Can I use the clamps?”
There’s a clink of metal on metal, and he shivers in anticipation, nodding. Paul’s back on his lap a moment later, and Hugh can’t help the moan at the feeling of leftover slick on his thighs. A thumb flicks his left nipple, teasing it, before repeating on the right. The touches are followed with a hot tongue licking and suckling, then gentle nibbles.
”Okay?”
Hugh nods again and holds his breath, waiting. The warm pinch of Paul’s fingers is replaced with a tighter grip, and he inhales sharply when Paul nudges one with his thumb.
”Too tight?”
”Nnnhhhhnnn.”
He shakes his head, acutely aware of each movement.
”Mmm, all right.”
Paul’s hand is back all too briefly, stroking him a few times before climbing off.
There’s a shuffling sound - a PADD being pulled across the table - and Hugh deliberately spreads his knees wider, arching a bit to force his chest out while flexing. He holds the pose as until he hears the clatter of the PADD being set down again, relaxing as Paul retrieves the toy and he’s able to speak again.
”Got it?”
Paul’s thumb swipes across Hugh’s chin, wiping away some of the moisture.
“Thank you.”
”For a holo?”
Fingers trace his cheek, sweep down his jaw and pause over his lips. He kisses them, smiling.
”For always trusting me. For…giving me everything I’ve ever asked for. I love you so much,” Paul says quietly, “thank you for being mine.”
The words settle around his shoulders like Paul’s embrace, warmth and safety and a sense of rightness that nothing else evokes.
”Can you take the blindfold off? Please.”
The black silk falls away and he blinks, eyes adjusting to the low light of their quarters.
“Did you want your hands…?”
“No,” he shakes his head, “I wanted to see you. I love you too. You-“
Paul kisses him then, deep and unhurried.
“Sorry,” he murmurs when they separate, “for interrupting.”
Hugh leans his cheek into Paul’s palm, contentment washing over arousal.
”Those things you said, are exactly how I feel about you too. About us.”
This time when Paul leans over, something damp brushes against Hugh’s thigh.
“Umm.”
He can’t help the snort in response, glancing down at his own lap where his body is still very much in “Paul is naked” mode.
”We can keep going?”
Setting down the blindfold on the end of the bed, Paul nods.
“It’s your present, so whatever you’d like to do.”
”…hmm?”
”I mean-“ Paul gives him a nervous smile, “it’s not your only present of course, I have other things for you.”
What?
Hugh frowns, confused, until it dawns on him.
”It’s my birthday.”
The lube is on its side, and Paul quickly caps the bottle before it makes more of a mess.
”Was that a question?”
”I,” Hugh feels his cheeks heat, “completely lost track.”
”And here I am about to turn fifty, but you’re forgetting things?”
Paul’s grin tells him that he’s going to be teased about this for a while to come.
”Apparently. You know seeing you naked is distracting.”
”Well, you couldn’t see me before.”
”Can we leave the blindfold off then?”
“Mmhmm. So you do want to keep going?”
Tilting his head to the side, Hugh raises his shoulder and uses it to scratch an itch on his ear.
”You’re the one going to be hosting the party, babe.”
“True. And my ass has been deprived of your dick for twelve days.”
”You counted?”
Paul wipes his hands on the towel next to the discarded toy.
”Yes. I don’t suppose,” he looks down at his half hard erection, “you’d want to help with this first?”
“If you have to ask that, I think you might be the one with memory problems.”
There’s a few seconds where he can see Paul wondering the same thing about logistics, then he swipes open his tricomm.
“Babe?”
As he speaks, the edge of the table shimmers like liquid before extending outwards.
“Programmable matter has to be good for something, right?”
Paul opens out the towel and sits on the tabletop, legs spread. It’s not the best angle, but Hugh ignores the strain on his neck as he leans down and gets to work. Without hands, he can’t completely play the way he’d like to, although Paul helpfully holds himself steady with the hand not gripping his hair. The chain attaching the clamps swings every time he bobs his head, tugging at his nipples with delicious weight.
He focuses on the sounds Paul is making, the way he trembles when Hugh licks the sensitive spot under the head, until swollen lips and an aching jaw finally make him pull off several minutes later.
“…babe?”
”Mmuhhh?”
”Lay back.”
”What?”
Hugh kisses a pale thigh.
”You heard me.”
“Oh. Ohhhh!”
He noses at the sensitive skin in front of him, waiting for Paul to arrange himself with his ass on the edge and his thighs on Hugh’s shoulders.
”Babe?”
Paul pushes up on an elbow
“What?”
”No hands. Going to need a little help if you want me to eat yo-“
If it wasn’t so hot, the speed with which Paul goes from confusion to laying back with his legs in the air and hands on the backs of his knees would be comical. Hugh doesn’t comment, just surveys the sight in front of him. There’s still lube slicking the skin - and even nine hundred years later, T’Vala’s tasteless lube is still the best - and it takes minimal effort to wiggle the tip of his tongue inside where Paul’s slippery and burning hot. It’s a challenge without being able to use his hands, but Paul’s already relaxed enough that what he’s doing isn’t really needed. Hugh happily ignores the logic, licking and sucking and tongue-fucking to the rhythm of Paul’s breathless cries.
”…fuck. Oh my- ohhh, Hugh. Hugh.”
”Mmm?”
”Need you inside me.”
He surfaces with one last long lick.
”Oh, that can definitely be arranged.
Reaching for the lube, Paul sits up and hops off the table on wobbly legs, straddling Hugh’s lap again.
”Here?”
His partner doesn’t even pause.
”Here.”
Whatever he meant to say next wanders off with the rest of his higher brain functions the moment Paul starts lowering himself. It’s torture to hold still, his long-neglected erection slick and aching. Inch by inch, until at last, he’s buried as deep as he can go inside of Paul’s clenching heat.
”Fuck. Sweetheart, you’re…”
”Mmhmmm.”
Paul fastens their mouths together and starts to move. It’s not the vigorous bouncing implied earlier, but a filthy rocking grind that makes them both moan. He can’t do much with Paul’s weight on him like this, concentrating on rolling his hips up to meet every rise and fall. One of Paul‘s arms is wrapped around his shoulders, the other hand alternating between tugging on the clamps tormenting Hugh’s nipples and working himself with short strokes.
Hugh loses track of everything besides Paul, universe narrowed down to the points of contact between them.
“m’close,” Paul gasps into his mouth an indeterminate amount of time later, fingers fumbling with the release on the ring holding him captive, “fuck me, so close…”
He abandons Hugh’s chest, hand moving faster. It doesn’t take long until he’s arching back with a cry, fingers digging into Hugh’s shoulder and pulses of heat spattered over his stomach. He’s absolutely beautiful, mouth open and whimpering with the aftershocks.
The last of Hugh’s self-restraint vanishes with Paul’s climax, and the cord drops to the floor. Paul’s skin is slippery with sweat beneath his hands as Hugh grips his waist. He thrusts up into him a dozen times before the sight and sounds and smell of their pleasure overwhelm him. Hugh spills into that slippery tight warmth with a guttural shout, feels Paul sag against him even as he starts to come down.
”…wow.”
It’s the first coherent sound either of them has made in the last few minutes, silence broken only by panting and quiet moans. Paul raises his head from Hugh’s shoulder enough to make eye contact before snuggling back down.
”Happy birthday, Hugh.”
He tightens his arms around Paul’s waist briefly, wondering how badly they’ll stick to each other with a combination of lube and cum. Moving is out of the question, and he thinks dozing off just as they are is a fine idea.
”Thank you, sweetheart.”
Notes:
Happy belated birthday to Wilson (December 27). How is the man 48?!?
It wouldn’t be Culmets without going from kinky to making love and back again.
Thank you all so much for getting me here.
Chapter 401: Sentient
Summary:
***SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE SEVEN***
*
*
*
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“I’m proud of you.”
They’re in bed, duvet snug atop them while they snuggle.
“For acting like an ass in front of everyone?”
He keeps his voice low, to avoid disturbing Adira and Gray, asleep on the couch under Aida’s quilt.
”For standing your ground and defending your viewpoint even though we disagreed.”
”Hmmm. You should be proud of them for standing up to me being that way.”
Hugh scoots closer, foot rubbing Paul’s shin absently.
”Sweetheart,” Hugh catches his eyes, “I know you’re stubborn. But I also know you won’t let that keep you from considering why people disagree.”
”It wasn’t easy,” he sighs, “and I still feel…unsettled? I don’t know. It’s a lot.”
”Paul, we just acknowledged the existence of a wholly new species. Even if she’s been with Discovery, that moment, of being seen? We couldn’t have gotten there without you putting up a strong counter.”
He shifts, slipping a hand under Hugh’s shirt.
”I need to sleep on it.”
”We all do.”
Hugh glances towards the couch, and Paul follows.
”I’m excited for them.”
”Me too. It’s a big step for Gray. And Adira.”
”I know I’m not their parent, but I wonder if this is what it feels like?”
”Silly,” Hugh kisses his cheek, “of course it is, because you are.”
The smile tugging at his lips takes up residence.
”We are.”
Notes:
I’ll write more when I’ve had time to process that ridiculously dense episode. Not in a bad way - just two parallel stories that could have been separate episodes all their own. I did NOT see the Tarka plot twist coming.
Anthony’s acting sold this so hard for me. I need to wake up and do a rewatch to catch all of the nuances.
Also? I’m just mentally replacing every kiss on the cheek with one on the lips.
Last, I’m sooooo impatient to see the context of that split-second in the preview showing Hugh sitting down in what looks like their quarters and holding Paul’s hand.
Chapter 402: Surveil
Summary:
***SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE SEVEN***
*
*
*
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Commander Stamets.”
He looks up from the data, at the vocal interface floating over the table.
”Zora?”
“I would like to offer an apology, Commander.”
Paul swipes the data away, giving the interface his full attention.
”For what?”
”For making you uncomfortable earlier, by withholding the coordinates.”
Standing, he paces to the viewport and gazes out at the stars.
”I’ve never liked change, or things that I can’t understand.”
”And my current existence - you cannot understand it.”
”I’m trying. Hugh and Adira and Gray…they all trust you.”
”You still do not?”
”No! I mean, I want to be like that.”
”Thank you, Commander.”
He frowns.
”What for?”
”Your disbelief created the argument by which you justified my existence. It was your insistence that caused Ensign Tal to call attention to a part of me that I did not know existed.”
“I…suppose?”
Zora is silent, and the feeling that a sentient starship is thinking is an odd one indeed.
”Zora?”
”Yes, Commander?”
“Are you always aware of everything that happens on the ship?”
”To a degree, yes. My processing capacity does not allow me to…focus on individual input at all times, but the sensor information remains.”
“Umm. What about other kinds of information?”
“Please clarify.”
”So if there’s, say, a private conversation or…other activities of a personal nature. Do you still listen and umm, watch?”
”Unless a member of the crew requests it, I do not - I believe the word is ‘eavesdrop’. I also possess the full knowledge of medical ethics and disclosure.”
“I see. But you’re not actively observing?”
”Is there a specific instance to which you are referring, Commander?”
There’s not a delicate way to ask, and he can’t believe he’s asking in the first place.
“Say two people are…well, one of your memories was me and Hugh kissing.”
”It occurred in Engineering, which was not a private location.”
”Umm. That’s not exactly- not it.”
”I do not believe I understand your query sufficiently to offer an answer.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose.
”Well…”
”I have also amassed the collective knowledge of species-specific cultural practices and concepts of acceptable behavior in context.”
”So if two people are being err, intimate?”
”Do you mean to ask, Commander, if I have retained records of persons engaged in sexual intercourse?”
Paul’s cheeks are flaming, and he covers his eyes.
”Yes.”
”The vital signs of all persons aboard Discovery are passively monitored for signs of physiological distress. I am therefore aware of changes which may signal sexual activity, but ethical standards would seem to dictate that further inquiry or observation would not be allowed.”
Well.
”I- okay. Thank you.”
”Is there anything else, Commander?”
”No, that was it.”
The interface vanishes, and he groans quietly before going to the bathroom sink for a cold washcloth.
Hugh is going to love this.
Notes:
Yes, Paul wants to make sure he and Hugh don’t have an audience.
Okay, that’s three chapters posted tonight and I need sleep! Hope you all enjoyed the extra long #400 and the bed conversation in the last chapter :)
Chapter 403: Spat
Summary:
Adira comms Tilly at HQ for advice.
Notes:
Dialogue-only bit of fluff.
***Mild spoilers for Season Four Episode Seven "...But To Connect"***
*
*
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Incoming transmission from [ Tilly-Sylvia-LT/SFACAD] to [Tal-Adira-ENS/SCI/NCC-1031-A].
Connection established.
"Tilly!"
"Hi Adira."
"How, umm- I mean, is everything going...good?"
"Yeah. Well, mostly. These cadets are just...so young. Which sounds weird for me to say to someone who is technically younger than them, but also older."
"Tal thinks that's funny."
"We must all seem like children to you, sometimes. Even Saru."
"No. Yes? Not Saru though. He's a bit like Senna, I think. Tal likes him."
"Everyone likes Saru."
"Yeah."
"Anyway! Your message said you needed to ask me something? Is everything okay?"
"Yes. Discovery is- well, you should see Zora now. Seriously. Or maybe Paul or Hugh already told you about her?"
"Paul said something happened and he's not sure about it all, but Hugh and the rest of you think it's okay."
"It's a lot. But, that's not why I wanted to talk to you."
"Okay."
"Umm. Did Paul and Hugh ever...well, 'fight' isn't the right word. Disagree? Or, umm, argue maybe."
"Sure. Sometimes, anyway. Mostly, Hugh would get upset Paul was working too late. I didn't know they were like together together, at first, and I couldn't figure out why the CMO kept coming to Engineering to bother Stamets. But ever since- well, ever since we got to the future, not a lot. What happened?"
"I don't know? I think maybe it has to do with the DMA, but there's nothing in any of Paul's data or notes. I mean, that guy Tarka is being a major di- ass to Paul, and I don't think Hugh likes him either, but that's not it. They were just really snappy at breakfast and Paul said he wasn't going to have lunch with Hugh, and I went over for dinner and they both talked to me like normal, but they didn't talk to each other."
"Isn't it Movie Night?"
"It was really awkward, so I said I was tired and left."
"Ahh. So you don't know what it's about?"
"No."
"Well, it can't be too bad."
"It felt so uncomfortable. Like...I guess like when your parents fight? Maybe."
"Trust me, parents fighting is nothing like Paul and Hugh. They're barely annoyed with each other in comparison to mine."
"I'm sorry."
"...yeah. Anyway, I think it should all be okay. Just let them sleep on it."
"Are you sure?"
"Well, not positive, but it should help. Are you having breakfast with them tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
"See how they are then- crud. Adira, I need to go."
"Okay. Umm, talk to you later?"
"Yeah! Bye."
"Bye."
Incoming transmission from [ Tilly-Sylvia-LT/SFACAD] to [Tal-Adira-ENS/SCI/NCC-1031-A].
Connection established.
"Well, how are things?"
"Hi."
" Is everything okay? It sounds echo-y there."
"Yeah. I'm just in a Jefferies Tube."
"What are you doing up there?"
"It's sort of over the lab and it's not technically spying since I'm supposed to be working on the relay junction up here, right?"
"...sure. How is it today?"
"They seemed better at breakfast. I think."
"Were they holding hands? Or playing footsie?"
"Eww."
"Adira, this is important."
"No? But they were talking again. Sort of. I can't tell."
"Did you ask either of them about it?"
"Paul locked himself in the lab. Hugh said they were going to talk later, so I think that's good?"
"Oh. Okay."
"So...that's good?"
"Yeah."
"Oh! Hugh just came in."
"Are they talking?"
"Yes? Yes. I mean, they don't seem mad anymore."
"Okay. Are they smiling?"
"Smiling?"
"Yeah. Stamets kind of tilts his head to the side and looks down and smiles."
"Yes. He is...wait, how do you know that?"
"Experience."
"Should I try to have dinner with them later to check it's okay?"
"Oh, no. No no no."
"What?"
"If they're arguing and finally decided to talk it over, believe me, you don't want to be around after."
"But that's good, right?"
"They take kissing and making up to the next level."
"...what? Oh. Umm, yeah. Ewww."
"Exactly."
Notes:
Tilly and Adira talking about their SpaceDads will never cease to be fun.
Apologies for taking so long to post Chapter 400 as well, visiting my parents for the holidays makes it more difficult to focus on writing, and being on my iPhone slows things down.
Chapter 404: Scrambled
Summary:
Missing scene from S4E6 “Stormy Weather”.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“So we’re going into the pattern buffer.”
Tracy doesn’t look up as she rapidly switches the medbay systems to dormant mode, but she can tell Paul and Hugh aren’t as calm about it as they seem either.
“Yeah.”
At his console, Paul is saving copies of his data analysis onto physical solids to go into a thermal-shielded container just in case the trip out fries any of Discovery’s computer systems.
And hopefully not the ones backing up the pattern buffer.
“Going to secure equipment in the suites,” Hugh tosses over his shoulder as he heads for the hall, “we’ve got ninety seconds.”
”And hopefully we don’t end up scrambled,” Tracy mutters, “that’s the last thing we need.”
Paul seals the last solid into the receptacle and powers down his console.
”Well, if we do, at least I won’t have to trip over Hugh’s wet towel again.”
It’s dark humor, with a brittle edge that belies his mildly worried expression. She can’t think of an appropriate response, just rolls her eyes in a way calculated to make his lips twitch in an approximation of a smile.
Swish.
Hugh returns from the suites, and holds out his hands as they meet in the middle of the room. His grip is firm, palm warm and a bit damp. Tracy squeezes his fingers, shares a look with him and Paul, then closes her eyes and inhales. Just before the tingle of dematerialization starts, she thinks she hears the quiet smack of a kiss.
She exhales, deck solid beneath her boots as the transporter beam releases them.
“We made it.”
The ship has clearly been through a rough time, emergency lights on and traces of smoke carrying the smell of burnt circuitry wafting through the air. One of the conduits near the door has exploded, a DOT at work repairing it with quiet efficiency. Its burnt edges and exposed innards remind her too much of another explosion earlier, and she presses her lips together, forcing her doctor’s calm over the memory.
Not now.
Hugh’s got his tricomm open, giving them all a rapid scan while Paul calls up a damage report.
“Looks good. No misplaced genetic material or rematerialization errors in the crew.”
”That’s a relief,” she sighs, “I didn’t think pattern buffers were designed to hold this many people at high fidelity.”
Paul closes the readout from his badge.
”Not for long periods of time, but it’s been…well, less than twenty minutes. Even at maximum, the backups were more than enough to maintain everyone.”
A thought crosses her mind as she pulls Hugh’s display over to check the medical systems, and she snorts.
“What?”
Both men glance at her in askance, and Tracy shakes her head.
“The two of you are exchanging genetic material on a regular basis…”
Hugh fixes her with a look.
”Why do you always assume we’re having sex?”
”Because you are?”
He groans.
”Not last night, if that’s what you’re asking.”
”Do you think it would separate it back out though? And would the transporter know what to do with things after they leave the body? I mean,” Paul fiddles with his sleeve cuff, “technically it reassembles a person in the same way they dematerialized, but if we had, you know-“
Tracy interrupts him without a second thought, rolls her eyes again at Hugh’s grin.
”Stop right there.”
”Think about it, Trace.”
”I’m trying not to, because those were my molecules mixed in there too.”
”But-“
”No.”
Notes:
I found it a little lacking in buildup of tension when Michael announces they’re going into the pattern buffer and not everyone gets a full “what if we don’t make it” conversation, so I fixed it :)
Chapter 405: Slate
Summary:
Paul and Michael have another conversation.
Chapter Text
“Captain.”
The ready room has the same low lighting that Saru and Pike preferred (not as dark as Lorca), but the decor has changed. It’s inoffensive, tasteful, and he almost regrets that there’s nothing to focus his attention on besides Michael.
”Paul, please come in.”
She’s standing behind her desk, half-turned towards the viewport, and gestures towards the informal seating to one side. It would be outright rude to refuse, so he chooses the only chair on one side of the coffee table and sits stiffly. There’s a bit of a frown on her brow, but otherwise her expression is pleasantly neutral.
“What do you need?”
It comes out with a level of weariness that surprises even him, and he tries to school his thoughts into order.
”I-“ Michael folds her hands on one thigh, “this isn’t…I’m not the captain right now.”
He nods in response.
“You said you needed time.”
His stomach twists, Hugh’s voice in his head steadying him, validating the ambivalence he still feels.
Here we go.
“Yes.”
”This is just me, Michael. I miss my friend Paul.”
A few snappish replies come to mind, but he discards them, settling on something else instead.
”I miss that Michael. And,” he clenches his fingers, tucking them beneath his thighs to hide their restless motion, “I know command is something that changes you. The responsibility. It’s never something I wanted. But I know you did, and you were good at it. I trusted you.”
Her lips press together at the past tense, but she doesn’t interrupt. The four pips on her badge catch the light, four bright spots that he can’t look away from.
“What’s done is over. I’ve thought about it, and what I keep coming back to, is what happened to the Michael who went into the network with me to rescue Tilly, the one who took my hand? The Michael who fought to bring Hugh back to life?”
She blinks a few times, thumbs digging into the fabric of her uniform pants.
”I’m still here, Paul.”
“The thing is, I saw you and I knew you. But,” he swallows past the swirl of emotion in his throat, “I don’t know who you are now.”
Silence trails after his words, and he slouches a bit, suddenly exhausted. Michael nods, looks out of the viewport at the stars. Her hand rises seemingly unconsciously, plucking the badge off her chest to cradle in her palm.
”I don’t always know either.”
That takes him completely off-guard. The hurt and betrayal felt justified in the time since, her seeming inability to understand pushing him to anger. Paul’s never liked feeling that way, but it wasn’t something he could let go of, the reminder of how fragile and easy it would be to lose everything all over again.
This though…
“I can’t ask that you forgive me,” she continues, “because…because the way you and Hugh are- what I saw, in the network? I couldn’t stand the thought of you not having each other.”
She seems to be waiting for a reply.
”…thank you.”
The corner of her mouth twitches, like an attempt at a smile.
“Back when we were in that time loop, remember what I told you? To get me to trust you.”
He nods.
”I don’t know how it feels, to have that kind of connection for so long.”
”You’ve-“
Her voice is quiet, thoughtful and a bit sad.
”I’ve been in love since. With the man whose hands took that away from you.”
“That’s…something else. Not this.”
“I’m sorry for hurting you.”
But you’d do it again is unspoken between them, and he weighs the acid splash of that against his own feelings. It’s a dull burn he’s too familiar with, a weight he doesn’t know how to set down.
Still.
“I believe you.”
It’s not what everyone else besides Hugh probably thinks he ought to say, but it’s the truth. Not a clean slate, but somewhere to move forward from.
It’s a start.
Notes:
Trying to write my way towards a situation in which Paul is able to work with Michael with the apparent level of professionalism / lack of constant reminders that we see on screen. I don’t write Michael often (because she feels inconsistently written to begin with), and hope that this seems plausible.
Chapter 406: Smirk
Notes:
I started writing this nine months ago and stalled out, but I think it’s finally ready to go.
Contains definite sexytimes and dirty talk ;)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh can’t imagine ever tiring of loving Paul with his heart, his hands, his mouth. Won’t lose the sense of wonder when Paul surrenders to him, yielding and pliant, or when he pushes Hugh down onto the sheets and takes him. It's not every day any more (their thirties were a while ago), but their interest generally settles on mutually agreeable patterns of desire. Above all else, even when they’re playing a little rough or trying something new, it’s comfortable.
Comfortable doesn’t mean boring - not when their intimacy is easy, casual and well-practiced without fanfare.
Sometimes they play a game, just the two of them, one pretending to be absorbed in a task while the other tries to break his composure. Like Paul’s hand down Hugh’s pants while he’s trying to read reports, or Hugh teasing Paul’s nipples through his shirt while they’re supposedly watching a holo. They don’t discuss it much, just a sly glance or smirk assenting to the challenge, the line between deliberate indifference and a 'no' well-understood.
Tonight, it’s his turn to tease and torment Paul. His love is laid comfortably across the bed, propped up with pillows, eyes closed and ostensibly trying to sleep. He’s doing a fairly good job of a loose-limbed unconscious sprawl, belied by slightly too fast breathing.
(“Babe?”
”Mmm?”
”Sleepy?”
”A bit, why- ahh. Hello there.”
”Hi.”
”What are you doing down there?”
”Nothing. Yet.”
”I see.”
”Want to play?”
”Hmm...”
”Can I suck you off?”
"If you don't mind me sleeping."
”Yeah?”
”Mmhmm.” )
He starts off by removing the pesky pajama pants that are in his way, grinning at no one in particular when Paul doesn’t lift a finger to help him move his supposedly unconscious weight. Tossing the pants carelessly off the end of the bed leaves his lover bare from the waist down, ready for Hugh’s attention. Neither of them bother with underwear in their pajamas (unless they have company, because intentionally going commando with Adira or Tilly in the room was too weird) so there aren’t any other barriers.
Hugh shifts against the sheets, getting comfortable and stroking Paul’s inner thighs. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his fingers and the cool air he blows over the fine hairs, and he rubs his cheek on them, breathing in the smell of freshly-showered skin. It’s very tempting to devote time just to nuzzling the tender area, but he’s on a mission and his target is in sight, all pink and pretty and Hugh’s.
Playfully nosing at it, he watches the muscles tense around Paul's groin as he continues with the most gentle nibbles to the delicate skin. It doesn't take long for things to stir, twitching with interest even as its owner pretends to be asleep. He gives it an affectionate, open-mouthed kiss hello, resting his hands on Paul’s hips for balance and beginning his work in earnest.
Hugh covers the shaft with long licks and kisses, feeling it slowly fill and thicken beneath his lips. He sets his tongue flicking delicately over the head again and again to coax Paul to full hardness, fluttering the tip against the bundle of nerves on the underside. Then he pops just the rosy head into his mouth, sucking on it like candy.
Delicious.
A quiet moan, and Hugh pulls off with an exaggerated slurp.
“What’s that?”
No reply.
"Hmm. Guess you're asleep then."
Paul’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Pity,” he sighs, “I guess I’m going to have to do all the work.”
It’s hardly an onerous task. Hugh tries not to lose himself in the sensory pleasure of it all, does his best not go mindless with Paul’s dick filling his mouth and stretching his lips as he sucks. Usually, the air would be full of quiet (and not so quiet) noises, moans and sighs and whispered curses together with Hugh’s name. Hugh misses the hand resting on the back of his head, but that’s only a minor distraction. Instead, the muscles in Paul’s ass tighten as he suppresses the urge to thrust upwards.
Paul inhales sharply when he goes down as far as possible, nose nearly pressed to the blond curls at the base. His right hand fists the bedding when Hugh starts to hum, pausing now and again to breathe around his mouthful. He’s not in any particular hurry to end things, although his jaw is going to be sore if they keep it up for too much longer. The next time he takes a break, Hugh wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and considers his next move.
It’s a win-win really, which is why they both love the game so much.
”Still sleeping?”
His hand picks up where his mouth left off, stroking firmly. When he looks up, Paul’s lips are parted, breath coming fast.
“Dreaming of me sucking your dick, I hope.”
Paul makes a sleepy sound that trails off into an amused sigh when Hugh’s other hand tickles at his stomach.
”Or maybe,” Hugh drops his voice to a husky near-whisper and lets his hand pick up speed, “you’re dreaming about me riding you.”
A moan, louder than before.
Time to up the ante.
“Mmm. You know I’d be fucking myself so good, sweetheart. Riding you until I have to jerk off all over you. Filling my ass until I come so hard.”
Paul’s leaking steadily, the sticky evidence all over his lips as he returns to work, hand still busy so his mouth is free to concentrate on just the tip. It grows even harder against his fingers, and he adds a twist on every upstroke.
Almost there.
A minute later, Paul makes a choked-off noise and his stomach goes rigid under Hugh’s fingers. He doesn’t quite manage to seal his lips in time, warmth smearing across his chin while he swallows as much as he can. Hugh keeps his hand moving until he hears the distinctive whimper that tells him he’s right at the edge of overstimulation. He gives Paul’s dick one last kiss, then releases him completely and pushes up on his elbows.
”Hi.”
Paul’s eyes are dark with sated pleasure, and he gives Hugh a lazy smile.
”Mmm.”
”Sleep well?”
”Oh,” Paul lets go of the sheets, fingers caressing Hugh’s cheek, “I had the best dream.”
Hugh strips off his own shirt, wiping the mess off his face and hands and Paul’s thighs.
”What was it about?”
A tug on his shoulder brings him up to lay alongside his love.
”How about I show you?”
”I don’t know,” he gives Paul a mischievous wink, “I think I’m feeling a bit sleepy myself.”
”Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you…up.”
”Mmm.”
Closing his eyes, Hugh makes himself comfortable on the pillows and smiles.
Game on.
Notes:
I continue to say, consent is sexy.
Chapter 407: Smooth
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh’s voice is gentle and warm, calm and smooth and even.
Dr. Culber’s sometimes has more than a hint of steel when dealing with emergencies and recalcitrant patients, but more often than not it’s soothing and instills trust.
It only ever goes rough for Paul.
Because of Paul.
Husky, sensual murmurs as Hugh makes love to him, sweaty foreheads resting together and eyes wide open.
Ragged moans when Paul is fucking him.
A wild cry of pleasure as orgasm crashes over him, teeth bared.
Harsh panting after, coming down with heaving breaths.
Hugh’s wrecked, sated voice, spoken into the side of his neck.
”I love you, sweetheart.”
Notes:
I can’t believe we’ve passed 45,000 views and 4,000 comments!! No idea it would get this far when I started a small collection of random snippets two years ago.
Still rolling :). I think I hear cat!Paul on his way back for some attention.
Chapter 408: Strings
Chapter Text
The mellow, rich sound of Adira’s cello fills the lounge. Paul is still seated at the piano, although his fingers left the keys a while ago to simply enjoy Adira’s music. They’ve been working through an intricate melody, eyes closed and the tiniest of frowns on their brow.
It’s late - well past 2200 - so there’s only a few others present, familiar faces that Adira is already comfortable with. Detmer has her feet propped on one of the low tables, a pillow in her lap as she and Rhys carry on a quiet conversation. Beside them, Saru and Tilly are playing kadis kot, intent on their game. Every now and then, Paul notices the appreciative glances the others are directing at Adira, each one filling him with pride.
Hugh’s hand is warm on his thigh, head resting on Paul’s shoulder. His other hand is idly petting at Paul’s bare forearm, smoothing the hairs down and back up again. All in all, it’s an extremely satisfying state of affairs, particularly the kisses Hugh’s been sneaking beneath his jaw when no one else is looking. (Everything they’ve been through has vastly decreased Paul’s sense of self-consciousness in the presence of those he cares about, and he should probably tell Hugh he doesn’t have to wait.)
He’s brought out of his musings when Hugh shifts, retrieving both hands. Before Paul can protest the loss of his presence, Hugh rises and holds out a hand.
”What?”
Backlit by the stars, the orange-yellow of the lounge’s lights makes his skin glow golden. For a moment, Paul is transported back to Deneva, waking to find Hugh standing at the window to watch the sunrise while still gloriously naked. He’d turned and offered Paul the same brilliant smile he’s wearing now, hand outstretched in invitation to join him.
”Dance with me?”
The question is quiet, but he hears it clearly. Adira’s switched to something slower, honeyed notes taken on a depth that vibrates in his chest.
Yes.
He doesn't answer out loud, just sets his palm against Hugh’s and lets him pull him to his feet. A few steps puts them in an alcove beneath the viewport, a little separated from everyone else. They face each other, fingers still entwined, moving close. Hugh’s arm settles at his waist, leaving Paul free to bring his own arm around Hugh’s shoulders, fingers splayed over his back. Still silent, they sway in time with the music, breathing together. Paul can feel Hugh’s heartbeat through the thin material of his sweater, and he closes his eyes to better enjoy the moment.
This time, Hugh’s kiss is on the lips, sweet and soft. Adira’s song continues, flowing around them.
Beneath the stars, they dance.
Chapter 409: Shapeshift, Part Twenty
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Once Paul’s regained his composure, Hugh sits down on a stool with his four-legged lover on the console again.
”Can you see where I’m coming from?”
He’s careful not to sound cajoling or accusatory, just asks in as even a tone as possible. For his part, Paul's fur rises before quickly smoothing back down. The tip of his tail, previously curled around his legs, twitches but stays otherwise still.
Hugh waits.
At last, Paul swipes the interface open and starts typing.
Yes. But I'm not wrong either.
Usually Paul's stubbornness is a good thing, in terms of tenacity in analyzing scientific questions. It's also occasionally annoying when Paul's idiosyncratically requiring Hugh to not leave his wet towel on the bathroom floor and won't kiss him before brushing their teeth after waking up. That being said, one of the things he loves most about his partner is his willingness to at least hear out other viewpoints and admit when he's wrong.
"No, but that doesn't mean I like it. And," he sighs, "that doesn't mean you should go down there alone either."
"Mrrrrowwwwww."
Someone has to go.
"Could we send a DOT? Something with visuals and you could guide it where it needs to go."
Maybe.
"I-"
THUMP.
Hugh, even as he’s grabbing for the console to brace himself, can’t really blame Paul for the yowl he lets out when the ship rocks and his claws scrabble over the surface. A second, larger, jolt happens before either of them can react.
"Mmrrahhhh!"
By some measure of luck, Paul slides off the console in the same direction as Hugh when the ship tilts. The little body impacts his chest with disturbingly low force, arms moving on automatic to cradle him. It's impossible to keep his footing, and Hugh gives in, ducking under the edge of the console and hooking leg around a support.
"Culber to bridge - what's going on?"
He's met with a burst of static and several voices speaking over each other.
"-multiple systems fluctuating, Captain!"
"Attitude control isn't working, trying to reroute..."
"The outer hull is buckling at subsection nine-alpha, forcefields in place."
"Bridge?"
"Unknown impact, Doctor," Michael's voice is strained, "everyone, hold on!"
Swish.
The doors open, and Adira and Tilly are tossed inside, sliding over the suddenly angled deck. Paul's claws are digging into his chest again, but Hugh is more concerned with catching Tilly's ankle as she tumbles past, ducking the equipment thrown off the workstations. She somehow manages to grab hold of Adira's arm, and they both scramble under the temporary shelter of the console.
"What's happening?"
"No idea," he pulls them both closer as a conduit pops overhead, "just hold on."
Chapter 410: Sitting
Summary:
Breakfast, during Paul’s first Christmas with Hugh’s family.
Chapter Text
“…sweetheart?”
”Hmmm?”
Paul’s wearing the tiniest of frowns, seemingly staring towards Cabo Rojo over Hugh’s shoulder and fork poised an inch over his plate. It’s an absent acknowledgement, but he’d feel better knowing what his love is thinking about.
”Where were you, just now?”
”Here,” Paul blinks in confusion, “right?”
Hugh sets down his coffee, plucks the napkin out of Paul’s other hand and laces their fingers together.
”I meant, is everything okay?”
”Of course.”
It’s said with an even tone, but Paul’s teeth work at his lower lip, a sure sign he’s still considering something.
”But?”
”Just thinking. I-“ he squeezes Hugh’s hand, “I never thought I’d be here.”
”Having breakfast on my abuela’s deck?”
The tease has the intended effect, Paul’s chuckle dispelling some of the concern.
“Sitting down to breakfast, made by the man I love. On his grandmother’s deck, because he chose to bring me home to introduce to his family who all already knew who I was. It’s…” Paul‘s voice wobbles, “I never thought I could have this.”
Oh sweetheart.
Words tumble over each other in his head, reassurances mixed with promises and grand declarations of love. He swallows them all down, washing away the sadness that Paul’s statement evokes. Instead, he focuses on joy.
Hugh strokes Paul’s cheek, uses his thumb to give his jaw a feathery caress. He pushes his plate a few inches to the side, enough for him to set his elbow on the table and lean over until their noses brush. The kiss is gentle, lingers as he whispers against Paul’s lips.
”Me neither.”
Chapter 411: Satiation
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul’s always been vaguely disappointed by sex with someone else - because getting off by himself is good, so good, but so lonely - even as he comes and smiles and does all the things he’s carefully determined are expected of him.
By himself, he can’t quite put words to the yearning for more. He searches for that missing something, over and over again. Every time he tries and fails, he gets a little more certain that he’s meant to be alone.
He’s laughed at for wanting to build a life with someone.
He’s left alone on cooling sheets.
He’s too loud, too serious, too demanding.
Too much for anyone to want.
Hugh wants him.
With Hugh, Paul forgets to think about whether he’s moaning too loudly, where he should put his hands, if his eyes should be closed.
He forgets to keep track of time to be sure he’s spent long enough on his knees to move things along.
He forgets to roll onto his stomach so he can pretend he’s with someone who makes his body sing.
He forgets to be self-conscious, forgets what it’s like to be disappointed.
With Hugh, he learns how to bring laughter to bed, how to smile without thinking.
He learns what it’s like to hold himself back from the edge instead of struggling to reach it.
He learns that yes, it is possible to sate the hunger inside, over and over again.
With Hugh, he learns what it’s like to be loved.
Notes:
I’m not projecting here at all, nope.
Chapter 412: Safeguard
Summary:
Book and Paul have a conversation after leaving Ni’Var
Notes:
Takes place during “Choose To Live”.
Another conversation they might have had, in line with Chapter 367 (“(The Doctor Will) See (You Now)”).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Stamets.”
Paul opens his eyes to find Booker leaning on the edge of the console.
”Yes.”
”Sorry,” Booker shakes his head, “didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“You didn’t,” he sighs, “it’s fine.”
”Right. Look, I wanted to ask…I appreciate you telling T’Rina not to push, but it really was okay.”
There’s a stillness to Booker now, like the discordant edge worn off. His eyes are still a bit red, but he’s lost the haunted look that he’d worn like a mourning shroud.
”I’m glad.”
He does mean it, even if he can’t quite let go of the frustration he has with himself for the failure to find the evidence they all need.
”Why were you so-“ Booker sits down across from him, “it felt personal. If you don’t mind talking about it.”
That’s a good question.
Paul does know the answer, and there’s no reason to hide it.
”When I lost Hugh, everything reminded me of him. And everyone telling me how sorry they were…I couldn’t move on. Every time I closed my eyes, I kept thinking if there was a way I could have saved him.”
A nod.
”So,” he swallows, throat gone tight, “I know how much losing someone you love hurts. You lost so much more than that.”
Booker’s smile is sad, but his voice is steady.
”You know, I’m willing to re-live that moment, every day if I have to, so no one else has to go through it. Ever. And you-“
Approaching Discovery.
They both start a little at the computer’s announcement. Paul chews his lip, wondering if he ought to drop the subject.
“Thank you,” Booker murmurs as his hands move over the controls.
Saying ‘you’re welcome’ hardly seems appropriate, so he settles for a nod and half-smile of his own. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, watching Discovery grow larger on the viewscreen. The metal of the console is cool beneath his fingers, and he thinks about how warm Hugh’s hands will be.
Home.
Notes:
Doing a rewatch to get in the writing groove. Too many ideas, and they’re all stuck in my head, but hopefully not for long.
Chapter 413: Ship
Summary:
Keyla has another chat with Dr. C.
Notes:
Takes place after “Stormy Weather”.
References Chapter 280 (“Sport”)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Discovery is still undergoing repairs after their experience in the subspace rift, the lights of the spacedock illuminating sections of exposed structural supports. The hull should be rebuilt soon, but it’ll be a few more days of inspection and testing to ensure she’s fully spaceworthy again. (Programmable matter or not, Reno flatly refused to trust the assembly specs and insists on doing things the old-fashioned way, by scanning each new hull plate and seal individually.)
In the meantime, her crew has been temporarily assigned quarters at HQ. Hugh’s more than happy for a bit of a change in scenery, particularly the soaking tub in the modest bathroom. He and Paul have spent more hours lounging in it than he’d admit to anyone else, bathing each other and talking. The silky feel of his love’s skin in the mineral-rich water they prefer is a sensual experience like no other, and he reminds himself yet again to book one of the holosuites for a full spa experience.
He’s taking it easy - easier, at least - but his responsibility to the crew doesn’t end at Discovery’s airlocks. There aren’t any spare offices to work from, so their small living area doubles as a private and quiet place to continue counseling sessions. Their current quarters are impersonal in the way of all standard ‘fleet accommodations, meaning there isn’t any sense of intrusion into an intimate space.
Paul’s off with Adira and Gray, so he’s alone on the couch reading when the door chimes. While the flow of appointments has remained steady, Hugh’s made a point of leaving an hour or two open each day, making himself available for anyone who might need him. Collapsing the display back into his badge, he stands and directs a welcoming smile at the doors as they swish open.
“Hi Doctor C.”
”Keyla,” he beckons her in, gesturing for her to sit, “what can I do for you?”
Keyla perches on the edge of the couch, staring down at her index finger and thumb worrying at a hangnail. Experience says she’s gathering her thoughts like flight path data, organizing into patterns and reviewing before she speaks. They sit in silence, and he does his best to project patient receptiveness, unsure what might be on her mind. Eventually, she nods to herself and looks up.
”I couldn’t fly us out of the rift.”
It’s a straightforward statement that he’s proud of her for, far less recrimination and doubt than she’d been full of right after they landed in the future. When she doesn’t elaborate, he picks up the thread of conversation.
”From what I understand, it was literally impossible to use any conventional means of navigation.”
He’s careful not to sound like he’s trying to soothe or make an excuse, two things practically guaranteed to make her less willing to talk.
”Also,” he adds when she doesn’t reply, “the unconventional ones didn’t work either.”
”You-“
”I was looking at the mycelial network with Paul, and I’m no pilot but I don’t think even the tardigrade would have been able to travel safely.”
”I saw the map. It looked,” her shoulder twitches as if suppressing a shudder, “…eaten.”
He can’t fault that description, although Hugh suspects they all ought to try less anthropomorphism in regards to the DMA.
”Yeah.”
Keyla rubs at her knee, the action suggesting that she’s still wrangling with something. Rather than stare, he smiles and excuses himself to the replicator, returning with a mug of tea and a glass of water. He sets the water within reach on the coffee table - a non-obligatory offer - and wraps his hands around the steaming mug.
“What else is on your mind?”
She sighs, and her fidgeting stills.
”What if the next time that happens, Zora isn’t able to get us out of there? I kept thinking, right before we went into the pattern buffer, what if we didn’t make it out? The ship can fly itself, so…”
”So you’re wondering if it still needs a pilot?”
Keyla’s lips quirk up, but it’s humorless.
”Yeah.”
Hugh sips at the aromatic liquid, taking a moment to compose his thoughts.
“Zora might be a massively powerful system, but having access to knowledge doesn’t mean understanding how to use it properly.”
”I don’t…?”
”Think about it. Someone could study and memorize all the texts about flying, watch all the holos and simulations, but is that the same thing as having their hands on the controls of an actual ship?”
Frowning, she picks up the glass and drinks. It leaves a ring of condensation on the table, droplets of water in a negative impression of the object.
”No, you have to feel it. The ship. It’s sort of instinctive.”
”Part of the reason you still like a manual interface?”
That draws a real smile.
”Yeah.”
A thought occurs to him, and he feels it out as he goes.
”Something else to consider. A good crew is a bunch of experts. Separately, they’re people who are really good at what they do.”
”Okay.”
”If there’s a problem that comes up in their area, they can solve it easily alone. But throw one of them in a situation that demands a complex solution, one that needs more than one set of skills? They’re not going to do as well as a group made up of different skills. So,” he tips his head to the side, taking in her thoughtful expression, “this DMA is the most extreme case we’ve ever seen, of something that needs everyone working together.”
Keyla stares into the middle distance for a few moments, considering.
”So…”
”So even Paul is realizing that he can’t figure it out without other people helping. Several others.”
”Is Tarka actually helping? He seems really…full of himself.”
”You’d have to ask Paul. My point though, is that you aren’t facing it alone, Keyla. You might not be able to fly Discovery in a void by yourself, but you found a solution when everyone put their heads together.”
It sinks in, he can tell, because her frown turns into a slightly crooked smile.
”I’m being a pilot about all of it.”
”It is who you are,” he pats her shoulder, “and a damn good one at that.”
She huffs a laugh.
”Thank you.”
”Of course. I hope that helped?”
Nodding, she drains the rest of her water and sets the glass back down, perfectly aligned with the condensation.
Pilots.
”Yeah. It did. Thanks, Doctor C.”
”Any time.”
Notes:
I enjoy writing this particular dynamic, and had to find another conversation for them to have. Also just rewatched “All Is Possible” and Hugh’s counseling scenes are some of my favorites.
Yes, my Detmer totally has a teensy bit of a crush on Dr. C ;). Harmless, but so much fun to write around.
Chapter 414: Ship, Part Two
Chapter Text
“Bye Docto- oh!”
Paul nearly collides with Detmer on his way back into his quarters, and it's more her reflexes than his that turn a potential shoulder (hers) to the face (most definitely his) into an awkward stumble around each other.
“Whoa,” his elbow clips the doorframe, “owww.”
Against the other side of the frame, she catches her balance and winces.
“Sorry. I wasn’t looking- are you okay?”
”I mean,” Paul shakes his head, “what are the odds of it?”
”True.”
”I’m fine.”
Hugh reaches them, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
”No broken noses, please.”
Detmer grins and steps backwards, out of range of the door sensor.
”Bye Doctor C. Night Stamets.”
He waves and turns to Hugh just in time for a kiss hello when the doors close.
Swish.
”Mmm. Hi.”
”Hi.”
A quick glance around shows a mug and glass on the coffee table, but otherwise nothing out of place.
”Done for the day?”
Admittedly, Hugh’s being better about not marathoning sessions, but Paul hasn’t been able to completely shake the concern. Alongside that though, he’s also learning not to hover.
Easier said than done.
Hugh nods, moving to the table to retrieve the drinkware - and Paul enjoys the view of the loose pants pulling tight over a very muscular backside - and taking it to the replicator to recycle. His short boots are unceremoniously kicked under the table, and he winks at Paul’s long-suffering groan.
”Yeah. I’m all yours.”
The matter of fact statement draws a smile as he reaches for his collar, unsnapping it and unzipping his jacket.
“I thought you were always mine.”
Hugh’s reply is a little muffled by the undershirt going past his ears.
“Well, interruption free in that case. And,” he cants a hip against the bulkhead, “no one else gets a free show.”
He snorts at that, pulling off his boots and lining them up neatly next to the door.
”Like I could charge people.”
”Oh you could, but I’d have to steal you away.”
Toeing off his socks, he unzips his pants. Hugh’s gaze is warm and familiar as Paul steps out of the last of his uniform and bundles everything into the laundry pile. Clad in just his briefs (and thankful Hugh keeps the environmental controls high for counseling), he heads towards the bathroom. The back and forth is as much an end of day routine as anything else to help them unwind, but that’s not the only indulgence currently at his disposal.
“Want to get cleaned up?”
Hugh’s wearing a soft emerald sweater and grey slacks, now barefoot but still professional enough. His sleeves are pushed up, cuffs stretched around his powerful forearms, but Paul can’t tell if his partner might have already showered.
Not like you both haven’t showered again for the company.
“Mmm. That does sound good.”
”Shower? Or bath.”
He dodges the swat aimed at his ass with Hugh’s rapidly discarded shirt.
“Bath. Definitely a bath.”
Paul moves out of range of hands and articles of clothing, stopping at the replicator for a couple of items before going to start the water. Once inside the bathroom, he takes a moment to use the facilities, hearing Hugh set the privacy lock. Then he taps a few commands into the wall panel opposite the sink, smiling as the programmable matter blurs and fades, reassembling itself into a sunken tub. The bottles go on a ledge to the side, and he skims off his briefs while the tub starts to fill. It would be just as easy to have it full already, but there’s something about the ritual of waiting and listening to the rumbling splash.
Probably because we never got to do this all that often.
Steam wafts up from the rapidly rising water, the tang of minerals in the humid air. He closes his eyes, rolling his shoulders and listening to his joints pop after a day spent leaning over simulations.
Not as young as you used to be.
Footsteps, then hands land on either side of his waist, pulling him back against Hugh’s solid strength. He smiles into the kisses pressed to his temple, feeling more than hearing a thoughtful hum.
”What?”
”Thinking we need a tub back home.”
“I,” Paul tilts his head to the side as Hugh noses affectionately at his jaw, “completely agree.”
The tap shuts off, cloudy water filling two thirds of the tub.
Perfect.
“Shall we?”
”Mmhmm.”
He and Hugh settle into the water (just on the edge of too hot) on opposite ends of the tub with bent knees and ankles to either side of each other's hips. It's roomy for one but not quite wide enough to sit side by side, although all things considered he's happy it fits them both. These quarters aren’t meant to be a double, but dealing with a few single-occupancy design challenges hasn’t been too onerous.
When the waves caused by their entrance subside, Hugh inhales and sinks beneath the water. He’s under for less than three seconds, but his expression when he surfaces is wholly transformed, the slight frown and care lines on his face relaxing. He scrubs a hand over his face, sliding down a little further with a sigh.
”Yeah?”
”Mmhmm.”
Paul takes Hugh's foot where it's propped on the edge of the sunken tub, pouring a palmful of water over it before pressing his thumbs firmly into the instep.
"You," Hugh groans, "have all night to stop that."
Even when his partner isn't on his feet all day, there's a surprising amount of tension in the elegant arch. It carries through to his heel, and Paul's careful to keep the pressure even, lest he tickle and end up with water splashed in his face (or worse, a kick to the chin).
”How was your day?”
He’s half expecting Hugh to respond with a noncommittal noise, but instead gets the toes of Hugh’s other foot gently flexing into his side.
”Quieter than yesterday. Just one person once I was off shift, actually.”
”Detmer?”
One of Hugh’s eyes opens a fraction.
”You know I can’t confirm that.”
”Mmm,” he rubs the ball of Hugh’s foot, “I see.”
Moving on to the ankle, he massages the Achilles tendon, then works as far up Hugh's calf as he can reach without sitting up before repeating everything with Hugh’s other foot. The silence between them is undemanding, and part of him hates to break it.
“How are you feeling today?”
Hugh's rolled up a towel to put behind his neck against the edge of the tub, and he nudges it a little higher.
“Honestly?”
“That’s why I asked.”
Paul's not quite close enough to see, but he's sure there are tiny droplets of moisture caught on his eyelashes.
“Tired. Not exhausted or…” Hugh opens both eyes, “drained, I guess. Not physically? Everything just seems a bit stretched somehow.”
He’s intimately familiar with that feeling these last few weeks.
”Yeah.”
“I’m not avoiding it, I just don’t exactly know.”
Nodding, he drops a quick kiss on the side of Hugh’s ankle and sets his foot back into the water.
”I know.”
He uses his own foot to rub Hugh’s hip, letting the thread of conversation drift. The water has cooled enough that his skin has settled into a slight flush, and he idly swirls the surface with his fingertips.
”Have I mentioned,” Hugh squeezes his calf, “that I love you?”
Paul flicks a bit of water in Hugh’s direction.
“Are we talking recently? Because I’m pretty sure you’ve mentioned it in the past. A time or two, at least.”
“Well, it bears repeating.”
”I won’t ever argue with that.”
“How many other people at HQ do you think are soaking in a tub with their partner right now?”
Narrowing his eyes, he pretends to ponder.
”Mmm, good question. One or two? Actually, it would technically have to be two or four in that case.”
Hugh’s chuckle washes over him, silky smooth like the mineral water.
"Come here, you."
They meet in the middle of the tub, Hugh's more limber hips accommodating Paul by draping his legs over Paul's thighs, ankles crossed at the small of his back.
“Much better.”
”Yeah?”
”Mmhmm.”
Hugh's hands start at his shoulders, wandering over his arms and chest with long strokes before moving to his back. It's non-sexual, even as Hugh's hands disappear under the water to visit his groin, the touch communicating simple affection and a desire for physical contact. For his part, he waits until Hugh's fingers still on his stomach before pulling him a little closer until he's sitting on Paul’s thighs, then wraps his arms around Hugh's waist. As ever, he marvels a little at Hugh's flexibility when his partner melts against him, spine curved. Their movement sends a wave across the surface, water sloshing onto the floor.
”Whoops.”
”Don’t slip when we get out.”
”Yes, dear doctor.”
The kiss is a little salty with the minerals from their bath, but it’s sweet and languid and thorough.
“Hi.”
”Hi yourself.”
”What,” Hugh inclines his head towards the ledge, “are the bottles for?”
He’s almost forgotten about them, but can probably be forgiven by the distraction of one Hugh Culber on his lap.
”Ahh. I was going to offer a massage, but I kind of don’t want to move.”
”A massage?”
”I will if you want-“
Hugh’s arms tighten.
”No, I don’t really want to move either. But is it a limited time offer, or can I take a raincheck?”
”I left the paperwork with the fine print in my pants, but it’s probably redeemable any time.”
A half dozen kisses land on his cheeks and nose.
”I see.”
He gathers Hugh just a fraction closer for a real hug, sighing in bliss when damp fingers comb through his hair. Silence descends again, interrupted only by quiet sighs and the splash of water as they cuddle. The bath is slowly cooling, but should remain comfortable a while longer. Paul’s happy to stay, exchanging kisses without any words needed.
The DMA is still out there, but for a little while the universe is only the two of them.
Notes:
As from Seven Days on Risa (which omg I can’t believe I haven’t posted since last April, there’s six chapters just waiting for edits), I kind of have a thing for Paul and Hugh in bathtubs and showers. Not sorry about it :)
Chapter 415: Sob
Notes:
Set early in Season Three after Hugh moves back in.
Despite the title, not sad!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul wakes up somewhere between the edge of the mattress and landing on the deck. His sleep-loosened limbs thankfully cushion the impact, but really, he could have sworn there was more mattress when he rolled over.
”Mmmmphhhh,” he groans, clambering at the edge of the bed to pull himself up, “…mmmm?”
His hand encounters the expected duvet and sheets, but also something much more solid and warm.
What?
He sits up the rest of the way, blinking in the low light to see what his hand has found.
Oh.
An arm, clad in a red pajama shirt just like his own, cuff ridden up to expose a wrist with warm caramel skin. He follows the arm up to a shoulder, across the fabric pulled tight over the bulk of a well-muscled chest, up the elegant curve of a neck to the most beloved face now slack with sleep.
Hugh.
Hugh.
Unbidden, a laugh escapes from his lips, surprising him into another, louder and full of relief and happiness. The third makes Hugh’s nose wrinkle as he stirs, and the fourth is followed by his beautiful eyes opening, frowning in confusion.
”…Paul?”
The sound of his name in that sleepy voice only makes his grin wider.
”What-“ Hugh rolls onto his side, “what’s wrong?”
Paul shakes his head, opens his mouth to reply but the laughter catches in his throat, almost a sob.
”Babe,” the drowsiness fades, Hugh’s concern evident, “what-?”
”…you pushed me off the bed,” he rasps, chest tight with an uncontrolled glee, “I- you pushed me off the bed.”
Something of what he’s feeling must communicate itself properly, because Hugh’s lips twitch. He reaches out and Paul meets him halfway, fingers tangled together. Moisture trickles down his cheek, from a joy so fierce that he can barely breathe.
“Sweetheart- oooph!”
He lands halfway on top of Hugh, face buried in his neck and arms wrapped around him, rocking them both back and forth. After a moment, Hugh’s arms come up to hold him just as tightly.
”I love you,” he whisper-shouts into warm, familiar skin, “I missed you so much.”
Hugh’s hold loosens for a moment, then fingers comb through his hair, curve over his jaw and gently urge his face away from its hiding place. When he blinks the tears from his vision, he finds Hugh watching him with a tender little smile, and he knows he understands.
”I love you too.”
Notes:
I couldn’t get the thought out of my head of the first time Paul wakes up in the middle of the night and his brain hasn’t yet gotten used to sharing the bed again. The moment when he realizes that it all wasn’t a dream is just…yeah. Writing this felt so good.
Chapter 416: Scribe
Summary:
Another conference gives T’Vala a chance to continue her observations of human behavior.
Notes:
Takes place in the nebulous time period years before Discovery, where my headcanon has Hugh at Starfleet Medical with Tracy and T’Vala.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Morning, T’Vala.”
Tracy deposits her tray on the small table and takes a seat. Her colleague raises an elegant brow, setting down her stylus and folding her hands on the PADD.
”Greetings, Tracy.”
An empty plate, napkin folded with precision and left exactly in the center of it along with silverware at forty-five degrees, tells her that T’Vala’s already finished breakfast. She knows the pleasantry of asking whether T’Vala minds if she eats is superfluous (“I could have no objection to you consuming a meal in a place which is meant for dining.”) and so picks up her own fork, spearing a potato and half a strawberry. The food at this conference isn’t bad, if lacking in variety. Washing it down with coffee, she tips her head towards the PADD.
”What are you working on?”
As she slices into the omelette, she’s expecting to hear that T’Vala has made progress on a manuscript, or perhaps is composing a communique to her parents.
“Your arrival is quite fortuitous. I am continuing my study of human behaviors, and am unable to draw a logical conclusion.”
Scanning the rest of the terrace, she spots Hugh at another table with Paul, leaning so far over their plates that there’s less than half a meter between their faces. They’re directly in T’Vala’s line of sight and holding hands on the table, but she can’t imagine T’Vala is asking about that.
”What’ve they done now?”
As she watches, Hugh offers a bite of food which is accepted immediately.
”After obtaining permission to make inquiries of Paul regarding their relationship-“
Tracy accidentally tries to inhale coffee and sputters into her napkin, making a ‘go on’ gesture as she snickers.
”…I catalogued thirty unique combinations of facial expression and what you would term ‘body language’ expressed in each other’s presence.”
”Okay.”
”Presently,” T’Vala actually thumbs on her PADD and scrolls to something, “the flushed skin visible on Paul’s face and Hugh’s smile suggest they are engaging in behavior which is intended to lead to sexual intercourse of some form.”
The grape tries to go down the wrong way, and Tracy waves her hand at T’Vala’s concerned micro-expression, downing half of her orange juice and coughing a couple of times.
”I’m fine,” she wipes at her eyes, glad she hasn’t bothered with makeup today, “they’re flirting, that’s not something new.”
T’Vala sets down her PADD again.
”I have not observed them performing these behaviors in other instances of dining together.”
At the moment, Paul is buttering a piece of toast rather messily, apparently more concerned with stroking the knife handle. Hugh’s sucking jam off his own thumb, and she can practically smell the hormones from six meters away.
She snorts.
”That right there, T’Vala, is foreplay.”
“Human reasoning continues to be…puzzling, would it not be more expeditious to verbally express a desire to perform certain acts rather than a complex series of gestures and tones of voice which run the risk of being misinterpreted?”
Biting into her own toast, she chews thoughtfully and dusts crumbs from her fingers before replying.
”Humans are innately illogical when it comes to things like love and sex. But, let me see if I can explain.”
T’Vala’s attentive expression nearly sets her off again.
”So,” Tracy points with her fork, “those two are something else. Lots of couples settle down after a few years, but being apart makes them act like hormonal teenagers.”
”We have previously discussed their statistically higher frequency of sexual encounters, and I believe I understand the expressions of physical affection.”
”What I mean is, not just Hugh and Paul, some people - humans - get a…thrill out of flirting in public in ways that aren’t necessarily overt to others.”
”Fascinating,” T’Vala takes up her stylus and seems to be annotating something, “however, if this…ritual? they are performing is intended to go unnoticed by others, why do so?”
Hugh feeds Paul a strawberry, and she’s fairly sure she sees him lick Hugh’s fingers.
”Because it’s exciting. The same way them arguing doesn’t always mean they disagree, it’s just another way of creating and maintaining intimate tension. And it means they can act that way without making it obvious. They’re-“ Tracy rolls her eyes as Hugh manages to make eating a slice of peach suggestive, “winding each other up. Foreplay.”
“I-“
Whatever T’Vala intends to say next is overridden by the chime indicating that sessions are starting in five minutes. It’s followed by the sound of a hundred chairs scraping and cutlery being set on plates as their fellow physicians rise and start moving towards the ballrooms.
”I’ll see you for dinner, right?”
T’Vala tucks her PADD neatly beneath her arm, nodding and picking up her own tray as they join the queue for recycling.
”Yes. Has an establishment been selected?”
”I don’t think so. I’ll ask Hugh, he’s in my next session. We’ll message you.”
”Very well.”
She catches another glimpse of the two of them amidst the stir of activity, sees the way Paul smiles when Hugh kisses the inside of his wrist.
T’Vala is going to be busy.
Notes:
I really need to make an index of T’Vala stories.
This grew from the line, “that right there, is foreplay.” It was originally Tilly saying that to Adira while watching Paul and Hugh feed each other, but I couldn’t quite get the scene right, so Tracy and T’Vala got the line instead.
Chapter 417: Seize, Part One
Notes:
Takes place in the five months after the end of Season Three and before we pick up with Season Four.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Distributing dilithium and rendering aid to planets long cut off from contact is one of the joys of this new future, as far as Hugh’s concerned. Seeing what’s been done to ensure survival isn’t always easy though, like the G’Vonians they’ve been helping this week. Once several billion, the population has shrunk to just over a million, whittled away by famine and diseases that would be easily treatable if they’d had ready access to supplies of medicine that had dwindled decades ago. It tugs at his heart, and his hands heal as quickly and efficiently as possible, treating malnutrition and a panoply of conditions that would have been minor even in the twenty-third century.
Adira has been helping rebuild the weather control grid and hub for the satellite array that deflects the periodic meteors passing through the system. While a bit uncomfortable at first, Hugh’s pleased to see them in their element, problem solving alongside two G’Vonians who don’t appear much older. On the other side of the capital complex, he knows Paul and Tilly are busy working with the agroengineers to eradicate the fungal parasites destroying their crops. It’s hard work, but it feels clean and good in a way that so much of the future hasn’t been.
While half the crew is spread across the continent supporting repairs to the major cities, Hugh can only hope Michael has finally made progress. He doesn’t envy her or Chancellor Filkas negotiating with the few isolationist sects living on G’Von Four’s primary moon. They hadn’t welcomed Discovery’s arrival, distrustful of the Federation in a way that’s become all too familiar post-Burn. Politics aside, Hugh is far more interested in seeing that the moon’s inhabitants receive the same care as their brethren on the planet below, but they won’t be allowed to set foot there without permission.
It comes just a few hours later, and he and Paul pile onto a shuttle with Adira and Tilly for the short journey.
“Look at you,” Tilly elbows Adira as Hugh pretends to be engrossed in his PADD, “all taking charge of things. In a good way.”
”Umm. Sure? I mean, thank you.”
Glancing at Paul, seated beside him next to the bulkhead, he shares a look with his partner that needs no translation. Paul’s hand is resting discreetly on his knee beneath an equipment bag, and he slips his own hand down to lace their fingers together. His love’s fingertips feel a bit gritty, and he’s sure there’s G’Vonian soil under Paul’s nails.
Definitely hands on.
The shuttle lands outside one of the habitation domes, and Hugh takes a moment to close his eyes and center himself. Dr. Culber emerges with the ease of long habit as he grips his medical kit and follows the others inside, away from the gale-force winds whipping the class-L landscape.
Yikes.
The interior of the dome is in even worse shape than down on the planet’s surface, the recycled air stale and frigid. He’s wearing a utility belt, but briefly wishes for an environmental suit or at least a jacket to ward off the chill. The G’Vonians they pass are hollow-eyed and listless, but seem to be disease free as they make their way into what must be the center of the dome.
”This way,” their host, a stiff-spined member of the local council, says with a touch of impatience when Paul and Tilly slow to stare at the sickly-looking crops visible inside rows of greenhouses, “almost there.”
Paul frowns, but keeps moving.
”Where exactly is ‘there’?”
The councillor ignores the question, and Hugh suppresses a sigh. Being polite is always a bonus, but he’s dealt with worse situations than rudeness. They walk another few minutes, then enter a building that seems to be an administrative complex.
“That’s weird,” Tilly murmurs to his right, tapping commands on her tricomm, “I can’t uplink to Discovery.”
”The dampener protects us,” the councillor intones, “from outsiders.”
”And that would be us,” Adira mutters, too low for the G’Vonian to hear, “great.”
The doors shut behind them.
”You won’t be needing your equipment, I’m afraid.”
“Sorry? Did you just say we won’t need equipment? How,” he can practically taste Paul’s annoyance, “are we supposed to help if we can’t connect with the ship’s database?”
Another councillor - Hugh’s assuming based on similar attire - enters from the other side of the room.
”You aren’t.”
”Excuse me? You-“
Stepping forward before Paul lays into their hosts overly much (at least until he’s sure it’s needed), Hugh smiles.
”We’re here to help. There’s a lot we can do with what we have on hand, but Commander Stamets is right. We need to communicate with Discovery if we run into anything that isn’t straightforward.”
”You’re unable to contact your ship at all?”
Adira opens their tricomm, the audible buzz denoting a failed uplink repeating.
”No…”
”Oh good,” the second G’Vonian moves closer, “that makes this much easier.”
Before any of them can react, the first councilor grabs Adira by the back of the collar, a pulse blade in hand and pointed at their throat.
”If you touch your weapons, I’m going to kill this one,” the councilor smiles, “so don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
Hugh’s not wearing a phaser, but both Paul and Tilly are frozen in the act of reaching for their thigh holsters.
De-escalate. Placate. Protect those in your charge.
“You don’t have to do this,” Hugh does his best to keep his voice steady, “please, let them go, and tell us what you need. No one has to get hurt.”
”What we need,” the second councilor snaps, “is for all of you outsiders to leave before you contaminate us further.”
”Contaminate?”
He can tell Tilly wants to say more, probably something about the diseased crops.
”You. The Federation. We don’t need you here.”
”Look,” Hugh holds up a placating hand, “we understand that you don’t- hey!”
The point of the blade digs into the skin at Adira’s throat and their wide, panicked eyes meet Hugh’s.
”Enough,” the first councilor snaps as the second plucks Paul and Tilly’s phasers from their holsters, “which one of you do you think will send the best message if we space your body?”
”Whoa, you don’t have to- we’ll leave, I promise, just let Adira go.”
Paul and Tilly are eyeing each other, but he doesn’t takes his gaze off Adira.
Stay calm, he wills them.
”Why? And give up the leverage?”
”I give you my word as a Starfleet officer and a physician, we will leave peacefully. But we can’t allow you to harm them.”
Tilly takes a deep breath beside him, and Hugh isn’t sure what she’s planning, but he has to trust it isn’t going to get Adira hurt.
”One outsider, there’s a billion more just like you. Spreading your propaganda and lies. We don’t need you here, and we’ll do whatever we have to to make sure you leave us alone forever.”
”Hurting a Starfleet officer will guarantee the exact opposite.”
A nasty laugh.
”Too bad. Adira, is it? Say goodbye-“
Three things happen simultaneously.
…the councilor’s blade moves under Adira’s ear.
…Tilly yells, “screw you!” and kicks the knife-wielding arm at the elbow and the weapon falls.
…Paul swings his fist at the second councilor just as Adira brings their heel down hard on their captor’s foot.
Everything seems to move in slow motion after that. Hugh lunges for the first councilor, arms outstretched to pull Adira free. As he shoulders into the fray, he hears a sickening snap of broken bone and Paul cries out. Adira stumbles away, Tilly’s hand latched onto their wrist, and Hugh spins just in time to see Paul fall.
The first councilor is on the ground, but the second reaches into his robes.
”Go!” he shouts at the others, “now!”
He has just enough time to see Tilly and Adira dashing for the door before throwing himself in the path of the energy weapon the second councilor discharges. A numbing pain hits his chest, and the last thing he sees before everything goes dark are Paul’s eyes.
Notes:
Don’t worry, I haven’t done anything horrible to Hugh! All of this buildup pays off in the next part, I promise.
The jury is still out on Tilly yelling “screw you” :P. Would she have just cursed instead?
AKA I had to world build enough backstory for the bulk of what happens next.
Chapter 418: Seize, Part Two
Summary:
Hugh and Paul might need rescuing.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
His head feels like it's stuffed full of angry cats scratching at his brain. Hugh would really love to fall back into blissful oblivion, but he's dragged towards consciousness with a pull he can't resist. Awareness slowly returns, and he realizes that while his body is lying on something cold, hard, and unforgiving, his head is pillowed on a warm thigh. He recognizes the hand on his chest as belonging to Paul without having to open his eyes, but there's a sense of wrongness about it that he can't pinpoint.
...what's happening?
Paul's breathing is labored, hitching in some sort of distress that forces his eyes open before he even registers the sound. His vision swims, blurred shapes resolving into his partner's face.
"Hi," Paul murmurs, "I was- shit. I was worried."
The fingers brushing over his forehead feel odd, and he wonders why Paul is using his left hand.
"...what...?"
"Are you okay? I- they took everything, I couldn't scan or anything. Left us here maybe an hour ago? Tilly and Adira got away. I tried to get out, but the doors are sealed."
They?
Oh.
The haze falls away, leaving a painful throbbing in his eye sockets as memory slams into him like one of Keyla's deflected Velocity discs.
Fuck.
They're in a gray, mostly featureless room that he recognizes as the 'council chamber' they were lured into. He rolls onto his side clumsily, jostling Paul as he does. The wordless cry of pain it causes makes sour fear curdle in his stomach, and he forces down the urge to be sick.
Paul. Focus on Paul, then getting the hell out of wherever this is.
Hugh can see the problem immediately: Paul's hunched over, right shoulder clearly dislocated and sleeve cuff pushed up to reveal a forearm discolored with an ugly bruise and bulging oddly a few inches above the wrist. There's a scrape over his left eye too, but it doesn't seem to be too deep.
Fractured ulna.
"Fuck."
"My feelings exactly. Could you," he grimaces, left hand clutching at his right wrist, "is there anything you can do about this?"
Dr. Culber pushes Hugh aside, reaches out and pauses before making contact.
"May I?"
Paul's smile is crooked.
"You're asking for permission now?"
The familiar sense of Paul poking at him softens the sharp edges of his worry just a little.
"This is going to hurt."
"Thought so. Go ahead."
Shaking his head, he gently sets his hands on either side of the swelling on his forearm, fingers probing carefully. He has to grit his teeth against the feeling of wrongness when Paul cries out again, instincts screaming at him for hurting Paul. It's a clean break and not a compound fracture, thank goodness. They'll have to find something to splint it, but even if not, Paul doesn't seem to be in danger of internal bleeding. The more pressing issue is his shoulder.
Hugh frees a hand, setting it over Paul's left hand where it's clenched against his own thigh. His palm is warm against Hugh's and he slips his thumb under Paul's cuff to stroke against his uninjured wrist.
"I can re-set your shoulder-"
"Yeah?"
"-but it's really going to hurt."
"Can't be any worse than it is now," Paul's jaw clenches, "because honestly? I'm about, oh, five microns from asking you to hit me hard enough that I pass out."
"Don't say that," Hugh frowns, "I-"
Leaning forward, Paul rests his forehead on Hugh's shoulder.
"I know. I'm sorry."
Hugh presses a kiss to his temple, closing his own eyes for a couple of breaths. He's less worried about any possible surveillance - because he's not planning to be stuck here long enough to be concerned with their captors trying to leverage them against each other - and more about doing anything he can to ease Paul's pain.
"It'll be better after, I promise."
"Okay."
Paul's abiding trust in him is something he cherishes.
"Let me know when you're ready."
"Is this," Paul sits back and nods at his forearm, "going to be an issue?"
Be honest.
"It doesn't make it easier. I'll do my best, but it might be really bad for a little while."
He's re-set dislocated shoulders by hand when dealing with trauma cases, but it was always accompanied by modern medical support. The lack of painkiller and a tricorder to monitor is something else he'll have to deal with alongside the simmering anger at their treacherous hosts. Nothing to be done about it now though, so he shunts that thought away.
"Go ahead."
They're near a wall, but there's enough space here to do what he needs.
"Lie down for me," Hugh directs him, supporting Paul's back as he does, "good."
Despite the care, Paul's face pales, and he hisses.
"Don't suppose I can hold your hand while you do this?"
"I'm going to need both of them for it."
A nod. He leans down briefly to kiss Paul's cheek, then carefully arranges his right arm so that he's gripping it just above the elbow, Paul's fractured forearm resting on Hugh's own.
"Can you grab my bicep? Just to keep your hand from falling."
It's telling that Paul doesn't react to what would normally be an opportunity for teasing, just nods and grasps Hugh's sleeve.
"Okay, here we go."
Slowly, he pulls Paul's arm towards him and starts to raise and lower it while shuffling on his knees in a quarter-arc from Paul's hip upwards. Paul's breathing hard, but he keeps his eyes locked on Hugh's face and Hugh does his best to keep his expression neutral. It's slow going, particularly in trying to keep Paul's forearm from slipping.
"You're doing so well," Hugh murmurs at about forty-five degrees, "just a little longer."
When he reaches shoulder-level, Hugh pauses.
"Let go of my arm."
Maintaining the outwards pull, he lowers Paul's arm until it's almost flat on the floor, fully extended. Then he rotates Paul's upper arm until there's a clear pop that Paul's sharp exclamation follows hard on.
"Fuck!"
Hugh bites his lip, gingerly palpating the shoulder area. It looks right, and relief floods through his chest as he confirms that Paul's shoulder is back in its socket where it ought to be.
"We're good," he rests his hand on Paul's chest, "you're okay. Can you sit up?"
There's no debris or furniture he can scavenge a suitable rigid object from, but he peels off his jacket and now-empty utility belt, using them to fashion a sling to support Paul's injured arm.
"Thank you."
"Yo- wait. You said they left an hour ago?"
" -ish. Yeah."
He winces, the scene painting itself clearly in his head: Paul, in agony from his injuries, nevertheless managing to explore their current prison and watching over Hugh. Surveillance or not, he tips Paul's chin up and kisses him firmly. Paul's left arm wraps around his shoulders, and the hug is brief but welcome.
As they separate, the door on the far wall hisses open and Hugh is on his feet immediately, stepping in between Paul and whoever or whatever might enter.
"-uck you!"
A very familiar voice is followed by the first councilor - Hugh doesn't remember a name - propelling Tilly into the room with fingers clenched in her ponytail. Her jacket is open at the collar and she's covered in dust, but otherwise appears unharmed. Their captor gives her a hard shove and she sprawls over the floor, stepping back and the door sealing before Hugh can get within three meters of it.
"Tilly! Are you okay?"
Paul's voice sounds closer, but Hugh drops to his knees beside Tilly, helping her turn over and sit up.
"Are you all right?"
Tilly reaches up and straightens her ponytail, hand coming away with hair clearly torn free from her head. It doesn't look like much, but it probably it hurts like hell.
Someone is going to answer for all of this.
"Fine. Great, other than wanting to rip the head off that fucking-" Tilly growls, "...yeah. Are you-?"
"A little banged up," Hugh squeezes her shoulder, "but otherwise okay."
"Thank you."
Her face is more somber than the situation even calls for.
"What?"
"For getting in front of that guy so he couldn't shoot us. Their weapons, they look like low-level neural disruptors. If he shot Adira, it could have damaged their link with Tal."
Silence, and he can feel Paul's rage like a searing heat that he honestly can't find it in him to want to defuse. Tilly doesn't look much calmer, but continues anyway.
"They got out of the dome."
Her statement sinks in, and his respect for Tilly, already high, ratchets up another notch.
"You came back?"
An altogether unpleasant smile graces Tilly's mouth for a split second, before settling into something less disturbing.
"I was supposed to be buying time for them to call Discovery. Might have fried a few systems while I was at it, and told Council Asshole what I thought of him."
"Are you sure Adira got to the shuttle?"
"Well. The plan was to blow up the shuttle and hide outside the dome until we found a place to contact Discovery from. The shuttle went boom maybe twenty minutes ago? And that guy and his friends seemed awfully upset they only found me."
"If they hurt Adira," Paul's voice is too even, "I'll kill them myself."
"Get in line," Tilly snaps, but there's no heat in it. "Sorry."
Hugh shakes his head.
"Don't be."
Paul stares off into space for a few seconds, long enough for Hugh to start worrying, before focusing in again.
"If Adira was able to get beyond their dampener, assuming it ranges the dome, it'd take at least half an hour to climb high enough to get a signal. After that..."
Abandoning her hair, Tilly grimaces.
"You mean all we can do is wait."
"Yeah."
Notes:
I had to do a brush-up on the clinical terms for a broken arm and how to reduce a dislocated shoulder.
I need to go eat dinner and finish some work, so stopping here for the night. The conclusion is next!
Chapter 419: Sourire
Summary:
Hugh reflects.
Notes:
Brief intermission - still buttoning up the conclusion chapter for “Seize”.
Takes place early in / before Season One.
Chapter title is French for “smile”. Since I already used that in English, it still counts as a different word if I switch languages, right? :P
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh sighs, smoothing his fingers over the frown lingering on Paul’s brow even as he sleeps.
Sleep should be a respite, not more worries.
He’d come back from a late shift half-expecting to find their quarters empty, and was pleased to find his partner at home and sound asleep. Granted, he was less pleased that Paul was slumped over the desk, stacks of PADDs surrounding him and a half-empty mug of coffee at his elbow. He hadn’t stirred to gentle - and then more insistent - shaking, nor when Hugh lifted him out of the chair and carried him to their bed. Undressing him hadn’t been necessary, Paul already in his pajamas, and he was exactly as Hugh left him when he emerged from a quick shower with teeth brushed.
Despite the grim reality of conflict, turning out the lights and gathering Paul into his arms still feels special, too used to separation. He kisses Paul’s forehead for the simple joy of being able to touch him whenever he pleases, no countdown to one or the other leaving.
His love’s hair is mussed in a way no one would ever see on duty, face open and vulnerable in slumber. Hugh is saddened by the fact that save Harrington and the team from Deneva, everyone on Discovery probably thinks Lieutenant Stamets is a man more prone to criticism and frustrated outbursts than to smiling. If only they knew the Paul that gave Hugh soft looks, that cuddled beside him with his head on Hugh’s shoulder. Or if they could see him giggling, eyes shut and nose scrunched as he tried to contain his laughter at something ridiculous, face flushed pink while he snorted and shook with the effort.
Then again, Hugh’s not sure he wants to share all of Paul, not when Lorca is demanding so much that the work nearly consumes him. Maybe it’s better that he can hold on to some small part of himself that he only allows Hugh the privilege of sharing. Those things belong to his Paul, his sweet and generous love.
Hugh kisses his temple, his high cheekbone, intent as if he could give Paul all that he feels, his lips a conduit to pour into him Hugh’s love and care. Paul sleeps on, but the frown vanishes and he sighs when Hugh pulls the covers higher around them both. Closing his eyes, he concentrates on the rhythm of Paul’s breathing, the heartbeat beneath his palm, and Hugh gives in to his own exhaustion.
Notes:
So the Disco Does D&D stream is uhh-mazing! Entertaining out of all proportion to watching people play a game, because the characters and interactions are pure gold. Anthony has managed to stay in character the whole time, but seeing him finally crack and laugh until he almost cried was…yeah.
Chapter 420: Stimulate
Chapter Text
“What,” Paul can’t control the smile tugging at his lips, “are you doing down there?”
There’s a quiet chuckle, then the covers rustle as Hugh peeks out from under the sheet.
”Conducting your weekly physical.”
Paul sets down his PADD, looking at Hugh over the glasses perched on the end of his nose and adopting a mock-serious expression. He decides not to comment on the frequency.
”Is that so, Doctor Culber?”
”Yes, Doctor Stamets. In fact,” Hugh props himself up on his elbows and hooks his fingers over the waistband of Paul’s pajama pants, “I’d like to conduct a full visual examination.”
Grinning, he raises his hips and lets Hugh ease the pants down to his knees.
”And after that?”
”Well,” Hugh’s breath tickles the hair in very intimate places, “I suppose I need to perform a physical exam. Hands on. Make sure everything is in working order.”
”I see.”
”Possibly test your response to various stimuli, and your stamina too.”
He takes in Hugh’s half-lidded eyes, mischievous and affectionate with more than a little lust barely veiled behind playfulness. The sheet’s fallen back to bare his shoulders, and Paul spends a few long moments simply enjoying the view.
“Will you be needing any…equipment?”
Fingers walk their way up his inner thigh, teasing.
”Oh, I think it’ll be all by hand, but I’ll let you know if that changes. Any other questions?”
“Will there be an internal exam?”
The look Hugh gives him makes him nearly shiver in delighted anticipation.
”You’ll have to wait and see.”
”Mmm. Well, Doctor, I suppose you should go ahead.”
”Just relax,” Hugh murmurs, “I’m going to take such good care of you.”
Paul does as he’s told.
Notes:
Inspired by the fact that Anthony looking over his glasses when he reads his phone is both adorable and hot, and I couldn’t keep it to myself.
Chapter 421: Shine
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
He loves Paul all of the time, but some moments shine brighter, beacons amidst the memories tucked away in his heart for safekeeping.
When Paul tips his chin down and looks up at him through near-transparent lashes, taken by shyness or teasing.
His uninhibited, joyous laughter on the sunlit afternoon that Hugh agreed to be his partner, ringing with relief and happiness.
The slight frown and gentle care as he covers a sleeping Adira with Aida’s quilt.
How Paul’s eyes fall closed to receive Hugh’s kiss, lips ever so slightly parted.
Him with Tilly in the lab, the blue glow of simulations reflecting off the excitement on their faces.
When he brushes the backs of his fingers over Hugh’s cheek, love written in the creases beside his smiling eyes.
Waking up in Paul’s arms to find him gazing at Hugh with infinite tenderness.
His heart is full to overflowing, but there will always be room for more.
Notes:
…I can’t seem to find a screencap of the moment in “Anomaly” where Hugh tells Paul to trust himself and Paul says he should know better than to say that to him - that look they share inspired the first description.
Chapter 422: Shapeshift, Part Twenty-One
Notes:
Headcanon: When ship’s sensors show the ship is so many degrees tilted from the normal internal gravity, doors don’t automatically swish open as a safety measure to keep people from flying out of rooms.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The ship continues to shake after the comm channel closes, an ominous rattling vibrating through the deck.
”This is so not good,” Tilly mutters, “I-“
Another thud, then the deck tilts the other direction.
“-okay, I’m totally not panicking, right?”
Beneath the console, they’re a tangle of limbs. Hugh’s legs are locked around a support, hunched over Paul in his lap and shielding him as best he can with his right arm. His left is hooked with Tilly’s arm where she’s crouched closer to the margin of their shelter, and he can see her knuckles turning white where she’s clutching the edge of the console. She in turn has a firm grip on Adira, who’s clinging to Hugh’s leg amidst the chaos.
”Mrrraaahhhhh!”
”Sorry,” he murmurs, voice strained as Paul presses against his chest, “just keep holding on.”
“This shouldn’t happen,” Adira insists, freeing one hand to open their tricomm, “the stabilizers- owww! They’re working. Dampeners are up.”
A conduit overloads nearby, showering their side of the lab with sparks. Tilly sticks her head out, then immediately retreats as a ceiling panel swings down.
“I- shit. We need to get out of here.”
As if to underscore her words, another conduit pops in the bulkhead beside the door.
”The corridor- is it any safer?”
This time, the ship doesn’t swing back on its X-axis of gravity, and the deck stays pitched at a steep angle.
”Better than being trapped in here,” she shakes her head, “less things to hit us out there.”
They’re closer to the door than not, but the six meters of deck between them and the egress are littered with debris. He catches Tilly’s glance, nods his assent.
”Let’s do it.”
”I’ll go first.”
He waits for Adira to transfer their hold to the console support, then lets go of Tilly’s arm. She checks the ceiling, releases the edge of the console, and slides downhill across the deck. Once she’s safely at the door, her fingers fly over the controls, overriding the safety protocols and opening the door halfway.
”Come on!”
Hugh hesitates only a moment before catching Adira’s shoulder.
”Take Paul.”
”Mrrroooo-“
Paul’s eyes are wide, ears laid back and claws unsheathed. They’re probably pricking Adira once he transfers the precious cargo, but they don’t even blink, just hold him to their chest with both arms while Hugh steadies them. He’s about to let go when there’s a loud pop and the lights go out.
Could this day get any worse?
Emergency lighting glows blue along the seam between bulkheads and deck, wall panels dimming ominously as whatever the issue is interferes with the backup system. In the doorway, Tilly’s a shadowy silhouette, bracing herself against the frame.
”Come on,” she calls again, holding out one hand, “I’ll catch you.”
Adira doesn’t reply, or if they do it’s not audible over the increasingly louder rattling. Then they tuck their head down and follow Tilly, fetching up against the door with a cry of alarm but not pain.
”Hugh!”
The ship lurches again, and something crashes down onto the console above and behind him. He unhooks his legs and rolls, trying to aim for a spot where he won’t collide with the others.
Almost there.
Tilly’s outstretched hand is close enough to grab when there’s a terrible wrenching sound followed by the concussion of something exploding. Heat washes over his right shoulder, his face, and he instead grabs Tilly’s arm to propel her through the door.
“Go! Get out,” he shoves Adira after her, “we-“
What feels like a freight shuttle slams into him, the pressure wave knocking the breath from his lungs even as he tries to inhale.
Keep moving.
He’s halfway through the door when the rest of the ceiling collapses. The last thing he hears as blackness closes in on the edges of his vision is a terrified feline yowl.
Notes:
I can’t say enough how much I appreciate the comments - I’m behind in replies again, but please know they make me very happy to read. Life has been challenging lately (nothing horrible), and writing is my outlet.
Read the other parts at: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 22
Chapter 423: Strawberry
Summary:
A lazy afternoon, early on in their relationship.
Notes:
Thank you to the amazing LadyRiona for the prompt!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The breeze gently rustling the purple grass around them is warm, bringing the scent of earth (the same on every class M planet, apparently) and Denevan flowers across the field. All around, the air is filled with the sound of tree branches moving, birds calling, but Hugh isn't paying attention to them at all. Instead, he's drifting in the lassitude of the well-sated, sweat still drying on his skin and joints aching in the best possible way.
He turns his head just enough to glimpse Paul beside him, sprawled out on Aida's quilt that's protecting them from the prickle of plants beneath them. Paul's eyes are closed, but he's wearing a smile that Hugh is sure matches his own. It might be a reflection of the deep aubergine of the grasslands, but the afternoon light tinges Paul's hair with a warm reddish hue as if it's caught the sun itself. He can't look away, captivated by the shadows his eyelashes cast on his high cheekbones, blond hair tousled and bearing several darkening love bites across his throat and chest.
After a snack to replenish the energy expended during the first round earlier that morning, they’d loved each other again, slow and sweet and passionate. He’s seriously considering whether a nap might be in order when Paul stirs.
"Mmm," he hums, squeezing Hugh's hand where their fingers are laced together, "this is perfect."
Hugh raises their joined hands, kisses Paul's knuckles, his thumb, the delicate skin on the inside of his wrist.
"Yes," he smiles, "you are."
At that, Paul rolls onto his side, pushing up on an elbow to lean down and kiss Hugh thoroughly. Their lips are clumsy with drowsiness, and eventually they subside into simply laying with their noses pressed together, lips brushing on every breath. Beyond Paul, a half-eaten plate of strawberries languishes beside two overturned - and thankfully empty at the time - glasses of wine, the chocolate long since melted away. It's forgotten though, as Hugh snuggles even closer, limbs impossibly interwoven in a way that makes his heart glad with the thought that separation simply isn't an option.
We belong to each other.
Notes:
Nothing quite like the aftermath of lazy, hazy, afternoon lovemaking (because that's where my romantic brain demanded we go).
…is anyone else not receiving AO3 notification emails? Mine haven’t been showing up for several days.
Chapter 424: Solicitude
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh’s face is turned to the stars, glimmering far beyond the viewport and Discovery herself. Behind him, the low buzz of conversation in the lounge is occasionally punctuated with sounds of triumph or commiseration from the crew playing darts or chess. The clink of glassware blends with laughter, and it forms a barrier of sorts between him and everyone else.
Normally, he would be moving among them - had, in fact, earlier - always with an encouraging smile and gentle word. Some he approached in this fashion because they wouldn’t respond well to a medical summons, others because he couldn’t gauge their potential need save in person. Many a quiet conversation was held in one of the booths tucked in the shadows of the corner beside the piano, or appointments made if the issue was too private.
Now though, he’s drained, seeking solitude to re-center himself and find a few scraps of energy in case anyone approaches in need. The window seat is comfortable, piled with cushions and commonly in use as a reading nook. Its depth accommodates two average human-sized people, provided they didn’t mind being close. He’s sure that he and Paul aren’t the only ones who’ve cozied up together on it.
Hugh draws his feet up to rest on the ledge, turning more fully towards the stars. He thinks about evenings spent on Aida’s back deck, sitting beside his grandfather on the swing as he pointed out constellations to his six year-old self. Then as now, their silent serenity is a balm to his tired mind. They’re endless, boundless, so slowly changing that their ageless light is a comfort.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Tracy’s voice is just loud enough to get his attention.
”I’m not sure anyone would pay for them.”
She settles herself on the cushions beside him, no invitation ever needed between them. Like him, she’s off duty and out of uniform, a mug of what looks like hot tea in one hand.
”That’s good, because I didn’t bring any with me.”
Hugh closes his eyes, leaning his head to rest on the ledge’s curved wall. Tracy doesn’t push for more, and he can picture the way she’s probably sipping her tea, blowing the rising steam away from its surface. Her presence is familiar and comfortable, and not for the first time he’s grateful to have his oldest friend with him in this strange new future.
Eventually, there’s the clink of the mug being set on the small table beside them.
”What are you doing here?”
He peels one eye open.
”Just thinking.”
”You’re off duty.”
It’s not a question, her tone mild. He matches it, not putting too much weight into the reply.
”Yes.”
Tracy sighs, setting her hand on his forearm.
”I’m asking because I know you, Hugh. You can’t resist trying to help even when it’s your own time you’re using.”
There’s no point in denying it, so he shrugs one shoulder a bit, lips curving slightly upwards.
”Can’t help it.”
“You should go home,” she offers, “watch a holonovel. Hug Paul, and think up yet another way to annoy him that I’ll find out about sooner or later when one of you complains.”
That last draws a chuckle, because while it’s true, it’s also one hundred percent Tracy to act like she won’t listen with amusement and add it to her endless supply of material to tease him with.
“He’s still on shift, or I would. Meeting me here soon, or supposed to if nothing stops him.”
”By nothing, do you mean no emergencies, or no 'might be interesting, let's spend two hours exploring this theory' Stamets scientific detours?”
”The first part.”
She looks at him then, taking him in from head to boots. Tracy doesn’t seem displeased at least, so he can’t look as tired as he sometimes feels. The balancing act is rewarding, but it’s also a source of deep exhaustion that he’s been escaping from in the safety of Paul’s arms. Tucked beside him in their bed, sometimes he can find rest.
“You need a break, Hugh.”
”Probably…” he catches her eyes narrowing, “yes.”
”Take tomorrow off, there’s nothing major on the schedule, Aisha and I’ll be fine. Go reserve a holosuite and do whatever it is you two do in there- which, by the way,” she heads off any retort, “I’m not asking about.”
More than anything this evening, the well-traveled paths of Tracy’s long-suffering teasing are a solace.
”So you don’t want to hear about my plans to wear practically nothing and oil up-“
Her balled-up napkin bounces off his chest.
”No, no I don’t.”
The laugh that wells up thaws some of the icy weariness inside, and he winks.
“Thanks, Trace.”
She retrieves the napkin, and seems to be looking at something behind him. Before he can turn to see, a large, warm hand slides over his back, arm settling around his shoulders. The scent of woodsy citrus reaches his nose, and he can’t help the way his eyes close for a few moments when he leans on Paul’s chest.
”Hi babe.”
”Mmm. Sorry I’m late.”
”You,” Tracy points at him as she rises, “do what I said. Night, Paul.”
She waves off their goodbyes, and Paul steps around Hugh to take her vacated spot amidst the cushions. Paul’s still in uniform, albeit with the jacket unzipped and sleeves rolled up. He squirms a little, moving closer and taking Hugh’s hand.
”Long day?”
”I should be asking you that.”
He idly strokes Paul’s forearm with his free hand, hair tickling his palm.
”Adira had an idea about- actually, I can tell you over breakfast. Let’s go home.”
Hugh smiles ruefully.
”Do I look that bad?”
”You, dear doctor, never look bad. But you’re wearing the ‘I’m off duty but still want to counsel’ clothes,” he eyes Hugh’s dark sweater and slacks, “and I want to take a shower and take you to bed.”
”I-“
”To sleep, Hugh. I promise.”
Exhaling, he briefly rests his forehead on Paul’s cheek, then gives him a peck on the lips.
”Let’s go home.”
Notes:
This was originally meant to be Tarka interrupting Hugh waiting for Paul to join him in the lounge, and Hugh repeating his warning to leave Paul alone. It took an entirely different direction once I wrote the first two paragraphs, but I’m satisfied with how it turned out. It’s been too long since I’ve written a Hugh-and-Tracy moment.
Chapter 425: Stoic
Summary:
Vulcan stoicism isn't as solid as some would believe.
Chapter Text
In Hugh's experience, a simple "I grieve with thee" offered in the most solemn respect tended to be the Vulcan response to the loss of a loved one. For others it might seem cold and perfunctory, but for a species whose tenets rely on logic and discipline emotion, the expression of grief in condolence is profound.
It's why he's not surprised to find T'Vala kneeling on the ground beside a Vulcan couple, her posture upright and proper as they respond to the site of a transport accident on Titan. Hugh knows the bare minimum details: an unexpected ion burst destabilized the vehicle's controls when the boy unbuckled his harness and it plummeted into the side of a mountain. All of the other passengers suffered serious injuries, but the safety protocols had largely protected those secured in their seats from more than fractured limbs and serious but non-fatal spinal trauma. The child had been thrown free of the wreckage, and the leaking drive radiation and internal injuries suffered in the impact mean that stasis is impossible and even the most advanced medical science wouldn't be able to stabilize his genetic structure. His parents had been on a second transport not far behind, and Hugh can't imagine being a helpless witness to it.
As he watches, T'Vala peels off the glove of her radiation suit and places the tips of her index and middle fingers on the boy's temple, eyes closing and a frown appearing on her brow.
"He is able to hear you," she murmurs, "but you must speak quickly."
Hugh suddenly feels deeply intrusive, and he turns away to face the emergency tents being set up for the worst of the injured to give them privacy. The bustle of activity, urgent but not panicked, reminds him that the other passengers are receiving the immediate care that they need.
A few minutes later, there's no mistaking the shrill alarm on T'Vala's tricorder. In the reflection on the thermal material of the nearest triage tent, he can see her gently close the child's unseeing eyes and replace her glove. As she does, his mother's spine stiffens, shoulders rigid, and her husband inhales sharply. Both grow very still, the calm demeanor Hugh is used to in Vulcans buckling.
"...we thank you, Healer T'Vala," the boy's mother manages at last, "I..."
She closes her eyes, face grown impassive in a way that speaks of deep emotion.
"There is no shame in the expression of loss for a child," T'Vala's usual calm voice sounds tight, "I grieve with thee."
The parents' fingertips meet, and Hugh hopes it's some measure of comfort they can draw in a moment of tragedy as they gather themselves.
"You require medical attention," T'Vala continues, "it is deleterious to your health to remain in close proximity, and you must receive treatment. I shall ensure that your son is prepared for his journey."
Another medic approaches to tend to them, and T'Vala stands and walks a few meters in Hugh's direction. He's at her side when she stumbles, and cultural practices aside, he's glad to be able to catch her elbow before she collides with the still-smoking debris.
"Hugh."
"T'Vala, what-"
A head shake.
"I will recover."
He nods and loosens his hold, waiting for her to stand on her own before letting go completely.
"I...am uninjured," she sways on her feet, but allows him to urge her in the direction of an empty tent, "...there are patients which require-"
Hugh presses a pouch of nutrient drink into her hands.
"Isn't it logical to rest yourself for a short while to ensure a larger benefit to additional patients?"
She opens the corner of the pouch, its uneven tear more a testament to her disquiet than anything else.
"Indeed."
"I'll be back in five minutes, okay?"
"I possess a chronometer. Or," she frowns slightly, "is this a human custom of concern?"
"Yes."
T'Vala nods.
"Then it is appreciated. I require a brief meditation, Hugh."
He takes a step back and turns to leave, pausing at the tent flap.
"Is there anything I can do to...help with arrangements for-" he gestures back the way they came, uncertain how to ask the rest of the question.
"No. But the offer of service is honorable. You have borne witness."
If only it weren't for this.
Notes:
I'm not completely happy with the ending, but this has been languishing in drafts since last September.
Chapter 426: Spiral
Chapter Text
You should have known this would happen.
Hugh grits his teeth, fingers clutching at the edges of the counter.
But you were too caught up in yourself, weren’t you?
He breathes in deeply, reciting the meditation chant T’Vala taught Nella, tries to center himself.
Too focused on yourself.
Unsurprisingly, it’s about as effective as trying to catch stardust in his palms, and the failure is another stab in his chest.
This is your fault.
This is about the billions of people who could die.
His mouth fills with a metallic taste, and he realizes he’s bitten the inside of his cheek until it bled. Looking into the mirror to check on it is a mistake though, because he doesn’t recognize the man staring back at him. The wild eyes would be more at home in a frightened animal, brow furrowed so deeply his temples ache and lips downturned. It’s also impossible to ignore the fact that there’s a hollowness to his cheeks from too many hours at the gym or running endless laps to try and escape from his own failure.
Failure.
Something coils, not in his gut but his arms, hot and tight and demanding. Restless, gnawing at him even as it paralyzes. Alien and yet not.
You never felt like this before…
Guilt, recrimination, and hopelessness.
Before you died.
Hugh Culber isn’t a man prone to temper, swift anger only ever in defense of those he loves. The man in the mirror now is as far from Dr. Culber’s gentle care that even the most psi-null being could probably sense it through a meter of neutronium. He doesn’t like the prickles of rage scratching at his skin, hates how it circles closer and closer around him and leaves him trapped.
He’s only ever acted on it once, the confrontation in the mess hall with Tyler. And while it felt exhilarating to release it in violence, only nothingness remained in the void it scooped out inside of him, desolate.
“No.”
Unable to keep still, he turns from the mirror and walks, back and forth. Pacing does nothing but raise his blood pressure, and the thought of his usual outlets - exercise, a good book - feels insignificant.
Paul can help.
Paul can’t see him like this.
He’s still clutching a washcloth, balled in his fist.
Do something.
Hugh hates cleaning. Neatness is Paul’s habit, and Discovery now tidies up for them, returning things to their place and disinfecting surfaces. That’s no comfort now, and he scrubs at a dent in the partition that he knows he can’t remove. (He remembers how it happened, in the time before, how he’d tried to coax Paul to come to bed when he sat staring at calculations for hours. Paul had been so exhausted that he couldn’t stand, staggering into Hugh and making him elbow over a lamp.)
Swish.
“Umm…Hugh?”
It’s a losing proposition, but he bends to it, wiping down keepsakes that aren’t dirty, scrubbing fingerprints off the desk.
Paul can’t see you like this.
“The ship cleans for us.”
Paul’s stopped a couple of meters inside the door, and he can see him shifting his weight from one leg to the other. He’s probably also rubbing his thumb over his fingers.
Great, you’re making him nervous.
“Yeah, well,” he hates the defensiveness in his clipped words, “sometimes it needs a little zhuzh.”
With abominable timing, the cleaning bot finishes in the bathroom and glides out. The barely-audible buzz grates at his nerves, but it’s nothing to how he feels when he thinks what it’s just been cleaning for them. Of course it had still been on the bathroom counter, evidence of yet another of failure.
Paul wanted you, and you couldn’t get it up.
The man you love, who you’ve gone through life and death for, had to satisfy himself last night because you weren’t in the mood.
It’s irrational - they’ve never had a problem if one of them reached for a toy in the nightstand - but it bubbles over like an erupting volcano. He snatches the disinfecting wand.
”No! How many times do I have to say it? Return to dock!”
He’s out of control, face burning with pique and his own reaction to himself. Worst of all, he can’t bear to look at the expression on Paul’s face.
”You’re stressed.”
If only it were that simple. Stress he can handle, but this…no. Cheeks flaming with shame at his outburst, he faces the couch, pushing down the throw pillows with more force than necessary.
“I’m not stressed.”
“You’re also cleaning, ergo, stressed.”
Paul knows him too well, doesn’t need to gather evidence and prove his hypothesis, but it’s inescapable.
“Just…” he turns away again as Paul moves closer, “clearing my head.”
“Is this about Book?”
The understanding in the simple question aches.
Look at him.
”He was in a volatile emotion state,” he shrugs sharply, “and I didn’t do enough.”
Paul doesn’t say anything yet.
”This is what Kovitch was warning me about,” he tosses the cloth down, “pushing myself. Wearing myself out.”
Every word is heavy, thoughts he hasn’t voiced before no matter how they crowded his head. They burn his tongue on the way out.
”Failing people.”
That’s the bitterest fact of it all.
”What he did is not on you.”
Gentleness is too much right now, and he can’t stop the sting of tears welling up.
“But it is. I’m responsible for the psychological and emotional health of everyone on board this ship. Book included.”
”You know that’s a completely unreasonable expectation to bear.”
They’ve changed, positions reversed. How many times did he try to get Paul to understand that the lives lost in the war weren’t his fault, that he wasn’t a failure? How often did he speak in the same quiet but firm tone?
Exhaustion cloaks him in heaviness. Sitting on the arm of a chair, he looks up at Paul, defeated. His partner gazes back, no discomfort on his face from Hugh’s outburst, only love.
”You can’t solve your patients’ problems. All you can do is help them find their own answers.”
Swallowing past the lump in his throat isn’t easy.
”I know that,” he shakes his head, “I do. I just…it’s all I can think about. What I could have done differently.”
Paul smiles, just a little, and he’s not sure he deserves it.
“Hugh, listen to me. I get anxiety. I- right now I’m toggling between the DMA, and how Gray is settling into life on Trill, ‘is Book okay, wherever he is?’, and lets not forget about how badly I handled the situation with Zora. So,” he closes his eyes, huffing a sigh, “it’s not the same as yours, but it all comes from the same place.”
You’re not alone.
”Uncertainty. Which is terrifying.”
That’s an understatement.
”So, let’s be terrified together.”
Wherever we go from here, we go together.
“Kovitch said you need to take some time for yourself, right?”
He nods again.
”The holodeck just got updated with the venabalia bloom from Solada Major, so…I thought we’d take a little stroll through a field full of flowers for a bit.”
Paul waits, patient and undemanding. Part of him wants to deny the comfort, but he’s so tired, so drained.
“I’d like that.”
The smile he receives is cool solace over the doubt burning inside of him.
Let him take care of you.
He takes Paul’s hand. It’s warm and broad and more familiar than micro surgical tools or scanners.
Connection.
Paul pulls him to his feet, still smiling as they step into the corridor. They’re silent on the way to the holodeck, but the words unsaid are clear in the gentle stroking of Paul’s thumb over his knuckles. Once the doors close behind them, he pauses at the entrance to the botanical garden therein and wraps his arms around Paul’s waist, nose pressed to that special spot beneath his ear and breathing deeply. Paul's arms circle his shoulders, holding tightly.
”Hugh?”
”Thank you,” he whispers, “I- thank you.”
Notes:
I can’t be the only one who thought what the DOT had looked…phallic. Took me a couple rewatches to catch on.
Two minutes of Culmets on screen, but I feel so fulfilled. Also, I wish we could have seen the holodeck.
Owo kicking butt in the ring was uhh-mazing!
Chapter 427: Succulent
Summary:
Another early relationship snippet.
Chapter Text
“Should I be worried that you’re hungry?”
Paul’s voice pulls Hugh back from counting the freckles on his shoulder.
”Hmm?”
It’s a bit of an odd question, but his lover is someone who seems to find convention to be optional. He leaves off tracing his fingers over Paul’s lovely skin and looks up. Paul’s watching him with an affectionate smile, but his expression doesn’t give any hint of context.
“Well,” he squirms under the covers, cuddling into Hugh’s chest, “I was wondering if you were planning to eat me.”
He can’t help the wicked grin in response, licking his lips.
”Was that a request?”
They’d sucked each other off in the shower that morning, but Hugh’s never averse to satisfying Paul’s needs.
”What-“ Paul’s cheeks pinken, and he rolls his eyes, “no, I just, I mean, I wouldn’t complain but that’s not what I meant.”
Hugh strokes the arch of his collarbone, thumb dipping into the notch.
”What did you mean?”
”Well, I’m starting to think you might be a vampire.”
The non sequitur takes him by surprise, and he spends a few moments staring blankly back. His fingers pause over a scarlet love bite on Paul’s throat, and then realization hits him and he chuckles.
”Sorry, I do seem to be biting a lot. You’re too delicious not to.”
”Mmhmm.”
A sudden worry pokes at him.
”Should- I can be more careful?”
”What? No, it feels good when you do that, I like it.”
Paul frowns then, and Hugh has to be sure.
”Do you want the regen?”
”No, I want to keep them. Sorry,” he bites his lip, “I’m not very good at this.”
”This?”
”Teasing. Umm…pillow talk?”
Uncertainty doesn’t belong on Paul’s face, and Hugh kisses him soundly to be rid of it.
”You are. Amazing. And,” he nuzzles at Paul’s jaw, “I think you’ve got the pillow talk down just fine.”
“Are you sure?”
”Sweetheart, who else could discuss applied biology with me while we’re naked in bed? Or argue about opera with their hands down my pants?”
“Hugh…”
He pulls the duvet a little higher, wrapping them snugly together.
”I’m serious.”
”Okay.”
That warrants a kiss, which leads to another, and another.
”I’m thinking,” Hugh shoulders a pillow into place, “that we have a nap. And some dinner when we wake up. And then…”
”Then?”
Paul’s adorable with his hair sticking out in all directions.
”Then I’ll see about eating you properly.”
”…I’m not going to argue with that.”
Chapter 428: Sofa
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“…huh.”
”Mmm?”
He waits a minute, but there’s no response. Paul thumbs off his PADD - tricomm interface or not, he still likes the feeling of it in his hands when he’s writing reports - and looks down at his lap. Hugh’s lying lengthwise across the couch, head pillowed on Paul’s right thigh, and he seems to be looking past him out the viewport.
”Hugh?”
The fabric is soft beneath his fingers as he rests a hand on Hugh’s stomach, moving in slow circles. That gets his partner’s attention, and he refocuses on Paul’s face.
”Sorry, what?”
”You hmmm’d.”
A slight, thoughtful frown.
”Oh.”
”Want to talk about it?”
“Nothing serious. I was just thinking,” Hugh flexes his chest as Paul’s petting works its way upwards, “I kind of miss the stars over the bed.”
Oh.
Tipping his head back to rest on the couch cushions, he looks out into the vastness of space. The stars had watched over them as they talked and slept and made love beneath the sheets, constant companions on sleepless nights. They’re not that much further away from their pillows now, relatively speaking, but if it’s bothering Hugh-
“Do you want to move it back?”
“Maybe?”
”Well,” he strokes Hugh’s jaw, “I’m fine either way.”
Hugh doesn’t respond immediately, making content noises as Paul gently scratches at his beard. The hair prickles under his palm, followed by Hugh kissing his thumb as he shakes his head decisively.
”Nah. Too much work.”
”We have antigravs and the DOTs, Hugh.”
“Yeah, but I like the old fashioned way. You seem to like it too.”
”That’s because you always take your shirt off.”
He chuckles as Hugh grins up at him.
“True.”
Paul’s fingers meander further upwards, flicking at Hugh’s ear and massaging his temple.
“Speaking of,” he half-stifles a yawn, “bed?”
“Mmm. Sure.”
They move around each other in comfortable silence, brushing their teeth and turning down the bed. He pulls Hugh into his arms once they’re under the covers with the lights out, nuzzling his forehead. That earns him a pleased hum, and a kiss to the underside of his chin.
“Love you.”
”Love you too, sweetheart. Night.”
Notes:
1. Season One had their bed under the viewport, to the left on entering their quarters.
2. Season Two has the couch in that spot (and I wondered if it was a continuity error, because I can’t see Paul moving any furniture after Hugh dies).
3. Season Three gives us the bed back under the viewport, probably for a good camera angle when Hugh comes out of the bathroom and climbs across it to have that wonderful conversation in “Scavengers”.
4. Now this season we’ve got the bed on the opposite wall again, probably because it would have been in the way of the camera angle when Paul comes in to change his jacket before meeting with Tarka.
Chapter 429: Spiral, Part Two
Summary:
Paul. Hugh. A field full of flowers.
Notes:
Follows on from Chapter 426 ("Spiral").
I'm interpreting "bloom" as a collective event rather than a single flower opening.
***SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE EIGHT***
*
*
*
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They've left their jackets hanging from a handrail, and because there aren't any simulated hazards, taken off their boots to stroll barefoot through the meadow, hand in hand. The venabalia bloom is just as magnificent as Paul had hoped, fields of green bursting with purples and iridescent blues as the simulated light from Solada's twin suns reaches its zenith. Nearby, close enough to be present but distant enough to remain nonintrusive, holograms wander amidst the winding paths, voices rising and falling on the wind.
As he'd hoped, the sunshine eases some of the tension coursing through Hugh, shoulders lowering and stopping now and then to really look at the plants. Hugh doesn't seem inclined to speak much, but Paul's more than happy to linger, pointing out this and that fungal species making their home on the shadowy sides of rocks and fallen branches. He's not expecting Hugh to listen intently, more creating familiar environment than anything (because Paul going on about fungus is so very normal that it's calming for them both). The grip on his hand relaxes, although it doesn't loosen, and he thinks about them gently soothing him through nightmares and hurts, Hugh's strength as much a part of him as his own heartbeat.
They pause on the banks of a small stream to roll their pant legs up, and he lets Hugh steady them both as they traverse the slippery rocks. Water flows cool around their ankles, turning loose soil to mud between their toes once they reach the other side.
Nella would have loved this.
Not only for Hugh's sake he wishes that Nella and Aida were here, and the thought tugs at him with sorrow, though it's followed closely by affection. He recognizes the calm patience in himself that grew with Nella, serving him well with Tilly and Adira in a different but no less profound manner. It gives him a well of surety that he doesn't know he'd have otherwise when Hugh needs him now.
A little further down the path, they come upon a shady spot between two large trees, smooth stones defining a floor and curving upwards to a bench. There's also a tray with a pitcher and two glasses next to a small dish with lemon wedges, and he settles Hugh to sit before pouring iced tea for them both. Hugh cuddles into his side under the curve of Paul's arm over the back of the bench, head resting on Paul's shoulder as they drink in silence. When they finish, Paul sets their glasses back on the tray and waits.
Hugh seems to be gathering himself, looking down at his hands in his own lap. There's no sense in rushing him, so Paul gives his knee a squeeze and closes his eyes, letting the spicy-sweet scent of the venabalia wash over him. A sense of peace grows in his stomach, like a falling leaf spiraling downwards to land noiselessly on the grass. Eventually, Hugh stirs and sits up, opening his mouth only to close it again a few seconds later. His brow is knit with thought, and Paul's pretty sure he knows what he's going to say.
"You don't have to apologize."
One side of Hugh's mouth twitches upwards, and he exhales.
"But I should."
"No," he slips off the bench and kneels to see Hugh's downturned face, "you shouldn't."
"I'm-"
He shakes his head, smiling just a little. Paul takes Hugh's hands in his own, resting together on his knees.
"You're human, Hugh. Not omniscient or telepathic or any of that. You're the best person I know, and even that comes with limits. This ship is good at pushing them, but we all have them. How many times have you told me that it's not possible to see all outcomes?"
"It's not the same."
"No," he admits, "it's not, because I've got data and models and Tilly and Adira and Zora to back things up. You have yourself."
A sigh.
"Exactly. And I should have been able to see this coming."
"Tarka is an ass. Who knows what he said to make him go along with it?"
"I should have known."
It's not a subject either of them likes to bring up, but it's important and it might be the best way to illustrate things.
"When I was hiding what the spore drive was doing to me. You knew something was wrong, but you didn't know what."
Hugh stiffens, but he doesn't make a move to stand or change the subject.
"Yeah. But-"
"Hugh, you're the person who knows me best in the entire universe. And if you couldn't guess what I was hiding from you, how could you expect yourself to know what Book was thinking?"
The logic isn't unassailable, but Hugh doesn't object. Instead, he gives a halting nod and finally lifts his eyes to meet Paul's gaze.
"I haven't been making it easy lately."
He can hear the acknowledgement and stifles a sigh of relief, thankful that he isn't going to have to push further in that direction.
"So it's my turn to be supportive," he kisses Hugh's palm, "you've been there for me for so long."
"It's not a balance sheet."
"But if it was, you've more than earned it."
Letting go of one hand, Paul caresses Hugh's cheek, tucks his fingers behind his ear and feels his pulse beating strong and steady beneath his fingertips.
"I love you, Hugh. I will love you forever, through everything, no matter what."
Hugh's eyes shine, and he covers Paul's hand with his own.
"I love you too. Thank you, for this."
"Always," he avers, quiet and firm, "always."
Notes:
Happy Valentine’s Day :) I couldn't get the visual out of my head of a golden, sunlit meadow with them walking barefoot through it.
Chapter 430: Snug
Chapter Text
“Computer lights of- hi.”
A sudden armful of Paul is never a bad thing, particularly in bed.
“Hi.”
Hugh lets Paul arrange him as he will, readily rolling onto his side and waiting until the wriggling subsides to wrap his own arms around him. Paul’s foot installs itself between Hugh’s ankles, one arm tucked beneath himself and the other hand working the hem of Hugh’s shirt up to settle on the bare skin of his lower back.
”Not sleepy yet?”
Paul laughs quietly.
”I am. But I missed you.”
There’s no hint of deep distress, so he takes it at face value.
”It was just a couple of days at HQ.”
“Still…”
Despite the dark, they don’t bump noses when kissing, long practice at sharing the same pillow. One of his favorite things in the universe is the way Paul kisses when they’re in private. Instead of the chaste pecks they share in the company of others, these are open-mouthed, tongue flirting with Hugh’s. Yet Paul’s mouth is soft, the pace slow and undemanding.
Welcome home kisses, he thinks as Paul nibbles at his lower lip.
Accompanying them are the sounds Paul doesn’t stifle, sighs and delighted humming. They vibrate against Hugh’s lips, puffs of air over damp skin sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. He swallows the gasp when he catches the tip of Paul’s tongue between his teeth, sucking gently.
Paul seems content to continue as they are, no more overriding hunger than the desire for intimacy between them. Just in case, Hugh subtly shifts his leg, thigh brushing over Paul’s groin to check. It doesn’t go unnoticed - not that he was trying to be secretive - and the hand on his back migrates to give Hugh’s ass a friendly squeeze in acknowledgement.
“Just this,” Paul murmurs, eyes half-open, “unless you want…?”
”You know I could kiss you forever, sweetheart.”
Paul licks the tip of his nose.
”Thats not what I was asking.”
Smiling, he returns the favor.
”This is good. Probably too worn out for anything else anyway.”
That settled, he hitches Paul’s thigh a little higher where it’s draped over his hip, rubbing them together just to earn a chuckle. It’s a purely sensual indulgence, pleasure at all points where they’re touching as the kissing resumes. Paul’s warm beneath his hands, their chests meeting with every breath.
Some time later, he can feel his eyelids growing heavy, response slowing, but there’s no need to stop on account of that. It would hardly be the first time they drifted off, lips clumsy with impending sleep.
In the morning, they argue over coffee who fell asleep first, and Hugh smirks into his mug before taking pity on Adira’s scandalized expression and changing the subject. Beneath the table, he hooks his booted foot on Paul’s ankle, and they continue on with breakfast.
Chapter 431: Suppress
Chapter Text
Hugh’s been very carefully not dwelling on how close the away team came to dying today. It’s working out about as well as expected, but he’s still on duty and Discovery needs him focused. Dealing with the minor injuries dealt by Tarka - the distinction is clear in his mind - firing on them keeps him busy enough treating burns, two broken arms, and a concussion before Saru’s unexpected visit.
Connection.
He’s still smiling to himself as he makes his way home, and he doesn’t have to wait long for Paul to arrive.
Swish
“Hi, I-“
Paul doesn’t stop moving once he crosses the threshold. Rising with the expectation of a kiss hello, the desperate embrace squeezes the breath out of him. He stumbles backwards with the force of Paul’s arrested momentum, knocking into a chair even as his own arms rise automatically to return the hug.
”Babe-“
”I,” Paul’s voice is muffled in the side of his neck, “read the log. Fuck.”
Oh.
In the course of ignoring his brush with death (again), he also probably should have mentioned something to Paul about the circumstances of arriving back on Discovery. At the time, Hugh reasoned that his partner was busy jumping the ship, and hadn’t sent more than an ‘I’m back’ message. Thankfully, Paul doesn’t sound angry with him.
“I meant to tell you.”
The tight hold loosens, but it’s only so that Paul can cradle Hugh’s face between his palms and kiss him with an intensity that steals his breath away again. It’s searing, their teeth knocking together as Paul licks his way into Hugh’s mouth.
“You,” Paul gasps when they finally separate, “fuck, Hugh.”
It takes a moment to find his words, resting his forehead against Paul’s and nodding.
”Yeah. I-“ he exhales hard, “it was…yeah.”
”You’re safe.”
Two words, but he can hear Paul reassuring himself in them.
“You’re safe,” Paul repeats, this time in a softer tone, “I’ve got you. It’s okay, Hugh.”
He sways on his feet, swallowing past the fear still lodged high in his chest. All he can do is nod, the shelter of Paul’s arms releasing some of the hold he’s kept on his reaction. Paul’s own pulse beats a staccato tattoo against his cheek when he buries his face in the side of his neck.
”I…”
”Shh. I’ve got you. You’re here, and if I ever get my hands on Tarka-“ he breaks off, shaking his head as if to clear it, “I’m here. Just hold on.”
So he does.
“Does this count as being terrified together?”
”Pretty sure it’s the definition of it.”
Notes:
Well.
That was a significantly shorter episode - 44 mins versus five earlier in the season at 50+ - but felt more Star Trek mission-based despite the ongoing storyline. We heard Reno mentioned but didn’t see her (hoping that sets up for Tig Notaro to be back next week), and only got a bit of Paul. That being said, Hugh taking on a more proactive role makes me happy.
I liked seeing a Nhan again in a believable manner, continuing the contrast between her and Michael in willingness to make the hard call (because honestly, they should have prevented the weapon from firing).
Also, Saru coming to Hugh for relationship advice? Priceless.
Jury is still out on Tarka. On one hand, he could very well be someone who is desperate and his own ego prevents him from even considering failure. On the other, I knew he would never stand down.
Not a lot of Culmets to work with and far from my best, but this is where my brain took me.
Chapter 432: Show
Summary:
Love doesn’t always require words.
Chapter Text
Hugh’s smile is soft and sweet, eyes full of tenderness and deep, deep desire.
”Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he breathes into Paul’s ear, “whatever you want, I want to give it to you.”
Your secrets are safe, his touch promises, I will never hurt you.
”I…”
He trails off and feels his cheeks heating as words catch in his throat, silently curses the fair complexion that gives all of his thoughts away.
Understanding dawns on Hugh’s face, and he traces his fingertips over Paul’s cheek before offering his hands, palm-up and relaxed.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, “just show me.”
Eyes wide with trust, Paul does.
Chapter 433: Scintilla
Notes:
Scintilla refers to a tiny bit of something or a “spark”.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
In an uncertain future, the smallest things bring him joy.
Two toothbrushes in the cabinet over the sink.
White uniforms beside blue ones in the closet.
An orderly arrangement of PADDs and chrono on one nightstand and a chaotic tumble crowned with a precariously balanced half-empty water glass on the opposite side.
One pair of boots neatly lined up next to the door, another boot under the table and its mate in front of the couch.
A wet towel abandoned in the middle of the bathroom floor.
The bed warm with Hugh asleep beside him.
Notes:
Working on both the conclusion of Seize and the next chapter of Shapeshift.
Chapter 434: Shields
Chapter Text
“Ohhh, you were cutting it pretty close,” Adira’s voice drifts down the stairs, so very welcome and missed.
”I like living on the edge.”
They give him a look that shouldn’t make him as happy as it does in the middle of the most dangerous mission of their lives.
”Oh.”
Apparently Adira is now on the short list of people (Hugh) who won’t let him get away with anything. Paul can’t find it in himself to be displeased by that. In that vein though, he should address the metric ton of awkwardness that managed to come out of his mouth earlier.
Massive understatement.
“Hey, umm…” he drums his hands on his thighs, “about earlier, with the captain. Umm, I might have been a little…enthusiastic.”
”Yes,” Adira side-eyes him, “I did think I might lose my lunch, and I had curry, so…”
They shrug and turn back to the console, smiling. He doesn’t think they’re trying to make him leave, so he keeps going.
”It’s just…I umm, I know how hard it’s been for you being apart from Gray. I was,” he shrugs self-consciously, “trying to help.”
”I know,” they nod, “I’ve been all right, actually.”
Adira looks away for a moment, but it’s not avoidance.
”I mean it’s different, but it’s not bad different. I get to tell Gray about all this when I see him, you know?”
There’s a sense of calm about them that he can’t quite put his finger on, like they’re more grounded in themself.
Comfortable, he realizes suddenly, they’re comfortable in their skin.
”And, we’re like leaving the galaxy, so…”
”Yeah, I umm, probably worry a bit too much.”
Adira’s smile doesn’t waver. Delicate conversations aren’t exactly his strong suit, and sometimes he feels like he’s blundering around in the dark as he tries to reconcile the knowledge that Adira is brilliant and self-sufficient with the still strange instinct to protect them from the universe. He could leave it there, clearly no harm done, but he needs to say this.
You’re better than you think, Hugh’s voice echoes in his thoughts.
”Fair warning, but umm, I will always reach for you if it seems you’re hurting. My dad never did that for me, so uhh, I might do it a little extra. For you.”
For a moment that seems to stretch into hours, Paul thinks he might have put his foot in his mouth up to the knee. He bites his lip, fingers clenched around the hem of his jacket in a way that’s sure to leave creases in the uncreasable fabric. Then it passes, time resuming its course.
”Okay,” Adira nods, expression telling him that they really are okay, “I have been warned.”
They’re on duty, so he has to settle for the shoulder bump they give him - into his bicep - but it’s enough. More than enough.
Reno passes him a few minutes later while he runs another simulation of shield harmonics, pausing on the threshold.
”Glad your kid’s back,” she says around the licorice between her teeth, “Crankypants missed you.”
Notes:
Adiraaaaa! SpaceDad Paul!
More thoughts in the next chapter notes.
Chapter 435: Sine (Qua Non)
Summary:
The night before.
Notes:
***SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE TEN***
*
*
*The title is Latin for “without which, not” - something which is absolutely essential for existence.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They brush their teeth in silence and climb into bed, the light of the other ships docked at HQ casting a silver-blue glow through the viewport. Paul’s hand is warm and strong in his as they lay side by side, staring up into the shadows. There’s a weight, a heaviness in the air from the knowledge of where they’re headed tomorrow, the solemnity an unwelcome companion in the bare inches separating them. Eventually, Hugh breaks the contemplative silence.
“Remember the day we met?”
Paul turns his head on the pillow, eyes full of unspoken words.
”Always.”
He lets his gaze sweep over Paul’s familiar face, the arch of his cheekbones and hint of stubble barely visible on his chin. It’s a face he knows better than his own, each line and wrinkle another testament to their time together. As he commits each detail back into memory, Paul rolls onto his side, body angled towards his. He tugs Aida’s quilt a little higher, cocooning them in its shelter.
“What are you thinking?”
The question is quiet, just the two of them beneath the covers.
“Tomorrow.”
He mirrors Paul’s position, moving their joined hands up to rest on the sheet between them. They’re close enough that each breath is shared, and he savors the way the linens smell of them both.
”Tomorrow,” Paul echoes, “well.”
Hugh wonders if he ought to let it be, to snuggle into Paul’s arms and let sleep take them both to the rest they need. Yet, if he’s learned anything in his second life, it’s that the honesty between them is their greatest strength.
”This could be the last night we have, Paul.”
The response is immediate, although less firm than he expected.
”Don’t say that.”
Much as he’d like to ignore it, he can’t. Not this time, when the stakes are so high.
”It’s true.”
”Hugh…”
How can he explain it? The magnitude of the task set before them is enormous, overwhelming. And yet, terrifying as it all is, they’re facing it together. So instead of voicing his fears (they’d done that earlier) or rehashing the plan (discussed twice over dinner), he shunts them aside in favor of a different request.
“Love me tonight, sweetheart. Please?”
Several emotions reshape Paul’s features, surprise and affection and…regret.
“I’m…not sure I can, Hugh.”
Disappointment wars with understanding. It’s not who they are to fail to accept a refusal, and he’s not going to start now.
”Okay.”
Paul shakes his head, squeezing Hugh’s fingers.
”I mean, I’m not sure I can, but I want to.”
”Sweetheart…”
His heartbeat is steady beneath Hugh’s palm. He knows that Paul knows what he’s thinking, the understanding of fifteen years binding them together more strongly than life itself.
”We aren’t saying goodbye.”
It’s never goodbye, he remembers telling Paul in the network on the day he broke his own heart for the sake of the universe. And it’s been mended a thousand times over, that and the wounds inflicted while they both struggled to redefine themselves.
”Never. We’ll always find each other again. But…” Hugh strokes the backs of his fingers over Paul’s cheek, “if this is it, I want to be able to do it on our terms.”
This time.
Paul closes his eyes for a moment, leaning into Hugh’s touch. They’re so close on the pillow that he can count Paul’s eyelashes, see the silver in his hair. His Paul, his love.
When he opens his eyes, they’re a clear blue.
“Facing the possibility of death, celebrate life?”
Hugh kisses him gently, smiling.
”Celebrate love.”
The next kiss is deeper, Paul’s arm around his waist and the last of the space between them vanishing. Despite the situation, it’s not rushed or frantic. Each time their lips meet is more tender than the last, no more words needed as they slowly undress each other. There’s no chill, but they stay beneath the covers, Aida’s quilt witness to the latest of the countless intimacies shared beneath and on top of it. Their hands roam freely, caressing shoulders and arms and hips before moving lower.
Hugh rolls onto his back, protected beneath Paul’s body. He kisses his neck, setting a love bite over where Paul‘s pulse beats strong in his throat. The moan that draws vibrates against his lips, and he casts a hand towards the nightstand without looking, retrieving what they’ll need.
The morning is too few hours away, but still they don’t hurry. Hugh takes the opportunity to visit each sensitive spot he’s discovered over the years, drinking Paul’s shivers and cries to fill the ever-present desire. Urges him upwards and uses his mouth to bring the physical manifestation of Paul’s arousal to fullness. He clutches at Paul’s shoulders, musses his hair in response to Paul’s own skilled fingers opening him up. The air grows humid, sweat and panting breaths between kisses, wordless murmurs of pleasure.
They make love face to face, his thighs tight around Paul’s hips. He’s full, so full of Paul and his love and the knowledge that their third chance is something neither have taken for granted. Moving together, they inch closer to the edge, until he locks his ankles behind Paul’s legs to keep him from withdrawing to save the mess.
”I want you,” he whispers, throat hoarse, “stay in me.”
Tumbling into free fall, he can barely keep his eyes open enough to watch Paul surrender to his own climax. They stay like that for several minutes after, Paul’s face buried in his neck and a growing wet spot beneath him that Hugh can’t bring himself to be bothered by.
“I love you.”
It’s quiet, spoken into his shoulder, louder than the beating of his heart.
”I love you too, sweetheart.”
”Tomorrow-“
”Can wait till morning.”
They rouse themselves enough to clean up the worst of it, then curl together on Paul’s (dry) side of the bed. The heaviness is gone, driven away to leave peace in its wake.
Hugh falls asleep with Paul’s arms around him, and his dreams are untroubled.
Notes:
…for a little bit of screen time, Hugh and Paul packed quite a punch.
This episode felt very Trek to me, if that makes sense. Something unknown that actually seems insurmountable, the President admitting her own humanity (in the sense of her own fears), and the gigantic asshole of Ruon Tarka having a relatable backstory. I still don’t like him, though.
Who else thinks Kovich is the Vice President?
Stay tuned for Hugh’s conversation with Saru about feelings :)
Chapter 436: Scapulae
Chapter Text
From a purely objective standpoint, Hugh's shoulders are no broader than his. It's not just their (delicious) muscle mass and his posture, but something more about him and them. Hugh's shoulders make Paul feel sheltered and safe, his strength solid and unshakable.
He clutches at them with sweaty hands, nails scratching as he writhes beneath Hugh's body, out of his mind with pleasure.
He rests his head there with Nella asleep on his lap, Aida's knowing smile like a blanket over him.
He kisses them on his way up to Hugh's neck, bidding an affectionate goodnight.
They're firm beneath his palms, fingers splayed wide with their first embrace in this new future. So many things are unknown, but Hugh is beyond familiar. He's a part of Paul that's been missing, the unbearable weight of loss lifted and shared to be healed.
Notes:
Seize, Part Three is undergoing final edits.
Chapter 437: Suit
Notes:
***CONTAINS SPOILER PHOTO FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE ELEVEN***
Takes place between Season Three and Season Four
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He finds Paul at work in a corner of his private lab, running simulations of what looks like energy transfer efficiency and muttering to himself about Planck's constant. Hugh pauses just across the threshold, amused when his partner doesn't seem to notice that he has company, just continues shaking his head and manipulating equations on the display.
"...no, that can't be- why is it...the derivative is correct, why isn't it?"
They're alone, so Hugh doesn't bother containing his grin as he walks up as quietly as possible, until he's standing less than a meter away.
"Smart and pretty, gets me every time."
Paul starts at the sound of his voice, hands pulling in towards his own chest while he wheels around in surprise. It takes half a second for him to register Hugh's presence, because he lowers his hands almost immediately and rolls his eyes affectionately.
"If you say so."
Chuckling, Hugh sets a hand on his waist, leaning forward to brush their noses together.
"I do."
"So you just want me for my body?"
"Well," he pretends to consider his answer, "it's pretty hot stuff."
"Hmmmph."
The quick kiss that follows tells him he's forgiven for teasing, and Paul's palms come to rest on his hips, fingers tucked beneath the hem of his tactical vest even as they straighten.
"How did the training exercise go?"
"About the same as every other field mission with med students did nine hundred years ago. Medical seemed to think they could do with some 'old fashioned' survival and field surgery training, and apparently we fit the bill."
He probably smells as dusty as he feels, but Paul doesn't seem to mind.
"Did you and Tracy scare them?"
"Maybe just a little."
Hugh lets Paul walk him backwards until he bumps gently against the bulkhead, then tips his chin up to accept a more thorough kiss.
"I missed you."
"Me too. It was really good to work with the cadets," Hugh nuzzles Paul's cheek, "but I hated sleeping without you."
"What, not happy all alone in a tent in the middle of the desert?"
He buries his nose in that special spot just behind Paul's ear, inhaling deeply.
"Tracy still snores."
"Well-"
Swish.
"Hey, I was- whoa. Umm. Guys?"
At the sound of the door, Paul's abruptly a polite and professional eighteen inches away from him, although Hugh doesn't think anyone on the ship would mistake him backing Hugh into a corner. That being said, he doesn't think their present company is going to complain to the captain.
"Adira, hi!"
"You're back," they rock on the balls of their feet, "cool."
"Had to work on my tan," he smiles, "sorry, was I interrupting you two?"
Paul squeezes his hand, then turns back to the console, collapsing the display.
"Nothing urgent. Unless...?"
Adira shakes their head.
"What? Oh, no, actually, I was kind of hungry. I did have this idea about, umm, something, but it can wait. Do you two want to...I mean, if you're not-" they wave their hands in a vague gesture that Hugh interprets as asking if he and Paul are going to start making out in front of them, "busy."
"Dinner would be great. Babe?"
"Sounds good."
"Let me just go change, and I'll meet you in the mess hall?"
At their nods, he taps his chest, the near-imperceptible tingle of site-to-site transport depositing him in the middle of their quarters. He doesn't linger, but does spare a moment to smile at the sight of his nightstand with its contents neatly stacked and pajamas folded on his pillow.
Paul missed you.
It's good to be home.
***SPOILER PHOTO BELOW***
*
*
*
*
Notes:
Despite where the ship is headed this season, I couldn't resist using the photo to tell a less serious Space Family story. Also, Hugh in tactical gear? Whew.
I'm imagining them prior to Adira's arrival similar to their banter in "The Sanctuary" after Adira wakes up and leaves Engineering.
See all photos at https://www.startrek.com/gallery/first-look-star-trek-discovery-rosetta.
Chapter 438: Sea
Summary:
Hugh sends Paul a message from another conference.
Notes:
Click the link to see the photo I'm referencing on Instagram - unfortunately, I can't get the URL for just the jpg to load.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
>> Message from Culber, Hugh, LTCDR, Starfleet Medical to Stamets, Paul, LT, Deneva Station
>> Open message
Hi sweetheart,
Missing you!
Tracy says hi, and T'Vala says she wishes me to convey her greetings and hope for the health and continued scientific progress of my mate.
The conference has been good, I won't bore you with the details, but there's a workshop this afternoon on transplant techniques that I'm looking forward to. Good weather so far, the beaches aren't as nice as they are at home, but I don't have any complaints except that you know I'd happily take the worst weather in the universe just to spend a few hours with you.
Sending you a photo. Tracy is rolling her eyes and T'Vala just asked if it's a 'necessary part of human mating rituals'. Should I say yes?
Just two more months. We can do this.
Love you,
Hugh
>> End of message
>> Opening attachment
Paul barely suppresses the urge to lick his lips. Hugh looks...delicious. Shirtless in the sunshine on a beach, hair damp and wind-tousled, sand sticking to his chest and an inviting smile. In fact-
"Say hi to Hugh," Harrington calls from two lab benches away, tapping her fingers on the microcentrifuge.
"Don't you have samples to process?"
She cheerfully ignores his attempt at annoyance, and he curses the fact that his face is almost certainly some shade of pink.
"Come on Stamets, it's what, a few weeks until you're back together?"
"Too long," he mutters, then louder, "why?"
"Countdown till you're in a better mood."
((View photo at https://www.instagram.com/p/CanOUb3pV6Q/))
Notes:
New episode in a few hours! I couldn't resist something light after seeing Wilson's posts from the Star Trek Cruise. I'd ask if he has any idea what he's doing by posting such things, but that's rhetorical :P
Chapter 439: Span
Summary:
***MINOR SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE ELEVEN***
*
*
*Title used in the sense of a length of time.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Hugh?” Paul’s voice is a bare whisper, “Still awake?”
Without raising his head from Paul’s shoulder, he nods.
”Yeah.”
The arms around him tighten, the steady rise and fall of Paul’s chest against his back hitching. Lips graze his temple, his ear, kiss the top of his head.
”You should sleep.”
A sigh, and he tips his head back enough to catch Paul’s eyes.
“So should you.”
There’s no reproof, not when he’s warm but far too awake when their mission to the 10C’s abandoned planet is in less than twelve hours.
“I’m not the one-“ Paul swallows audibly, voice wavering, “sorry.”
He lifts one of Paul’s hands off his chest, stroking the inside of his wrist and kissing the knuckles.
“Don’t be.”
Spending the night on the couch isn’t the most comfortable, although he can make do. The weight pinning his legs is easily moved, but disturbing Adira where they’re curled up against his shins isn’t an option either.
He isn’t sure if Paul had intended on anything private, but Adira arriving for movie night was the slice of normalcy in a sea of unknowns that he thinks they both needed. Hugh hadn’t commented when they crept closer as the holo played on, slowly sliding down the cushions until their head was pillowed on his legs. The holo ended two hours ago-
“You can go to bed,” Adira comments into his knee, “I’m not asleep.”
Paul’s quiet, affectionate chuckle rumbles through him.
”Pretty sure that was you snoring, kiddo.”
”Not a kid.”
”Sure.”
Adira pushes themself up, letting Aida’s quilt fall from around their shoulders.
“I’ll go home.”
Hugh catches their arm gently, shakes his head.
”You don’t have to. Stay. But Paul and I are probably too old to spend the night on the couch.”
Their eyes flit from his face to Paul’s, then Adira nods.
”Old people.”
Laughing feels good, if strange when the thought of tomorrow is frankly terrifying.
”Yeah.”
He stands, stretching, and offers a hand to Paul as Adira lays down again.
”Night,” they mutter, eyes closing.
Paul tugs the quilt a little higher over them, then lets Hugh lead him to bed. They crawl under the covers, and wrap themselves around each other, sharing the pillow and their breath.
This is now.
Notes:
Still watching - had to pause the episode and write this though.
Chapter 440: Span, Part Two
Notes:
***SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE ELEVEN***
*
*
*Follows on from the previous chapter, after the away mission.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hope makes Paul quicken his steps, lingers as a smile when he gets home. Hugh’s in the shower, and Paul doesn’t waste time calling a greeting through the door, just sheds his uniform and joins him. He winces a little as Hugh’s shoulders stiffen when the door opens, stepping in and closing it behind him as quickly as possible to shut out the draft.
”Sorry.”
Hugh’s facing the opposite wall, clearly in the process of washing, so he steals the soap and starts lathering up his back.
”You’re tense,” he comments, rubbing at the tight muscles.
”It was…one hell of a mission.”
Setting the soap back on the shelf, Paul grabs the shampoo.
”What you found down there, those hydrocarbons? So many possibilities, Hugh.”
”Yeah.”
Eyes closed to scrub, he smiles.
“This kind of information-“ he pauses to duck under the water and rinse his hair, “we’ll figure out a way to talk to them.”
Hugh doesn’t reply.
”Are you okay?”
”Fine.”
The buoyant feeling drains away, something about Hugh’s tone prickling at his senses.
”Hugh…”
”Just tired,” comes the response as Hugh busies himself rearranging the bottles, “go on, I’ll be a few more.”
He sets a hand on his shoulder, surprised at the slight resistance to turning around. It’s nothing so obvious as being shaken off, but Hugh hasn’t reacted to his touch like this since-
Since right after he came back.
This isn’t good.
”Okay,” Paul taps the controls, turning the water to mist, “this is more than you being tired.”
”I’ll be fine.”
”When in the last fifteen years of either of us saying that, has it actually been true?”
Hugh sighs, shakes his head but lets himself be guided around to face him. His eyes are downcast even as Paul wraps his arms around Hugh’s waist.
“Hey,” he leans down, trying to catch his glance, “talk to me. Please.”
The squeeze to his biceps is telling, not like any of Hugh’s usual embraces.
”Just a lot to process.”
”I thought- you all said it felt positive? After the scary part, I mean. Right?”
Tracy wouldn’t have let any of them leave the medbay after returning if there were any lingering physiological effects.
“It felt good.”
Without the background of falling water, Hugh sounds strained, voice scratchy. He doesn’t resist though, when Paul gently cups his cheek and raises his head.
”Hugh…”
What he’d first taken for the flush of heat from the shower is unmistakable when he finally sees Hugh’s swollen, red eyes.
He was crying.
Fuck.
”Talk to me, please?”
Lips pressed together, Hugh exhales hard through his nose. Paul feels the tremble passing through him from shoulders to knees, brings his other hand up to stroke the wet hair back from Hugh’s forehead.
”It felt like love, Paul. Safety. And…” Hugh shudders again, “peace.”
His arms finally come up to return the hug, and Paul holds on fiercely. This doesn’t feel like the (thankfully rare) occasions when Hugh’s upset over losing a patient, or maybe even not the loss of life in the nursery down on the planet.
This is personal.
“Okay. But that’s good…?”
”Yeah.”
He guides Hugh’s head down to rest on his shoulder, swaying a little on their feet.
”You’ve always made me feel safe,” Hugh murmurs into his neck, “and loved. This isn’t…it just. Reminded me.”
Oh.
Realization dawns, and hard on its heels comes sadness.
“…it made you think about Aida.”
A nod, followed by a quiet sniffle.
”It felt like home, like… Discovery is home. Anywhere I’m with you.”
There’s a pleading note that doesn’t quite make sense, unless Hugh’s worried about upsetting him?
Even when he’s hurting, he doesn’t want to hurt you.
”I know. But home for you is always going to be your grandmother's house.”
Hugh’s next words are so quiet and choked he can barely make them out.
“I just…I’m not- I can’t.”
Paul was privileged to be there for as many holidays and trips to Earth as possible, but he can only imagine the wealth of memories, of years upon years growing up and before Hugh had ever met him. Add that to the weight he knows Hugh is still carrying with him in the middle of all of this…
”You’re not okay.”
”No.”
Helpless, as Reno had so eloquently pointed out, is a shitty feeling.
“What do you need?”
A half-sob, half-forced laughed. He holds on tighter, feels Hugh’s heart racing against his own chest.
”To not be outside our galaxy trying to make first contact with aliens who loved their children but could also just not care that they’re killing other people’s.”
“Stupid question, I know.”
Hugh sniffles again, fingers flexing against his back. He’s holding on in a way that’s on the edge of being painful, but Paul couldn’t care less about the hurt if it helps.
”What,” he tries again, “is there something I can do?”
It takes a minute before Hugh responds, and Paul waits, rubbing circles over his back. When it comes, it’s just two syllables.
”Love me.”
”Always.”
Another hiccup of suppressed tears.
“I don’t know.”
The steam wreathes them, as if hiding them from everything else. He wishes mightily that that was the truth. Platitudes have never suited them, and he’s not going to start now.
”Me neither. But we’ll figure it out.”
”Stay here? I know you’re- just a little while.”
He needs to take that three hour nap he’d planned before going back to the lab, but Hugh’s more important. Paul nods, then takes a half step back and tugs Hugh down to sit on the floor between his knees, back to his chest and Paul’s thighs bracketing his hips. Leaning forward, he kisses Hugh’s shoulder.
“I’m here.”
Notes:
Okay, just…wow. I wasn’t expecting so many twists, and am still processing.
1. I loved getting more of Detmer’s backstory, but it felt rushed in the middle of everything. Saru getting scared again was visceral, particularly when Hugh picked up on it too.
2. Hugh and Michael’s conversation at the end really got to me. I hope he lets Paul take care of him, because goodness knows he clearly still needs it.
3. Not mad at Paul being happy talking to Michael either, because of course this is going to speak to the science part of him that’s been stuck trying to figure out the DMA for so long.
4. Reno’s back! I love her cool-aunt vibe with Adira. I recently got to see Tig’s show in person, and she’s just like that in real life too. Her teasing Adira while offering good advice will never get old.
5. Book enlisting General Ndoye by capitalizing on her fear is so not going to end well.
Chapter 441: Span, Part Three
Summary:
Keyla and Dr. C address a difficult topic.
Notes:
***SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE ELEVEN***
*
*
*
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Breathe.
What are you going to do abou-
Focus.
Paul’s going to worry.
Lift.
Is Michael going to think you’re unfit for duty?
Hold.
Hugh fumbles one of the free weights, nearly landing on his foot in the process.
This isn’t working.
He hasn’t been able to meditate properly in weeks, and running reminds him too much of the racing pulse of fear down on that empty planet. Going to the gym is his usual respite, but he’s clearly not able to concentrate enough to work out safely.
There’s always sex.
No, there isn’t.
A good hard fuck isn’t an option right now. Even if Paul wasn’t working furiously on analysis of the mysterious hydrocarbons - and Hugh should really be down in the lab helping - he can’t reliably assume he’ll be able to perform. It’s not that they don’t screw each other’s brains out (as Tracy likes to put it), but even the purely physical encounters are still intimate in a way that he loves Paul too much to fake. Paul’s also much more perceptive than others tended to give him credit for, and he’s gently halted proceedings because of Hugh‘s distraction more often than he’d like of late.
“Doctor C?”
Keyla’s uncharacteristically hesitant voice drags him out of the endless cycle of his thoughts, and he summons one of Dr. Culber's friendly smiles for her.
”Hi Keyla.”
”Am I interrupting?”
She’s dressed for a workout, and he glances over her shoulder, expecting to find Rhys or Owo with her.
“No, I think I’m done. Are you waiting on-?”
”Oh, no. Jo had an idea about the shields, but there’s not a lot I can do at the moment, so,” she shrugs, but he can sense her frustration, “thought I’d come here.”
He nods.
”Want me to give you a spot?”
”Sure. Unless you’re busy, I mean.”
”Same boat as you at the moment,” he answers, deliberately vague because there is something he can do, if he can get his head together.
Moving aside, he lets Keyla get situated, checking that her grips are on right to avoid blisters. She dials up something on the heavier end, glancing at him as if expecting a comment. He understands the need for a physical challenge right now though, and positions himself to spot without mentioning it.
”Whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m good.”
She goes slowly the first few times, her breathing uneven. Keyla isn’t lifting outside the range he can comfortably handle himself, so he makes sure he’s watching the bar. There are safeties in effect in the gym, but he’d rather not rely on them when the old fashioned way still works.
Their silence is companionable, the noise of others sparring and using the high bar blending into a background hum. She’s thinking about something, he can tell, and does his best to project patient receptiveness. Keyla tended to be more comfortable without direct eye contact, so he deliberately maintains focus on the bar and her hands rather than looking at her face.
A few minutes later, she takes a deeper breath and the frown between her brows relaxes.
”Thank you.”
”For spotting? Of course.”
”No- I mean, thank you for this, but I meant what I said. Down on the planet.”
She doesn’t specify which thing, so he makes an encouraging noise.
”The…PTSD exercises. They really helped there, and before that. Thank you.”
”You’re welcome. That’s all you though, I just helped point you in the right direction.”
The bar clicks back down on the rack, but she doesn’t let go immediately. He watches her fingers clench and relax, once, twice, a dozen times.
”Can I ask you something?”
Hugh stoops to reach for a water bottle, offering it with a nod.
”Go ahead.”
”I-“ she pauses as someone else passes by, glancing at the others in the gym as of just noticing them, “actually…”
”Take your time.”
Shaking her head, she drums her fingers on her knee.
”It’s just sort of personal.”
Ahh.
”Come on,” he tips his head towards one of the private suites, waiting for her to rise and follow him across the room.
He sets the transparent walls to opaque, then sits on the bench and pats the space beside him. Keyla doesn’t hesitate, and he’s glad to see that whatever it is doesn’t seem to be horribly negative.
”I wanted to ask. Down on the planet, when we touched the residue in the nursery, I just…”
“It’s okay to still feel unsettled.”
”I think Saru was right, you know? About facing things. I’m not used to doing that.”
“That,” he gently bumps shoulders, “is such an understatement.”
It draws the intended chuckle out of her, and she continues.
”I’m still a mess, but it’s manageable. I guess I was wondering. And this might be too personal?”
Hugh tips his head to the side, curious.
”I’ll do my best to answer whatever it is.”
”Okay. That- what you all were feeling too…is that what it’s like, how you feel…” Keyla twists her fingers together, “with Paul. About him.”
It’s not what he was expecting, by a long shot.
“Love?”
”Yeah.”
“Yes.”
”It was…how do you manage that? That feeling.”
She looks at him sidewise, and he smiles.
”I’ve learned not to.”
”But it’s good, right?”
It’s Keyla, so she deserves honesty.
”Most of the time. Love also means you can hurt each other in ways no one else can,” he adds, careful to keep his tone even, “and that kind of risk is worth it.”
“My nonna and papa used to look at each other the way you do.”
”I’m not quite that old yet.”
The tease makes her laugh again.
”When I was growing up, I saw that but didn’t understand.”
She doesn’t seem to be asking for advice or a reassurance, so he just nods again.
”I guess I- this is the part that’s really personal and probably not my business.”
“Go on.”
”Why did…you seemed sad, after.”
Apparently he hadn’t done as good of a job hiding it if Keyla and Michael both noticed, even after their own emotional responses.
Well.
”That sense of peace and safety was hard to let go of.”
”Yeah.”
”It’s hard to explain, in a way. You know how it felt like home?”
She gives him a tight smile.
”Home wasn’t like that, even before I lost my mom.”
Hugh squeezes her hand, knowing that she’s not looking for sympathy.
”I spent a lot of time with my abuela growing up. My grandmother.”
”You make her recipes, right?”
”Mmhmm. The whole family - and mine is huge - would spend the holidays at her house. The kitchen would be full of my aunts and uncles, cooking and talking, but my grandmother was always in charge. You could smell the oregano and garlic and cinnamon everywhere.”
She sets her heels on the bench, knees tucked up.
”That sounds amazing.”
”It was. Abuela’s house, all of the memories and feelings…”
Knowing Abuela would always be there to listen, to advise.
Watching Paul and Nella at the kitchen table wearing the same intent expression while they worked on her science fair projects.
Laughter and love.
”You don’t have to tell me.”
”It’s not that. Just, for me, home is a feeling I’ll always associate with that.”
Keyla’s silent for a few moments, and he takes those to try and shut the memories back up in his heart for now, because the last thing he needs right now is to cry.
”I get it. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“
”You’re fine, Keyla.”
”Thank you, for telling me that. And…” she scuffs one of her shoes on the bench, “if that’s what love is like, you and Stamets, I get it.”
”Hmm?”
”Why you wouldn’t ever want to give that up.”
Notes:
I thought about whether Hugh would talk about something personal, but he leads with his heart and I think he knows Keyla isn’t going to do any harm with what he says to her.
Chapter 442: Stargazing
Notes:
Headcanon: Tilly is working every spare minute to help figure out the DMA, even while at the Academy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“I never get tired of the view now either.”
Tilly straightens immediately, turning to find Admiral Vance standing a polite two feet away. He’s looking out the viewport as well, the lights of the ships tethered to HQ and the stars shimmering beyond the barrier whose surface shifted like an oil-slicked aurora borealis.
”Admiral!”
”At ease, Lieutenant,” Vance gives her a half-smile that’s neither patronizing nor insincere, “you’re off the clock. Sorry to pull you back in from the Academy, I know you were just getting settled in not long ago.”
He sounds genuinely regretful.
”I want to help the best way I can.”
”Kovich was right, you know. The cadets need a different perspective, and I can tell you’re a good teacher.”
She feels her cheeks heating, looking down as his compliment nudges the same part of her that Paul’s approval lands in.
”Thank you, sir.”
Tilly hasn’t had much close contact with the admiralty, so her only semi-direct comparison would be Admiral Cornwell. They both carry a sense of gravitas, a poise that she never felt still enough to project. It’s the same with the members of the Ni’Var Science Academy who are here, somber with the news of the DMA’s path.
“I think we’ll all need that in the days to come.”
”Sir,” she chews her lip, “if anyone can figure this out, it’s Discovery.”
He nods, still facing the stars.
“I’ve heard that a lot lately. I’m sorry you weren’t able to see them off.”
”They’re coming back.”
Admiral Vance sighs quietly.
”Tell me, Lieutenant, would you have wanted to go with them if you could?”
“…yes.”
The admiral’s tricomm chirps, and while his expression remains neutral, he closes his eyes for a long moment.
”I’ll leave you to it then.”
”Thank you, sir.”
His footsteps fade, and she goes back to watching the stars for a few more minutes before she has to start working again.
Please come back.
Notes:
I’ve loved Oded Fehr’s work in multiple movies, so seeing him as Vance is a treat :)
Chapter 443: (a)Stride
Summary:
An old argument, but no one loses.
Chapter Text
Good.
Tangled sheets.
So good.
Panted breaths.
Close.
Heat.
Too close.
“Not-“ he gasps into Hugh’s neck, “can’t last.”
Hands roam his back, damp with the sweat of pleasant exertion. Hugh’s ankles cross, heels pressed to the small of his back.
”I don’t want you to.”
His partner might not let him withdraw, but Paul grits his teeth and manages to check the nearly irresistible urge to mindlessly thrust his way right on over the edge. He teeters there, Hugh’s hands petting and teasing until Paul catches them, lacing their fingers together instead.
”Why- ahhhhhh…”
There’s nothing he can do when Hugh still manages to squirm beneath him, despite Paul’s weight pinning him down.
”I-“
Teeth nip his earlobe.
“-want“
He shudders as Hugh licks his jaw.
“to see-“
Paul bites Hugh’s shoulder.
”-you come.”
Saying ‘make me’ in challenge would be a terrible idea, and he knows Hugh knows it. Groaning, he maneuvers Hugh’s hands to either side of his head on the pillow, using his grip as leverage to push upwards.
Hugh smiles up at him, playful mischief and lust dancing over his lips. That same mouth is swollen with kisses, Paul’s chin raw from the scratch of his beard. His gaze softens a moment later, relaxing under Paul’s hold.
”Let go, sweetheart.”
Paul knows what he means, but decides to take it literally and releases Hugh’s wrists, dropping down onto his elbows until their faces are inches apart.
“What if I want you to come before I do?”
”Because,” Hugh traces his fingers down Paul’s jaw, “I want to be sure you’ve enjoyed yourself first.”
It’s an old semi-serious argument, one that Paul is still pretty sure lands in his favor more than his fair share.
”Sometimes, dear doctor, you should let other people take care of you.”
Hugh tips his chin up to claim a kiss, ankles unlocking.
”Other people?”
”Well, mostly me. Only me, in fact.”
Paul should know better than to relax too much, because Hugh uses his foot to push off the bed, rolling them over. He slips out on the way, and they both moan as Hugh lowers himself back onto him.
”Every time,” he chuckles, fondly stroking the sweaty hair back from Paul’s forehead, “when will you learn?”
”If you’re still asking that after this long…”
Hugh rolls his hips, grinding down, but acquiesces when Paul’s hands try to still his motion.
”Because I get off watching you get off.”
“Goes- fuck, you can’t…” Paul’s face flushes further when Hugh bounces a little, “goes both ways.”
”I don’t see where either of us loses.”
Reaching down, he gives Paul’s left nipple a playful tug.
”Ohhh- stop that! You know what I mean.”
He uses Paul’s distraction to squirm again.
“What if I promise to come right after you do?”
“I’m- unnhhh…trying to be fair here.”
Hugh lifts one of Paul’s hands off his waist and nuzzles the palm.
”Oh?”
“It’s my…” a hot tongue flicks against his fingertips, “Hughhhhh!”
He lets Paul’s fingers slide free from his mouth with a pop.
”You were saying?”
”It’s my dick you’re currently using.”
Glancing down in mock seriousness, Hugh rises enough to check that, yes, it is indeed.
”So?”
”So,” Paul finally retaliates, wrapping his free hand around the erection nudging his stomach, “I should get a say in what you do with it.”
Paul releases him just long enough to swipe his fingers between their bodies, slicking them with extra lube before resuming his strokes.
”Fair enough.”
Hugh is so beautiful like this, hard and leaking and Paul’s. He rubs his palm against the tip, thumb tickling the underside.
“Glad we agree.”
Panting, Hugh bounces again, and again. His arousal, previously back under his control, rockets upwards.
”Race you?”
In response, he pulls Hugh down for a messy kiss, tongue and teeth involved. Then he’s too busy trying to push Hugh over the edge first to think of anything clever to say. It’s a foregone conclusion, same as it’s been since the first time they tumbled into bed together, but there’s no fun in not trying.
Really, what’s the harm in Hugh winning again?
Notes:
I regret nothing.
Chapter 444: Standard
Notes:
Takes place sometime after the beginning of Season Three.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Toothbrush in the cup over the sink.
Towel folded and hung on the bar - not the floor - and lights out, just the light of the stars to see by.
Barefoot, Paul crosses the deck towards the bed where Hugh is waiting for him, warm and welcoming. He holds up the covers, and Paul climbs across the sheets into his open arms. Hugh kisses his forehead, humming quietly as Paul snuggles closer and slips his hand underneath his shirt to rest on his hip, fingertips tucked into the waistband of his pants.
"You know..."
"What's that, sweetheart?"
Paul traces circles over Hugh's skin with his thumb, smiling.
"Today was ordinary."
There's silence for a few seconds as Hugh considers the statement, foot absently rubbing against Paul's ankle.
"Mmm," Hugh's smile is audible in the dark, "it was."
"I hope tomorrow is too."
He raises his head for an ordinary kiss, celebrating an extraordinary love.
"I'd like that."
Notes:
Just something random that popped into my head today.
Chapter 445: Seize, Part Three (Conclusion)
Notes:
References a prior away mission incident from Chapter 109 (“Sweat”).
Follows on part two in Chapter 418
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
In the half hour or so since the G’Vonian isolationists captured Tilly and locked her in with them, she’s recounted what she can about the dome’s systems, and she and Hugh have scoured the walls, floor, and ceiling for any possible escape routes. Paul is thorough, but there’s the possibility the pain made him miss something.
“Anything?”
The tightness in Paul’s voice makes Tilly throw Hugh a concerned look, but all he can do is shake his head while she answers.
”The doors are programmable matter. So, sealed. Completely. They could leave us in here forever, and-“
Tilly abruptly shuts her mouth, face settling into a scowl that seems more directed at herself than anything.
”Well,” Hugh sighs, “by now Discovery has to know something is wrong. If the dampener extends as far as you both think, the transponder in the shuttle stopped pinging as soon as we landed. The only reason we’re still stuck here is either they’re negotiating with them, or-“
”Or they don’t know anything is wrong and won’t do anything until they can’t contact us to check in.”
The sharpness belies what Hugh knows is Paul’s deep worry. His jaw is set, and the ever-so-slight twitch of his right eye speaks of physical strain. Even with his shoulder re-set and a sling for his broken arm, it’s obvious that Paul’s in enough discomfort that his expected sarcasm is much reduced. His medkit with its universal hypos and osteoregenerator is gone, and Hugh wishes mightily for something to ease the pain. Forcing back his own trepidation, he returns to Paul, sliding down to sit beside him with his back to the wall.
“Worst case, we’ll have to wait a few hours.”
Hugh does his best not to shiver, because that will only make Paul worry. If it was uncomfortably chilly before, being in a sleeveless undershirt is ten times worse. The fabric keeps his core warm enough, but there’s a real concern about slowed reflexes if push comes to shove. They hadn’t anticipated needing the utility of tactical gear for what was supposed to be a relief effort, much less being kidnapped and held hostage, but he could really do with the advanced thermoregulation.
Performing trauma surgery in the middle of an actual firefight during the Klingon war notwithstanding, it’s technically not the first time he’s been caught in the middle of a larger dispute. At the time, the thought of Paul being collateral damage would have kept him awake at night if pure exhaustion hadn’t overridden everything else. This though...he’ll be the first to admit that Paul being in danger and getting hurt sets off every protective instinct. What’s surprising (and really shouldn’t be) is that adding Tilly and Adira into the mix is rousing an even deeper level of response.
Parenting, right?
In front of them, Tilly shuffles her feet, then starts pacing.
”Do you think they were serious about- you know, spacing us?”
”The G’Vonians aren’t a hostile species, even the isolationists. Judging by what we saw down there, they haven’t really had enough resources to travel between the planet and the outer moons. So who knows how long they’ve been cut off physically? I think they’re…desperate, maybe, but not that.”
”But…” Tilly rakes a hand through the curls escaping her ponytail, and winces, “owwww. Ugh. I hate people touching my hair. And I wish we knew what was going on out there.”
Sitting still, the warmth he’d generated through activity completely dissipates. He must not completely control the next shiver, because Paul leans into him and shifts closer until his entire side is snug against Hugh from shoulder to ankle. Hugh thanks him with a smile, crossing his arms and tucking his fingers between biceps and chest to conserve heat.
”You know what I could really use,” Paul mutters, “is a snack. And a neural blocker.”
”Afraid I’m all out, the emergency pack was in my medkit. But,” he lowers his voice, “I could kiss it and see if that helps.”
“…hang on.”
They both look up at Tilly, paused mid-stride. She drops to one knee and starts patting around her right calf. Hugh glances at Paul, but all he receives is a shrug and a wince in reply.
”I know I- where is it…”
”Tilly?”
”Ah hah!”
Smiling triumphantly, Tilly unzips her boot and upends it. A nondescript flat gray pouch about the size of Hugh’s hand tumbles out, laying innocuously on its side. She jams her foot back in her boot haphazardly, then comes to sit in front of them with it. Unsealing the pack, she pours the contents onto the floor. Eyebrows raised, Hugh leans forward to better see the collection of objects.
Tilly sorts through two wrapped emergency ration bars, a hair tie, one compact field dressing, a small pair of scissors no longer than his thumb, and a tiny sealed bioplastic bag. While he’s still blinking in surprise, she hands him the last item with a grin.
"That should help."
He tears open the bag, and shakes an old-fashioned broad-spectrum antibiotic / analgesic tablet into his palm.
“What- oh! How-?”
“Remember that time we got stuck in that really hot room after the earthquake?”
Shaking his head, Hugh gives her a crooked smile, thinking of Tilly balanced on Paul's shoulders working inside a ceiling panel.
”Considering I broke my ankle, yes.”
Paul accepts the tablet with a grateful look, chewing and swallowing in short order. It'll take longer to take effect than a hypo, but should help.
”Figured after that, I should add a few more things to the first aid kit. Totally forgot about it.”
“How did you manage to keep those?”
Hugh decides Tilly’s earned every bit of the self-pleased expression she’s wearing.
“They scanned for tech. No power source in these. Actually, do you think they’re kind of…” she wrinkles her nose and re-zips her boot, “really bad at this whole kidnapping thing?”
”Bad how?”
The emergency rations only taste marginally better than their twenty-third century counterparts, although they’re far more compact, edible wrapper and all. Still, splitting one with Paul is a welcome respite, and the calories will give his metabolism something to work with.
”Well, I mean, the whole setup to get us to come here, and I don’t know, not stunning us immediately?”
”That didn’t look like fun,” Paul licks crumbs off his index finger, “Hugh was out for an hour. I…really didn’t like that.”
Hugh’s not a fan of being helpless either. Now’s not the time, but he wishes he could take away the barely audible tremor in Paul’s voice, or at least pull him close without jostling his arm.
“I’ve had worse.”
“Still.”
They lapse into silence for a bit, Hugh rubbing Paul’s knee and Tilly using her scissors to prod the underside of the nearest console, searching for any access panels. It’s older technology than he’s gotten used to seeing, but still seems to be seamless. The minutes drag on, and he focuses on small things to keep his thoughts from wandering off - the way Tilly’s frown changes whenever she thinks she’s found a weakness, the ragged cuticle on Paul’s left thumb speaking of absent chewing in concentration, calculating the rate of heat loss to the cold floor by surface area exposed. All in all, nothing particularly improves his mood. It only gets worse when the doors open again and their captors return.
“Well,” the first councilor laughs, “looks like the famed Federation isn’t so mighty and proud now, is it?”
“You don’t really know us that well,” Tilly narrows her eyes, “if that’s what you think.”
“Get up,” the second demands, “all of you.”
Hugh slowly gets to his feet, hands out to the sides. Tilly helps Paul stand, but none of them make any move to follow the G’Vonians.
”Look, I know you want us to leave. Let us go, and we can call all of this a…misunderstanding.”
Paul’s probably not going to be happy about him making himself a target again, but he’s not going to apologize for trying to protect them.
“A misunderstanding? That you think so little of contaminating other cultures that you bring a child with you?”
Behind him, he can feel Paul bristling.
”Adira isn’t a child.”
The air grows sharp with tension when the second councilor unholsters his disruptor, pointing it in their direction.
”Move! Now.”
”You know,” she tilts her head to the side, “we saw your crops out there. How badly they’re doing. We can help fix that.”
“We don’t need your help. Move.”
”Where’s Adira?”
Tilly doesn’t sound as worried as Hugh is, and that alone makes him glance at her in askance. She’s smiling in a way that’s uncannily similar to Paul when his partner is about to commit a scientific takedown. As he looks, her eyes flit over towards the far side of the room so briefly he wonders if he was imagining it.
“For all you know, the child is dead already.”
Hugh steps to the side, blocking Paul from whatever his partner might be planning to do.
”You haven’t found them yet, have you?”
The first councilor glares at Tilly, knife in hand again. Behind the G'Vonians, the solid wall shimmers just a little, the programmable matter warping.
“We should be rid of you all. One at a time, perhaps that will send the strongest message.”
Down at her thigh, Tilly's fingers make a tiny 'come on' gesture as the wall fluctuates again. The pieces slot together later than they should, cold and whatever lingering effects of the neural disruptor slowing his brain.
Stall.
Buy Adira and Discovery more time.
”I’ve been dead,” Hugh puts on his best earnest expression, “I don’t really recommend it.”
Paul’s choked noise is lost when Tilly takes up the thread.
”Oh, definitely not,” she adds, “especially since it involved me getting transported to another dimension in a giant cocoon of goo. Really bad for my skin. Gave me a rash, and let me tell you, that’s not something you want.”
The G’Vonians are staring at them with what Hugh really hopes is confusion and annoyance rather than homicidal intent.
”Also,” Tilly continues conversationally, “do you know how rude it is to touch someone’s hair without asking?”
”She’s right,” Hugh shakes his head, “it’s too bad you didn’t figure that out before doing it. There’s going to be consequences.”
The outline of the door wobbles, then folds down into an uneven quadrangle near the floor. It shimmers again, then a very familiar head peeks through.
Adira.
He’s torn between relief that they appear unharmed - although barefoot? - and wondering why they haven’t escaped.
”Your ship doesn’t even know you’re here.”
”So let us go, and we’ll be on our way.”
“This is a waste of time,” the second councilor sneers, “stop talking.”
”Or what?”
“Or-“
”Hey,” Adira calls, “your defense grid setup sucks.”
They whirl around, and Hugh notices that the disruptor swings wildly. Tilly’s theory about them being terrible hostage takers seems to be playing out.
”You! Over there with them. Now.”
Adira holds their hands up, shuffling across the floor. Hugh notices they’re taking a longer route than needed, and realizes they’re making the G’Vonians turn their backs on the door.
What is Adira up to?
As if on cue, a Starfleet phaser appears in the void, followed by an arm, shoulder, and Rhys. He’s followed silently by Detmer and a surprisingly grim looking Reno. All barefoot, interestingly, likely to dampen any telltale footfalls.
“Today sucks,” Adira smiles nervously, “I mean, really really sucks.”
”Being kidnapped isn’t high on my list of fun things,” Tilly chimes in, “but hey.”
”But you know what really piss- makes me mad?”
The second councilor takes a menacing step forward, looming over them. With both of their attention on Adira, Hugh catches Rhys’s eyes and nods.
”What, insolent child?”
Adira glares up at him.
“You hurt my dad.”
Paul makes a funny sound behind him, nearly drowned out by the thud of the G’Vonians collapsing onto the ground, stunned into unconsciousness.
”Discovery,” Detmer taps her comm, “we’ve got them. On our way back shortly.”
Hugh accepts his medkit from Reno, hand already out for Paul’s injured arm.
”Can do that on the shuttle, Doc,” Reno adds, “c’mon, before tweedle dee and tweedle dum wake up.”
”Twee- who?”
“Never mind.”
The walk back to the shuttle is fast, Rhys explaining the dampener field disruption (“Once we got Adira’s message”) and apologizing for the delay. It’s uneventful after that, and Hugh doesn’t bother questioning the logic of leaving the G’Vonians for their homeworld to deal with. He’s tired, cold, and really wants to get Paul’s arm under a regen in the medbay.
Adira trails them there once they’re back aboard Discovery, lingering even after Aisha deems all of their injuries relatively minor.
”Tracy’s going to want to monitor your synaptic function.”
He sighs, focusing on the display showing Paul’s ulna healing.
”I think we’re all going to take a day off.”
Nodding, Aisha moves off.
”…hey,” Adira appears at his side, eyes downcast, “umm. Sorry if that was kind of…weird?”
”Hmm?”
”For, you know. Just saying…that. Not that I don’t- I mean, if-“
”Adira.”
Paul’s smiling, the neural block clearly working because he’s not complaining about the itch as bone knits.
“Yeah?”
”Thank you.”
He steps aside to let Paul give them a one-armed hug. In his peripheral vision, Aisha is running a regen over Tilly’s scalp. It doesn’t take long for her to join them too, just as the osteoregenerator cycle completes.
“Come on,” he pats Paul’s knee, “let’s go home. Movie night?”
Tilly grins.
”After that? Oh yeah.”
”And food?”
Adira is probably hungrier than them all, and dinner is only slightly less appealing than the thought of a hot shower.
”Give us fifteen to get cleaned up first, then I think we can do something about that.”
And when they all fall asleep halfway through the movie, at least the complaining about sore necks in the morning is accompanied by plenty of coffee.
Notes:
This story was conceived solely around two things:
1. Paul’s broken arm.
2. Adira being a scared but determined badass and saying "you hurt my dad".Working backwards, I had to come up with a reason Paul might have a broken arm that Hugh isn’t able to fix immediately, ergo the fight. But that didn’t address not being able to call for help, so the dampener was born, and I had to come up with a plausible reason why someone would imprison/kidnap them. For Adira to have their moment, they had to do it on their own, so adding Tilly in raised the stakes. And there had to be an away mission that required all four of them to be present. Of course, I couldn’t stop there and ended up writing the entire first chapter just as a backdrop.
The ending isn’t as developed as I’d like, but I’ve delayed posting for too long. Hoping it still reads well?
Chapter 446: Scattered
Notes:
***SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE TWELVE***
*
*
*
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Something’s still…wrong isn’t the right word-
Off?
-with Hugh, and as usual, Paul doesn’t know what to do.
Hugh always says you’re better than you think.
He’s tried dates on the holodeck, making dinner, and plenty of snuggling to no avail. Sex hasn’t worked either, and he’s running out of options. It isn’t the same sense of wrong as when they first rescued Hugh from the network, but it’s a flavor of it that he recognizes. His partner isn’t comfortable in his own skin, which is the most un-Hugh Culber-like thing possible. Hugh’s always moved like a man aware of himself and his boundaries, filling his body from his smile to his fingertips.
Present.
He’s been absent lately, and Paul can’t seem to bring him back. Talking helps a little, but like a bandage over a wound too deep, it’s fleeting.
Hugh wants a sense of peace and calm, needs it.
Paul has to believe they’ll make it back from the Ten-C for him to help find it.
Life and death haven’t been insurmountable barriers, this won’t be either.
Notes:
It’s believable, but I hate seeing Hugh dragged through the depths of his own trauma.
RENO omg. She’s everything I love about Trek - intelligent and emotionally intelligent under the shell of sarcasm. Reminiscent of Guinan.
Chapter 447: Script
Notes:
***MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE TWELVE***
*
*
*
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“It’s not your fault,” Hugh murmurs again, as Adira runs to a console and starts rapidly inputting commands as soon as Reno’s message ends.
He stares into the space between them, dread settling into his stomach. Hiding his own fears in focus on science has kept him steady enough, but this is something else entirely.
Verbal sparring aside, he likes Reno. She might be on the classical side of physics, but even her continued needling over the spore drive has evened out into a well-practiced script of complaint and half-insult followed by exaggerated eyerolls. And he’s pretty sure she’s the one Adira’s been talking to, for which he’s both grateful and guilty.
There’s no vindication to be found in the grim discovery that his dislike of Tarka has been borne out. As for the rest - the DMA and imploding hyperfields - he can’t. Not if he’s going to be any use to Discovery now.
Tilly could be in danger.
Nothing you can do about that from in here.
Focus.
”Hugh-“
A warm hand takes his, squeezing fiercely. There’s a familiar light in his eyes, pulling Dr. Culber around himself like an anchor to cling to.
”I know.”
Hugh kisses his cheek, then steps back behind the spore drive console, out of the flow of traffic. He picks up his conversation with Zora again, and Paul closes his eyes and counts to five before trying to figure out how they’re going to save everything.
Again.
Notes:
Holy hell. They better not kill Reno, but I have to hand it to the writers for setting up a situation that’s so complicated and putting an unstable egomaniac at the controls. Like Paul, I feel no vindication in my continued dislike of Tarka.
What a cliffhanger. Ugh. I’ve had too much coffee and need to sleep, hoping my brain processes enough to write more tomorrow.
Chapter 448: Seeking
Notes:
***SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE TWELVE***
*
*
*
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Hugh? Are you all right?”
Others might think Paul oblivious, but Hugh’s been an open book to him for fifteen years. Usually that’s a positive thing, rhythms and routines and little signals all they need. Lately though, he knows Paul’s concern is growing, and hiding things never helps.
The upward inflection at the end of his question is more a statement than anything when they both know the real answer. Zora’s interface casts a slight blue tinge onto Paul’s skin, warm tones gone cool. Hugh prefers Paul in sunlight or starlight, bright or softly shadowed. Artificial lighting makes him pallid, brings into relief the wrinkles and lines on his face, the groove between his brows where the all too common frown lingers.
”Yeah I just-“ he shakes his head, “keep thinking about what I felt down on that planet. Peace. Calm. Comfort.”
The frown deepens with each word, though he nods. It occurs when the words are already out of his mouth that they could be taken to mean he doesn’t find those things in Paul’s arms. Hugh’s watching Paul’s fingers twitch at his side and so doesn’t see him close his eyes briefly, misses the pained understanding.
“It’s been a long time since I had that, and…I’m not sure how to get back there, you know?”
Crossed arms are a classic defensive posture. It’s not Paul he’s trying to wall off though, just everything else pressing in.
”Well, I need to get back to Adira and the team, but when this is all over, we’re taking a vacation.”
This smile isn’t forced.
”Just the two of us.”
Paul’s eyes tell him that he understands, no apology needed.
”Deal.”
Paul gives a decisive nod, one that means whatever issue at hand is settled. It’s something he loves about him, that certainty. He brushes his fingers over Hugh’s wrist and taps his badge, vanishing back to Engineering.
Hugh breathes in slowly, the hint of Paul’s cologne settling part of the unease inside.
Not now, Doctor.
It’s easier to focus on someone else’s problems, and Zora is waiting.
Notes:
Scene expansion cut frustratingly short because it’s not a long conversation, but luckily there’s body language to decode.
Almost to 450 chapters! I think cat!Paul is going to make another appearance soon…
Chapter 449: Symbolic
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"-ried, Doctor Culber?"
Pausing the hydrocarbon structures rotating in front of him, Hugh focuses on the man on the other side of the console. Dr. Hirai is regarding him with a neutral expression, ever-present plate of food at his elbow. Today it's cheese and pickled vegetables, and a tiny part of his mind wonders if eating is Hirai's means of focusing and dealing with stress, like Paul's pacing and restless hands.
Hirai inclines his head, expectant.
"...pardon?"
"Are you married, Doctor."
It's an oddly personal question from someone who thus far has seemed content to stay out of the affairs of others.
Detachment is sometimes a means of self-defense.
"Why do you ask?"
"You know, in the thirty-second century, humans and other species still use rings as a symbolic token of commitment. Entirely different physical evolution and social anthropology, and yet-" Hirai selects a cube of cheddar, chewing thoughtfully, "a type of visual language that serves to communicate something about the wearer even to those who have a completely different array of non-verbal cues."
Years of listening to Paul take side-tangents into topics tells him that Hirai is offering some form of context, so he tries to puzzle it out. He also wishes they weren't facing a literal universe-altering threat, because it's the sort of conversation Hugh would normally be interested in continuing.
Even between people of the same species, spoken language isn't always a solution to understanding.
Case in point, Hugh raises his eyebrows in silent question.
"I was asking because you keep-" Hirai pats at his own chest, just over the sternum, "like that."
Unconsciously mirroring the gesture, Hugh's fingers land on the flat circular bump underneath his uniform. Realization dawning, he draws Paul's Academy ring out from inside his jacket. The body-warm metal gleams, and he absently rolls it between thumb and forefinger.
An oddly familiar look of validated conjecture flashes over Hirai's face. Because Paul never went for heavy, ostentatious ornaments, it's simply engraved without a central stone or raised motif. Without looking closely, the gold band resembles a wedding ring rather than the more popular signet style, and he ought to clarify.
"It's my partner's ring, from the Academy. We're not married though," he smiles, thinking of his grandfather's ring waiting in their quarters for the right time, "just a habit."
Hirai nods, not yet retreating behind the inscrutable mask Hugh's gotten used to seeing.
"Did they...come with you, with Discovery?"
He might lack tact - which Hugh doesn't mind as much as others aboard, including President Rillak - but he's clearly treading carefully here.
"Yes, he's here. Commander Stamets."
"...I see. Well."
"Back to work?"
"Yes," Hirai blinks, "of course."
Tucking the ring back beneath his collar, Hugh sets the hydrocarbon spinning again between them.
Notes:
As expanded on in the epic When Sorrow Turns to Joy, my headcanon has Hugh wearing Paul's Academy ring on a chain under his uniform for comfort when Paul isn't physically present.
Read more about it in Chapter 8 ("Speculation, Part One"), Chapter 37 ("Speculation, Part Two"), Chapter 66 ("Symbols, Part One"), and Chapter 142 ("Starbase 12").
Chapter 450: Shapeshift, Part Twenty Two
Notes:
Celebrating 450 chapters (!) and nearly 50,000 views (!!) with a 2,200 word mega installment of cat!Paul.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
…the acrid scent of a blown relay inside a conduit…
…immense weight on his legs…
…red hair fanned out over the deck…
…someone’s low groan of pain or discomfort…
…a motionless heap of orange and white fur beside him.
Images and smells and sounds flash through the enveloping fog clouding his mind, discretely and disjointed such that he can’t fully make sense of things. The darkness tugs at him, an anchor weighing him down in a sea of shadow. Time is fractured, and he’s not sure how long he’s been out. It could be few moments or an hour, his internal chronometer unable to find a reference. Eventually, something small and furry and warm rubs against his neck, then tugs his earlobe with the barest hint of sharp teeth.
Wake up.
Rough wetness laps over his lips, and under the odor of smoke and fused metal, he picks up hints of citrus and woodsy musk.
Paul.
Hugh tries to hold on to consciousness, using Paul’s presence to will his mind to stay awake. Descent into oblivion is tempting, if only temporary, but he resists it with an almost physical wrench that leaves him unable to draw enough breath.
Everything hurts.
It’s slow going, but Hugh manages to peel one eye open partway.
”Mrrrowww!”
More rubbing against his chin, then vague and hazy orange and grey spots grow in his vision. He blinks several times and the blurred shapes resolve into a pair of very concerned blue eyes set amidst soot-streaked fur. A paw taps at his cheek before Paul swipes open his tricomm, typing rapidly. Trying to read the words makes his eyes throb, but he squints until they come into focus.
Are you okay?
Inhaling to speak results in a fit of coughing, bouncing the body on his chest and evoking a mewl of alarm.
Hugh?
Another groan nearby.
”Adi- owww. Shit. Adira? Hugh?”
Paul’s next meow is loud enough that Hugh winces, but it’s soon followed by Tilly shuffling into view.
“Hugh?”
He swallows to wet his dry throat, forcing his eyes to stay open even as his head swims.
Must have hit it on the deck.
The emergency lights are still on, leaving them cloaked in a bluish glow. Debris is everywhere, although there’s thankfully no smoke and gravity seems to be properly oriented with the deck again. Tilly’s hand is scraped and her sleeve cuff has scorch marks, but her touch is firm and reassuring.
“..Tilly.”
She nods, pushing a few more pieces of metal away from them.
Where's Adira?
"Adira? Wh-" Hugh pauses, wincing as something twinges in his right knee, "-dira?"
Tilly gives him a concerned look and keeps her hand on his shoulder as she checks her comm.
"I can't...damn, not working. I-“
Thump.
Thump thud thump.
“Tilly? Hugh…anyone?”
It's coming from a couple of meters away, near a section of collapsed ceiling. Paul climbs off Hugh's chest and brushes past Tilly, meowing and scrabbling at another pile of collapsed conduit. Hugh misses the warm weight already, but waves her away towards Paul.
“Get Adira.”
Tilly flattens herself, cheek pressed to the deck plates to peer through a gap in the pile.
“Adira, we're here. Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so…” a pause, followed by a sudden gasp, “what- Paul! Oh my...I had him, where’s-“
“Mrrowww!”
”He’s okay, he's here. Let's get you out."
Tilly uses her foot to help shove a broken panel aside, revealing Adira in the space beneath, and his stomach clenches in icy fear at the thought of one of those crashing down on a fragile cat body. They’re scrunched up into a ball and do indeed appear to be mostly unharmed, stirring when Paul leaps over the metal and noses at their cheek.
”Wha- what happened?”
”Not sure,” Tilly checks her comm again, “looks like multiple system failures across the ship. Emergency power seems stable, but the internal sensors aren’t right.”
"What?"
Adira lifts a shaky hand to pet Paul’s back. He gives them a long stare and rubs his cheek against theirs briefly, seemingly satisfied, before returning to Hugh. Behind him, Tilly pulls Adira to their feet, brushing debris off their arms and head.
“Tilly to Bridge.”
The buzzing failure to connect doesn’t bode well.
”Tilly to Engineering. Hello?”
Still nothing.
“Computer, please respond.”
Frowning, Hugh gets his elbows under himself and slowly sits up. His stomach twists with a wave of nausea that has to do with more than the probable concussion, and he swallows down the anxiety rising in his throat.
"Mrrahhh?"
Rubbing his hand over his face, he feels Paul climb onto his lap and manages a hint of a smile when his partner presses himself to Hugh’s chest in the feline equivalent of a hug. He wraps one arm around him to return the embrace, cradling Paul close while he breathes through the pain.
Hugh?
”Headache,” he murmurs, using his thumb to wipe some of the soot off Paul’s fur.
“Well, shit,” Tilly sighs, "that’s not working either. Hugh?"
He raises his hand to acknowledge her but doesn't nod, unsure what moving might do to irritate the pounding behind his eyes.
”Culbe-“ he coughs again, “Culber to Medical.”
Two seconds becomes five and then ten.
Transporters?
He taps his badge twice, disheartened but not surprised when the cool tingle of the transporter doesn’t deposit him back in their quarters. Paul butts his head against Hugh’s chin, a quiet but distressed rumble accompanying it.
Comms blocked or system failure?
“It shouldn’t,” Adira digs into the mass of conduit beside them, “not like that.”
One more thing to try.
”Computer, emergency transport to the medbay, medical override, Priority Alpha.”
Looking past the status display, Tilly’s takes in his grimace with a sharp look.
“Are you okay?”
’Fine’ would be an obvious lie, unfortunately.
”Hit my head. Probably a concussion.”
On his lap, Paul opens his tricomm and hisses in response.
”What-“ he glances at the display, “oh.”
The confirmed concussion is probably why he didn’t think to scan himself before now, and isn’t Tracy going to have a field day with that? It’s accompanied by a fractured right kneecap, assorted heavy contusions, and a strained hip flexor. No spinal cord trauma means the numbness in his right foot is from restricted circulation, which he should also remember to do something about.
Impaired cognition.
Just what you need.
His captor proves to be the twisted remains of the bulkhead, holding his legs down at the knees. Pushing against the weight leaves him dizzy, and he gives up after a few tries.
”I’m stuck,” he tries to keep his voice calm, but it wavers, “I can’t move my legs.”
”Mrrrowwww!”
Paul’s velvety nose nudges his cheek even as his paws type.
Stuck?
“Down there,” he mumbles as the corridor spins around him, and he squeezes his eyes shut.
”Adira?”
They’re both kneeling at his side when he opens his eyes again.
”What’s wrong?”
“Let’s see if we can move this.”
Hunched over Paul, Hugh doesn’t even try to pretend that it’s about protecting him rather than stealing a few precious moments of comfort. Unfortunately, the bulkhead is either too heavy or still attached to the corridor to shift, and the two of them straining at it makes him gasp in pain.
“Hugh?”
”Think…my ankle is in the way.”
Adira immediately lets go, instead wiggling around a console base to peer beneath the pile. They let out a frustrated groan, squinting into the mess.
”I can’t see.”
Tilly clears a couple more smashed sample containers from below Hugh’s knee. Her careful tugging doesn’t avail any more than his own though, and it jostles his broken kneecap painfully.
”Well, I suppose we better hope the spores survived all that.”
”We’re not cats, so that means the containment field is still active in the lab, right?”
”Hope so,” Tilly contorts herself, trying to see through the collapsed doorway, “last thing we all need. Can’t tell, ugh.”
I’ll look.
Before he can object, Paul climbs into the debris, out of sight.
“Paul- that’s not safe,” he tries, “come out.”
“Mmmrraaahhh?”
Teeth latch onto his left boot, pulling, and he’s able to move his foot a few inches forward before stopping again. He tries to repeat with the right side, but it doesn’t budge.
"Looks like it's stuck into your boot," Adira reports, "can't you feel that?"
"Foot's numb."
Paul nudges past his right shin, paws - probably claws - batting at something above it. He hisses, emerging a few seconds later.
Need to cut it.
Scratching her elbow, Tilly shakes her head.
”The duranium?”
His boot.
"Never thought I'd say I'm not happy the new uniforms are cut-resistant. Adira, do you see a toolkit anywhere?"
They prod a few more piles, but nothing useful seems to have been tossed into the corridor with them. Circulation is starting to return to his left foot, and it feels like being stabbed with a thousand tiny needles.
“No…what about a welder or something?”
"That works, do you see one?"
Would be stored in the cabinet on this wall.
"No forcefield so it's technically safe to enter, right?"
Paul flicks his tail in response and Hugh keeps his mouth shut this time when he disappears back into the debris, recognizing the stubborn look in his eyes even on a cat face. Through a space in the pile, he can just make out the white of Paul's paws as he picks his way between fallen objects. When he returns, it's with a small plasma torch in his mouth, dropping it into Tilly's outstretched hand.
"Hmm."
"Mrrahhh?"
"Tilly?"
"Think you're going to have to do it," she offers the torch back to Paul, "I don't think Adira or I can get an arm in there."
I'm a cat. How am I supposed to use it?
“We could turn it on out here-“
”Hang on,” Hugh interjects, “if you unzip my boot, I can…?”
Wrong side up.
“…right.”
”What if we set it to the lowest beam at a depth of three millimeters? Your uniform will protect your leg, and we can help pull you out.”
It could work. But I still don’t have opposable thumbs.
Paul flexes his front paws in demonstration.
“We could turn it on out here.”
Adira unzips their own boot, peeling off a sock and wrapping it snugly around the grip.
”Should help hold onto it. It’s clean,” they mumble as Paul sniffs dubiously, “I showered this morning.”
All right.
Setting it for a continuous beam done, Tilly props it on a piece of debris so Paul can get his mouth around it, teeth digging into Adira’s sock. He tries a few different angles, then grips it firmly and makes his way back under the bulkhead.
Hugh can tell when Paul starts, because the heat against his shin is just this side of painful. On the other hand, a minor burn should be easy to treat, so he grits his teeth and stays silent. It’s slow going, both Tilly and Adira trying to keep an eye on the proceedings as Paul cuts inch by inch. He tries not to consider the flammability of fur, instead focusing on Paul’s paw braced on his leg.
At last, the light of the torch appears again and Tilly shuts it off. Paul’s fur is even dirtier, but he seems to be unharmed.
Think I got it. Really hard to see in there.
“Can you get your foot out now?”
”Honestly? Going to need some help.”
“Okay.”
Tilly and Adira position themselves to either side of him, hands just above his right knee. No one comments on it being the broken side, but Paul climbs back onto his lap and nuzzles his chest.
”Ready?”
”Yeah.”
”Here goes…”
The first tug makes him nearly bite through his lip, white hot agony flashing up his leg. He can’t stifle the pained cry, but waves his hand at them to keep going. Paul’s distressed mewl is almost lost under the other noise.
”Can you-“ Tilly grimaces, “sorry, Hugh- can you push with your left foot? Think it’s almost out.”
He finds something to brace his heel on, and strains against it as Adira and Tilly give his right leg one last hard pull. With a scraping of skin, at last his foot comes free, and the mangled bulkhead groans ominously. Hugh loses track of the next few seconds, coming back around to find himself flat on his back with three concerned faces peering down at him.
”Mrrrroowwwaaahhhoowww?”
”Hugh?”
Adira’s hand closes around his clenched fist, and they shake it gently.
”…fuck,” he manages at last, “that really hurt.”
Tilly’s comm interface is open, busy scanning his leg. He looks down his body and isn’t terribly surprised to see scorched fabric and a badly scraped bare foot. It’s discolored with bruising, but his toes respond when he wiggles them. Tracy or Aisha can fix his knee, assuming they can get out of the section they’re trapped in soon.
He cries out when Tilly straightens his leg, her stream of apologies picking up every time something in his knee shifts. Adira’s awkward hug and Paul licking his cheek are difficult to concentrate on instead of the pain, but he tries.
Hugh’s had better days - his partner as a cat notwithstanding - but it could definitely be worse.
Notes:
This started out as a humorous accident, and it’s taken on a life of its own. Paul will be getting his hands back fairly soon, but I couldn’t resist a few more adventures.
Season finale posts in a few minutes. I'm so incredibly nervous for how this season is going to wrap up, and hope that Season Five will give us actual Culmets kisses and cuddles...
Read the other parts at: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21
Chapter 451: Sidebar
Summary:
***SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE THIRTEEN / SEASON FINALE***
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*Hugh and Tracy’s conversation after giving Saru and T’Rina a moment alone.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tracy glances over her shoulder as the doors to the surgical suites close behind them.
”Saru and a Vulcan,” she muses, “huh.”
Hugh chuckles.
”Strange thing, love. You don’t get to decide who, it just happens.”
“Believe me, I’ve witnessed that firsthand.”
The look Hugh gives her is well-rehearsed and long-suffering.
”Couldn’t have resisted Paul if I’d been crazy enough to want to.”
She sobers then, the reality of their situation inescapable.
”Think he’s found a way out of here that doesn’t involve the ship blowing up?”
Hugh smiles faintly.
”I believe in him.”
Notes:
Still watching.
Chapter 452: Suitcase
Summary:
***SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE THIRTEEN***
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*
*
Notes:
Extension of the scene where Paul and Hugh are packing.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“I can’t believe you’re doing this for me.”
Thank you, the brush of his palm over Paul’s chest says, I needed this.
”I’m doing this for me.”
Always, the crinkles beside his eyes when he smiles promise.
”Toothbrushes?”
I love you.
”Already packed. Stop fussing.”
I love you too.
Paul sets down the last stack of meticulously folded clothes - that he’s certain Hugh purposely rumpled - and steps up behind him, hands on Hugh’s waist. The spark in Hugh’s eyes that’s been dulled since the DMA destroyed Kwejian is back, reflected in the mirror.
“Let’s get you home,” he murmurs, kissing Hugh’s shoulder, “I should’ve pushed harder before.”
”You know I wouldn’t have.”
”Still…”
Hugh turns to face him, hands coming up to cradle Paul’s cheeks.
“Home is wherever you are, sweetheart. The rest is…nine hundred and thirty years ago.”
”Do you want to visit your family?”
He knows Hugh understands what he’s asking.
”I have my family here with me, now.”
His eyes close as Paul leans in to kiss him softly. Paul slips a hand between them to rest on Hugh’s chest over his heart.
”And here.”
A nod.
“Ready?”
”Let’s go.”
Notes:
1) Okay…Stacey Abrams as the President of Earth? YES!! After seeing her Trek-geek out during virtual campaign events with Trek actors, I can’t imagine how excited she must have been.
2) T’Rina and Saru’s restrained and shy relationship is everything.
3) I honestly thought they might send Detmer, but also knew Ndoye would have to redeem herself.
4) Not sure how I feel about everyone being saved. Leaving Tarka’s fate ambiguous works, but the gut punch at seemingly losing Book felt…correct? In a way. Like it balanced out the harm caused. I wasn’t expecting the Ten-C to rescue him and think it spoiled the beautiful moment where President Rillak is holding Michael up. I mean, other captains have perpetually had their love lives curtailed by command (actually, EVERY captain has, come to think of it) so it wouldn’t even be unfair in the tradition of Trek.
5) Reno continues to be the cool aunt I never had.
6) Adira’s eyes bugging out and their scandalized “Bobcat?!” is A+ acting from Blu. There may be a story coming from that.
7) I hope the strained awkwardness between Paul and Hugh is settled next season. I realize health protocols limited their very physical love language, but having to maintain distance during the scene in Engineering with Adira and in the lounge in the background doesn’t feel truly them.
8) I’m taking “I can’t believe you’re doing this for me” to mean Paul promised to not do any work or something like that - because otherwise it sounds like they don’t understand each other as well as they do.
9) Tilly and Vance’s scenes were heartfelt and pure Trek. Loved her reunion with the crew.
Chapter 453: Should
Summary:
****MINOR SPOILERS FOR SEASON FOUR EPISODE THIRTEEN****
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*
Tilly and Paul have a conversation.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"So," Tilly props her feet on the coffee table, "I missed you."
The lights have switched over to night mode, casting shadows on them all from the glow of HQ and the many ships circling Earth. He sets down his mostly-empty mug, glancing at her sidewise.
"I missed you too. We all did."
She looks down at Adira curled up beside her, head on the arm of the couch and their feet on her thigh, smiling in a proprietary fashion that Paul hasn't seen from her before.
"They're pretty badass, aren't they? Remember how scandalized we were when they first started poking around the spore drive?"
"Yeah," he laughs quietly, "they're really something."
The smile fades, and Tilly half-turns towards him as much as she can without disturbing Adira.
"What about you? And Hugh."
"It's better now," he admits, because it's Tilly and no one else asking, "but it was...a lot. For both of us."
"Especially for the person taking care of everyone else?"
Head pillowed on his lap, Hugh looks the most peaceful asleep that he can remember since before the DMA. The perpetual frown creasing his brow is eased, and he traces the fine lines with his thumb. He stops when Hugh wrinkles his nose in response, hand moving to rub his shoulder instead.
"He...I'm taking him home for a while. It's been nine hundred and thirty years since we saw Puerto Rico, and I know he needs it."
"Is he okay with-" Tilly bites her lip, "sorry. I shouldn't ask."
Paul shakes his head, sighing.
"Family gets to ask the difficult questions."
Her smile returns, the brilliance of it something he's missed terribly.
"You should come visit," he continues, "and Adira. I just promised him a week of the two of us, but after that, I know he'd love to show you everything."
"Think it's the same?"
"We're going to find out."
Nodding, she tips her head back to look at the stars upside down.
"I missed Discovery."
"We're here when you're ready to come back. If you decide to."
"You know, I felt so...not me before. This...I guess it turns out I'm actually good at teaching. Even if I never thought that's what I'd do."
There's a stillness about her now, a confidence at odds with the nervous cadet he first met.
"I'm proud of you," he reminds her, quiet and firm, "I don't always say it, but-"
Incandescent, he'd called her, and it seems only fitting.
"I know."
Notes:
Seeing Tilly back was exactly what I needed, especially with her as a confident leader and 'her' cadets. Her scenes with Admiral Vance showed just how far she's come, how she carries herself differently. It also gave me a vision of her and Paul catching up, and it only seemed right to have the rest of the family there too.
Chapter 454: Strands
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“May I ask the significance of this grooming behavior?”
To his left, Tracy snickers into her wineglass as T’Vala sets down her teacup and folds her hands in her lap. He spares a fond look downwards where Paul’s blinking drowsily up at him and smiles, twirling fine strands of blond hair around his fingers as he continues the gentle petting.
”…feels good,” Paul murmurs, and Hugh wonders how much longer until the whiskey they’re sharing puts him to sleep, “s’why.”
T’Vala tilts her head in thought, studying them. She doesn’t say anything else, but the question lingers in the quiet air of his apartment. There are several ways he could reply, explanations he could offer, but he settles on the truest.
”Affection,” he answers simply, “love.”
Notes:
***SPOILER FOR STAR TREK PICARD SEASON TWO EPISODE FOUR***
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Not Disco, but can I just say - Picard’s relatives fleeing to England in WWII is a masterful explanation for a Frenchman with an English accent.
Chapter 455: Stumble (Across)
Summary:
Tilly realizes something about Stamets.
Notes:
Set during the beginning of Season Two.
Companion to the “Suffer” chapters wherein Tilly does her best to comfort Paul in his loss.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It takes Tilly longer than it probably should to realize that Stamets is sleeping anywhere except his own quarters. Some of it has to do with her own preoccupation, her wish that he wouldn’t leave and the knowledge that the time they have remaining is growing shorter. He’d scared her at first, even as she was excited for the opportunity to work with him. Now, she can’t imagine having the spore cube darkened and the drive disconnected while they labored to find another way to navigate once he left.
During the horrible months of the war, it hadn't been unusual for him to still be working when her shift ended - and even when she stayed late to help - and already be in the lab when she returned the next morning. At the time, she hadn't thought much of it other than wonder at his ability to stay focused for so long and attributing it to his spore-induced energy levels. They’d all been spending long hours, running simulation after simulation alongside the seemingly endless rounds of calculations. And she'd been witness to Dr. Culber's multiple visits, ostensibly to run medical scans, and did her best to not overhear his quiet entreaties to 'come home for dinner'.
After Discovery's return from the Mirror Universe, after Dr. Culber's murder but before the war ended, it wasn’t uncommon to find Stamets slumped over his console asleep when she came on shift in the morning. Still, she hadn’t questioned it overmuch. If anything, it spoke to his scientific dedication, and they all really had much larger things to deal with, countless lives stacked against one man's grief.
It happened more and more frequently after they left Earth and started Captain Pike's mission, although he no longer seemed to doze off only in the lab or spore drive bay. Instead, she'd encounter him in the cultivation bay when she ran daily check on the environmental controls or took samples from their test beds. He retreated there when grief seemed to overtake him, hiding from everyone except her. She was honored with his confidence, but also saddened on such a deep level that she didn't know what to do with the feeling. Michael was unfortunately not much help in the feelings department, so Tilly sat with it alone, turning it over in her mind even as her fingers flew over consoles.
Still, Stamets hadn’t appeared in Engineering any more unkempt than his sleeves rolled up, no sign of mussed hair or rumpled uniform to cause her to suspect he hadn't gone home sometime between 2200 and 0830. And the red signals were a distraction, a preoccupation that got more and more strange and complicated the more evidence they collected. It isn't until she finds him in odd circumstances for a week that the pieces start to fall together.
Monday
She comes in early before 0600, unable to go back to sleep with an idea for an accelerated growth curve careening around her brain, skipping a morning run in favor of eating a breakfast burrito far faster than Michael would probably approve of before putting on her uniform and heading down to Engineering. Tilly works alone for an hour or so, just the gamma shift engineers running warp core maintenance occasionally passing by. Around 0700, some unnamed instinct drives her to abandon the equations and make her way into the cultivation bay. She checks corners and behind consoles, muttering to herself for her own paranoia when nothing turns up.
Not that she knows what she’s looking for.
Tilly’s about to leave, but decides to do one more circuit around just in case there’s an actual issue the sensors haven’t reported. She nearly trips over him, so unexpected and yet not. Her first thought is that he’s in medical distress, maybe a sudden illness or other injury, but before she can reach for her communicator a gentle snore reaches her ears.
Oh.
Stamets sleeps on as she stands there gaping, his uniform jacket rolled to cushion his head and arms wrapped tightly around himself. He'd certainly chosen an out of the way place, nowhere anyone else would probably ever have cause to venture, in the back corner near the secondary environmental controls. The little hillock is near the one where she'd stumbled on him and Dr. Culber more than once, talking quietly together or napping. After one particularly horrible week of failures, she’d found Stamets sound asleep with his head in Dr. Culber’s lap. Dr. Culber’s medical whites would surely be covered in dirt or spores, but he didn’t seem to mind sitting on the ground. The doctor was touching Stamets’ face and stroking his hair with a profound gentleness that made her avert her eyes lest she intrude on something far more intimate than the embarrassing occasions she discovered them kissing behind the condenser unit.
Now, the restful peace the doctor’s hands seemed to provide is nowhere in evidence. He seems so small like this, drawn in on himself. She knows he’s been here all night, because the exposed sleeve of the jacket has the same coolant stain on the cuff from the day before. Even now, the dark circles beneath his closed eyes are in evidence, and she decides that waking him up would be cruel. Decision made, she quietly picks up the empty coffee thermos beside him and retreats back the way she came.
When the doors to the drive bay open an hour later, he’s in a fresh uniform and there’s no sign that he spent the night amidst his spores.
Tuesday
The next morning, she’s relieved to find the hillock empty. It's short-lived though, because he's sprawled beside one of the test beds today, scanner in standby and the PADD and stylus next to his hand suggesting that he'd been working and dozed off. Sighing, she backtracks and keeps a careful eye on the doors in case anyone else tries to enter.
He doesn’t comment on the fresh thermos of coffee she’d crept back in to leave at his side, and she doesn’t have the heart to bring it up.
Wednesday
The cultivation bay is empty at 0700, but that's only because Stamets is dozing in his private lab.
Thursday
She's thankfully the first one in, and isn't surprised when she sees a dark blue sleeve and a pale hand peeking out past the reflections on the transparisteel of the spore cube. Again, she's not at all sure that he necessarily intended to fall asleep there, because there's a panel on the deck below the conduit he's half-lying inside and an open toolkit beside him. This time, he starts awake a few minutes after she arrives, jerking upwards when her simulation beeps loudly. Tilly winces at the sound of his head hitting the edge of the conduit, wondering if now would be a good idea to say something.
Probably.
"Sir, I-"
"Not now, Tilly."
He waves off her concern, brushing past and muttering something about misaligned couplers before disappearing into his lab. She's left staring at the open panel for a few minutes until Harrington comes in.
"Morning Tilly. Oh! Did you start already?"
"...what?"
"Stamets asked me to re-align the phase couplers," she tips her head at the wall, "said there was an issue with the microvariance."
"Okay. Umm..."
"Tilly?"
Harrington worked with Stamets for years on Deneva, but something holds her back from confiding.
"Nothing! Sorry, nothing."
This isn't getting any better.
She takes a chance and returns late in the evening, bearing food. He doesn't kick her out as she half-expected, but lets her sit with him in the forest while she eats. Tilly thinks to leave as quickly as possible given the uncomfortable silence, receiving a wan smile in response to her awkward goodnight. Stamets hasn't had much appetite as far as she can tell, but doesn't object when she leaves the uneaten second plate of food beside him.
(The synthesizer recycling logs in the lab list only empty dishes the next day. Not that she has a particular excuse to be doing what amounts to snooping, other than concern for his wellbeing.)
Friday
Technically, Friday is supposed to be her day off and if there's anything that terrifies her, it's not being able to explain what she's doing (which still happens, and she's always mortified). 'Accidentally' leaving her personal PADD on the console beside the bay doors seemed like the best option on Thursday night, but she spends that evening worried someone will find it and helpfully return it to her. It's not the case though, and she begs off her morning run with Michael to go locate it. Michael doesn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, and she high tails it down to Engineering, slowing just outside.
The rising bubble of trepidation bursts when she nearly walks into Stamets on his way out. He's rubbing at his eyes, face unguarded and her PADD tucked beneath his left arm. For a moment, bone-deep exhaustion is apparent on him, then he manages a tight smile.
"Tilly."
"Commander. Hi! Umm, my PADD, sorry, I-"
He sets the PADD in her widely gesturing hand, stepping around her as he does.
"Sir..."
"It's fine," he offers as he heads off down the corridor, leaving her staring at the slump of his shoulders, retreating back bowed by an invisible weight.
Saturday
She's off on Saturday as well, and Michael finds her staring at the unblinking blue dot of his badge in Engineering.
"Tilly?"
"Yeah."
As she watches, the dot moves between the spore drive bay and lab.
"What are you doing?
She does wonder if it's an unhealthy obsession, but can't find the words to explain it to Michael. Sighing, she looks up from her PADD.
"I don't know."
Sunday
On Sunday evening, she casually brings a blanket with her tray of sandwiches, and wonders if she ought to tell someone. Dr. Pollard, maybe, but she's not sure it's any of her business if it's not interfering with his duties. She rises to go after eating, leaving the blanket folded beside him, and his voice finally stops her.
"Thank you."
"Umm. You're welcome? I mean, it seemed like..." Tilly chews her lower lip, twisting her fingers together, "it seemed like you needed...something. I don't know. And it's not my business sir, but maybe you- I'm just thinking, spending the night here can't be good, right?"
The barely-there hum of the condensers gives the air a life of its own, a backdrop waiting to be filled.
“Tilly,” Stamets turns his haunted eyes towards her but can’t seem to focus, “he’s everywhere. I miss him all the time. But most of all…it’s the worst when I try to sleep without him next to me.”
”Do you dre-“ she cuts herself off, feeling her cheeks heat, “I’m sorry sir, that was so inappropriate, I shouldn’t have…”
Stamets crumbles the crust of his sandwich between his fingers, shrugging one shoulder. He seems to be gathering himself, nodding slowly. She's about to offer the suggestion of new quarters, but bites her tongue.
Just listen, Sylvia.
Several minutes later, he swallows hard and finally looks at her.
"At least here there's only good memories."
Notes:
This started out a much more ambitious story than it ended up being, when I realized how difficult it would be to describe a full week's worth of days in detail. In writing "younger" Tilly, it struck me just how much she's grown in self-confidence...but the level of care is still the same.
Chapter 456: Shapeshift, Part Twenty Three
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Hugh? Are you- of course you’re not okay, stupid question,” Adira’s nerves are palpable even with his eyes closed, “I mean, what do we do? To help. Not like…”
They make a frustrated noise that Hugh would chuckle at if it didn’t seem likely to disturb the drumline in his head. Paul’s weight shifts where he’s curled against Hugh’s neck and shoulder, fur brushing over his face. His partner must have typed something, because Tilly responds a few moments later.
”I know. Our tricomms are still working on their own systems, but we shouldn’t be shielded or anything from communications unless the whole system crashed. And I don’t know what could have caused that either.”
Another pause.
”Hugh?”
He tries to sit up and regrets it almost instantly, nausea coiling in his stomach. The back of his head would have hit the deck again, but Adira’s arm is there to catch him. If he weren’t so focused on not losing the battle against keeping lunch down, he’d be able to actually enjoy the pride in their handling this unexpected situation.
“…yeah.”
“I don’t think you should try that again. Wait, is that supposed to be what you do with a concussion?”
”It’s fine.”
His head hurts too much to explain further, so he settles for petting Paul’s tail where it’s twitching restlessly over his arm. Paul's paws are poised to keep typing when Tilly's comm beeps, static coming through followed by a familiar voice.
"-lly?"
"Tilly here," she swipes the interface open, trying to filter out some of the noise, "Reno, can you hear me?"
"-of."
"We're stuck outside the lab when things exploded. The corridor is all blocked, can you beam us out? Or at least Hugh."
Silence, then another burst of distortion.
“…pattern buffer is damaged, ca-…offline until we can stabilize the…should…hour.”
"Reno? Jett? Hello?"
There's no response, and Adira's hopeful expression falls.
"Did she say they can fix the transporter in an hour?"
Tilly shakes her head, lips pressed together.
"Maybe. I didn't catch enough of it, so I hope so. But it looks like we’re stuck until then."
Can you reach the ceiling? Jefferies Tube access should run parallel to this section.
Hugh stares upwards dubiously. Part of the ceiling had come down with the bulkhead - what had trapped his legs - and he wonders if there's an access point above them or just six inches of duranium.
"I don't know."
Tilly takes off her jacket, shaking the worst of the assorted mess off, before turning it inside out and offering it as a pillow. He takes it gratefully, watching as she boosts Adira onto a broken console and they start to climb the twisted metal.
"I- shit!"
Adira hops down, just avoiding the shifting debris. They try again, but the remainder is too unsteady to get them within even arm's reach of the top of the corridor. Standing from the awkward crouch they landed in, Adira moves towards the tangled pile of conduit blocking the other side of the section and shoves at it to no effect.
"So much for that."
”Well. We can either wait and hope someone comes to find us, or-“ Tilly bites her lip, “there’s no telling what’s happening with the rest of the ship. And Hugh…”
”I’ve had worse,” he offers, “as long as nothing else explodes.”
Paul makes a noise that’s somewhere between a hiss and a growl. Tilly swipes her forearm across her forehead, sighing.
"Adira and I can't get past all that," she flaps her hand to encompass the space around them, "but you might fit."
She's clearly addressing Paul, and his paws tap out a reply immediately.
Not leaving him.
"Paul..."
He trails off as Paul climbs onto his chest, settling down with an air of stubbornness that's all too familiar.
The added warmth is nice, particularly as he comes to rest in the still-open front of Hugh's jacket, smearing ashy grey on the white fabric. That being said, it doesn't help their overall situation.
Sensors aren't working right, we don't know the condition of the ship.
“Well…”
Still no hands if something happens.
He does have a point, probably one Hugh would have made in normal circumstances.
”We’ll figure it out,” he murmurs, more to himself although Paul’s ears swivel his direction, “right?”
Tilly's shoulders slump, and she sits down again with a groan.
"This day is so not going well."
Notes:
Apologies for the slower stream of stories. We're in the middle of our annual budget process so it's sapping a lot of my creative energy.
Yes, I had to write a situation to fit that photo because it's just too perfect.
Read the other parts at: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22
Chapter 457: Seated
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Dinner has long since been forgotten, the remains gone cold and dessert abandoned. There’s a puddle of spilled wine that neither of them notices, soaking into a crumpled napkin; the other is somewhere on the floor, carelessly pushed aside and off the table when Paul climbed onto Hugh’s lap.
Hugh has a hand on each of Paul’s thighs, pulling him even closer as their kisses deepen, playfulness making way for passion. Paul’s squirming in the best way, using the slight height advantage and his fingers in Hugh’s hair to direct the kiss. Quiet, breathy gasps escape as their lips meet again and again, licking and nibbling.
Taking and being taken.
Having and being had.
He breaks the kiss to bury his face against Paul’s throat, evening stubble scraping over his now exquisitely sensitive lips. His pulse beats a rapid tattoo beneath Hugh’s tongue, chests pressed together with each breath. Hugh moans when Paul spreads his legs just a little wider, rubbing himself against Hugh with only the thin barrier of sleep pants between them. Much as he’d love to get his hand on his favorite sex toy in the entire universe, separation seems unbearable. Instead, he shamelessly gropes Paul’s ass, reclaiming his mouth as they they find a rhythm in a slow, filthy hot grind.
Paul’s thumbs press against his cheekbones, large hands possessing Hugh, proclaiming to any and all that Hugh belongs to him, making him his. The fact that there’s a bed - where they could take their clothes off and take things a lot further - less than ten feet away might as well be a light year when Paul’s moaning into the kiss. It’s sweet and passionate and loving, all of the things he loves about the man in his arms.
Though he tries to hold on, Hugh can’t resist how Paul tastes and sounds, his weight on his lap and chocolate on his breath. He comes first, and it rolls over him in a wave, freezing him in place and stifling his cry as it bathes him in pleasure. When it passes, he opens his eyes to find Paul watching him, lust and tenderness mingled in his gaze.
Hugh does his best to pick up where he left off, hands urging Paul to thrust against the sticky mess in his pants. He knows when Paul comes from the breath caught in his throat, the way he tenses and shakes and his fingers clutch at Hugh’s shoulders. Hugh rocks him through it, nibbling at his neck until Paul whimpers.
Neither of them speak for a couple of minutes, kisses and nuzzles communicating without need for words. At last, Hugh stirs, bouncing his knee a little.
”Leg’s falling asleep.”
”Mmm.”
He’s waiting when Paul goes to stand, supporting him when it takes a few moments for his right hip to unlock. That earns him a rueful chuckle.
”We’re getting too old for this.”
”Nah.”
”Okay, I’m getting too old-“
”Nope.”
”-for this,” Paul shakes his head fondly, offering a hand to pull Hugh to his feet, “but…”
Hugh pauses a half-step away.
”But what?”
Despite the rapidly-cooling damp patches, Paul’s expression is solemn.
”I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”
Leaning in, Hugh gently brushes their kiss-swollen lips together.
“Me neither, sweetheart.”
He squeezes Paul’s hand, tugging him towards the bathroom.
“Come on, let’s get cleaned up. I want to finish dessert.”
”Wasn’t that dessert?”
Hugh laughs, warm and happy.
“There’s always room for more.”
Notes:
It’s been a long work week, and I needed some intimate Culmets to make up for it.
…I also received a half dozen password reset emails on my account this morning that I didn’t request. What the heck? Went in and changed my password just to be safe, but that’s really weird.
Chapter 458: Slack
Chapter Text
In sleep, Hugh’s sculpted muscles are slack with dreaming, limbs supple and heavy.
His chest becomes a firm pillow for Paul’s head, stomach relaxed beneath his palm.
When he rolls over, the dip between his shoulder blades cradles Paul’s cheek as he breathes in warmth and contentment.
His heartbeat is slow and steady, the rise and fall of his ribs rocking Paul to sleep with a smile on his lips.
Chapter 459: Sol
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Beyond the viewport, Earth sits serene and quiet, shining with Sol’s reflection from the clouds. Below the mist, continents are surrounded by vast oceans, billions of lives on one tiny planet wheeling through the cosmos. To the right, the elegant curves of Starfleet HQ are just visible, gleaming in the same sunlight illuminating their home.
Home, Paul thinks, maybe our definition has changed.
Perhaps in nine hundred years, the planet of his birth is more a symbol, a touchpoint in the infinite stretch of space. Discovery is home, is their family, the place they’ll all return to. And in a more personal sense, family means Tilly and Adira and Gray, but most of all, the man cradled in his arms.
Hugh’s snuggled up to his side in a way that’s more familiar than breathing, head pillowed on Paul’s shoulder and hand idly tracing patterns on the bare skin of his stomach. They’re naked beneath the covers, a silent agreement to forego pajamas after emerging from the shower before bed. It’s something they need after whatever chaos they’ve weathered has passed, a ritual of hands stroking over each other’s bodies with firm touches to reassure that they’re both all there and safe.
Sometimes it leads to sex, turns to caresses and arousal and reaffirming connection on a primal level. Tonight though, they’ve eased into the liminal state at the edge of sleepiness, fatigue beginning to push aside today’s adrenaline. Hugh’s warm and solid, his weight grounding Paul in his own form as his thoughts wind down. They’re breathing in sync, bodies matching the rhythms of life between them without conscious effort.
“What are you thinking about?”
Hugh’s voice is quiet, the question murmured into the stillness of the air around their bed.
That’s a good question.
“Family,” he answers after a few moments to coalesce thoughts into words, “and how if the Ten-C had turned out to be friendly but not enough to use their wormhole to send Discovery back home.”
The hand wandering across his chest pauses, then detours down to cup his groin before coming to rest on the opposite hip.
“Yeah?”
He kisses Hugh’s forehead by way of response.
”That can’t have been easy.”
”Hmm?”
For some reason, he doesn’t think Hugh’s referring to the wormhole.
”The spore drive. Figuring out the amount of power needed to get us out of that orb, and knowing what it would do to the drive,” Hugh’s fingers squeeze briefly, “that we might be stuck traveling for decades to make it back.”
“That wasn’t-“ he chews his lip, “yes. And no. It was the only thing, and I guess…I was trying not to think too much past it.”
A huff of air tickling his chin signifies a chuckle.
”That’s possibly the most un-Paul Stamets thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
He smiles at that, at how well Hugh knows him.
”Honestly? I thought enough about it to know I couldn’t right then and there.”
Hugh makes a wordless noise of agreement, waits patiently as always for Paul to finish his thought.
”It’s just, family. This crew, this time we’re all in…Earth is home, but so much has changed.”
”It has.”
”And I thought about Tilly, about Gray. If we were stuck taking the long way back from the edge of the galaxy. And what that might do to Adira, because they say they’re okay without Gray here, but if that had happened-“
Paul shakes his head, doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he loosens his hold on Hugh to free his right hand, stroking his cheek gently.
”I get it,” Hugh sighs, “yeah.”
The tickle of Hugh’s beard rasps over his collarbone and Paul turns his head on the pillow, angling back enough to meet his eyes.
”Family is important. They’re important, and I don’t want to imagine what it would have been like. But you’re what matters most to me, and I would have had you.”
One breath, two.
Three.
Hugh pushes up on his elbow, releasing his hold on Paul’s hip to curve his palm around his jaw. His gaze is full of tenderness and love, and Paul leans into the touch, then tips his chin up for their lips to meet. It’s a slow kiss, one of the tens of thousands they must have shared, but profound in its own way.
I love you, it says, wherever we go, we go together.
Notes:
After doing a Season Four rewatch, I had some quieter thoughts and feelings about these two.
Chapter 460: Sternum
Chapter Text
Hugh’s spent years studying Paul’s body, the width and breadth and planes and valleys. He’s catalogued the slope of his shoulders, the elegant curve of his neck, and exactly where the hair stops on the backs of his hands. Countless nights invested when Paul was asleep before Discovery, engrossed in the bow of his upper lip and the slight asymmetry of the bridge of his nose, refreshing them in his memory for the weeks and months they spent apart.
Before dying, he would have sworn he knew every inch of Paul’s skin, every stretch mark and wrinkle and freckle, his scent and taste indelibly written on his heart. After returning, his body was in dissonance with his mind, didn’t know Paul’s touch as familiar and welcome. The pain that followed for them both is long past, the joy of rediscovering each other in this future a balm to ease the hurt.
It was as much teaching his new body to respond properly so that thought and feeling matched, as it was a reminder to never take for granted the time they had together. Because of that, Hugh set himself a new task unknown to Paul: committing him to memory afresh, as if seeing him for the first time. It’s something to be done with no obligation, never fully completed but the furthest thing from a waste of time.
In the privacy of his thoughts, he picks one part to focus on. Sometimes it’s the way the light catches on Paul’s eyelashes that leads him to trace the laughter and frown lines beside his eyes, or sketching out a theory with elaborate hand gestures that draws attention to his fingers, sturdy and capable and gentle. Paul is none the wiser, would probably laugh and blush and mutter something self-conscious, so Hugh carries out his mission in silence.
Tonight, he’s busy with Paul’s chest. Rather than focusing on the delightful sensitivity of his nipples - Hugh’s saving that for another day - he busies himself with counting the freckles dusting the pale skin, the near-invisible hair and faint remains of the scar over Paul’s heart that Hugh mended with his own shaking hands. Paul’s reading, seemingly content to let Hugh’s fingers wander down his sternum, sighing softly when they massage his pectoral muscles. He smiles when Hugh plants kisses to follow the same paths, shivers at the rasp of his beard over the sensitized skin. Hugh’s in no hurry to finish, even as his eyelids grow heavy with drowsiness.
Eventually, he’s too sleepy to devote the right amount of attention. He pulls up Aida’s quilt to cover them both, leaves off his studies for the simple pleasure of Paul’s heartbeat beneath his palm. Paul kisses him goodnight, and Hugh falls asleep looking forward to where happenstance will lead his eyes tomorrow.
Chapter 461: Sultry
Summary:
Playful, intimate sexytimes.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul’s eyes are - very objectively, Hugh’s positive - gorgeous, a striking blue-grey full of intelligence and stubbornness and caring. They’re sharp on occasion, when his partner is displeased or intent, but never anything less than full of life. It’s why their dull bleakness after Hugh’s return was so wrenching, the fervor falling into an empty resignation that he’s determined he will never, ever be the cause of again.
More intimately, Paul’s gaze can be playful, alluring and mischievous at the same time, sweetly vulnerable or smug with the knowledge that he’s driving Hugh out of his mind (not that that’s difficult). He’ll never tire of seeing those eyes half-lidded with sated afterglow, passion giving way again to the affection that makes Hugh’s heart swell with love. At the moment though, as Paul looks up at Hugh from beneath his lashes while kneeling at his feet, they’re possessive and pleased. His fingers are hooked over the waistband of Hugh’s briefs, breath gusting warm over his groin in a way that’s too innocent to be anything but deliberate. Paul nuzzles the growing evidence of arousal, lipping at the now-damp fabric in a manner clearly calculated to drive the capacity for higher thought somewhere far away where he isn’t tantalizing moments away from the wet heat of Paul’s mouth.
When his tormentor finally tugs his underwear down, he breathes out a pleased noise of relief that turns into a huff of laughter as Paul is close enough that Hugh bounces off the tip of his nose. Someone else might be embarrassed, but Paul just winks up at him, working Hugh’s briefs down to join the pants already around his ankles.
“Someone’s excited,” he teases, licking the shaft all too-briefly, “…okay?”
Two syllables spoken with a smile but still serious, and Hugh falls in love with him all over again for the sincere question. If he asks for a moment to gather himself, Paul will give it to him. Or he could tell him, veiled in playfulness, that he wants something else, no harm done. Hugh wants neither, but it’s the knowledge of it that makes him brush the back of his fingers over Paul’s cheek before tangling them in his hair.
”Get to work,” he smiles as Paul rolls his eyes and gives a put-upon sigh, “use those prett- ohhhh.”
He goes to widen his stance, forgetting about the clothing hobbling his ankles and grabbing the edge of the table behind him for support instead as Paul doesn’t waste time going down on him in one maddening slide.
”Hmm mmmm.”
The hum tickles sensitive skin, and he’s glad for the hands firmly grasping his hips to keep him from accidentally choking his partner with the uncontrollable urge to bury himself deeper. Paul stays down until he has to pull back enough to breathe, tongue busy seeking out all of the sensitive spots that make Hugh’s fingers clench and his head tip back with pleasure. He doesn’t stay that way for long though, looking down again because the sight of Paul’s pinkened lips is second only to the way his partner likes to maintain eye contact on Hugh’s extensive list of Reasons Paul Stamets Is The Sexiest Man In The Universe.
They settle into a rhythm, Paul sucking the tip and moving up and down just this side of too slowly, wincing when Hugh pulls his hair a little too hard and rewarding him with long laps of his tongue when he loosens his grip and strokes Paul’s temple by way of apology. Paul teases and pleases, working him up towards the edge and moaning as he palms himself through his pants. It’s a familiar dance, a back and forth where Paul reads his body like he wrote the book on how to pleasure Hugh…which, really, he supposes that he did.
Hugh’s vaguely aware of murmuring endearments between gasps and moans, telling Paul how gorgeous he is with his mouth full of Hugh’s dick, how much he wants him and how close he’s getting. Paul acknowledges every comment with a hum that erodes even more of his control, releasing Hugh’s hip to fondle and stroke and squeeze.
Close.
He mumbles something to that effect, and Paul’s eyes, already dark with arousal, fall closed when Hugh cries out and tumbles over the edge into freefall. His satisfied noises as Hugh spills hot over his tongue prolong the pleasure, even more because Hugh knows that Paul only enjoys swallowing him down and never any of his previous lovers.
When he’s recovered enough of his senses to string together more than two syllables, he sits back on the edge of the table, popping free of Paul’s mouth with an obscene slurp.
”…fuck.”
”I think you’ll have to wait if you want to do that.”
Paul’s voice is husky, the slight rasp speaking to what he’s just been doing. His lips are red against flushed skin, hair in disarray from Hugh’s tugging fingers. He looks immensely self-satisfied.
”Mmm,” he slides sideways into one of the chairs, “I don’t think I should make you wait.”
”Much appreciated.”
Hugh rubs his bare foot over the obvious erection tenting the fabric between his thighs.
”Want some help with that?”
Paul starts to shuffle on his knees to face him, but stops with a wry grimace.
“Want to help me up?”
Grinning, Hugh braces his arms and lets Paul use him to pull himself to his feet. It has the advantage of putting certain things in very close proximity to his face.
”Should I return the favor?”
”Mmm,” Paul catches his reaching hand, “I’ve got a better idea.”
He recognizes the wicked glimmer in his eyes and what it probably foreshadows, but asks anyway.
”Oh? Do tell.”
”You. Bed.”
”Face down and ass up?”
Hugh’s already on his feet, kicking his pants and underwear off.
”On your back.”
He pauses, one knee on the bed, and gives Paul his best come-hither smile.
”That can definitely be arranged.”
Notes:
Relationship goals demonstrated via blowjob? Oh yes.
I’m really pleased with how this turned out, and hope you all enjoy as well :)
Chapter 462: Snore
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul’s snuffling into his armpit when Hugh wakes up, breath tickling the hairs and sweaty forehead pressed to the underside of his arm where it’s thrown over his head on the pillow. They’d passed out straight after the shower, too exhausted to bother with pajamas, and it has to be at least an hour later because Paul doesn’t snore like this until he’s deeply asleep. His own arm is stretched awkwardly over Hugh’s hips, and Hugh gently repositions it so Paul won’t complain of a sore shoulder in the morning. Then he snuggles Paul more firmly into his side, twists his head to press a kiss to Paul’s temple, and smiles into the darkness. Thus content, he closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.
Notes:
Doing a deep-dive reread of When Sorrow Turns To Joy to get myself back into the headspace, and also finally giving in and outlining the rest of Survival so that it’s no longer stuck in my head. Pretty drained from work, but I need to do some focused writing/editing.
Chapter 463: Siesta
Notes:
Set sometime during Season Four. I promise I’ll get back to writing about other periods, but it’s still fresh in my mind.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh’s legs and feet are visible on the couch when the doors to their quarters swish shut behind Paul, no sign of Adira or other company. He’s glad to find him home already, and decides it’s late enough that getting undressed to clean up before a quiet dinner together is a safe bet.
“How was your day?”
There’s a vague sense of guilt when the rustle of unzipping his jacket and pulling off his undershirt probably obscures Hugh’s reply. Hugh’s stopped talking by the time he’s done wrestling the fabric over his head, and Paul waits a few moments before the awkward realization that it's probably his turn to say something.
”Oh,” he tries for nonchalant, “hmmm.”
There’s no response to that, and he wracks his brain to think of a neutral comment.
”That’s…interesting?”
A sigh.
Paul grimaces a little at the unimpressed silence after that while removing his boots.
Strip naked and distract him?
Chewing his lip, he takes off his pants and wonders if he missed a message from Hugh telling him the context of whatever reason his partner isn’t his usual welcoming self. His tricomm is on his jacket in the laundry pile, but flicking it on to check would be too obvious.
You could just tell him you weren’t listening.
”Sorry,” he turns back to the couch, “I- Hugh?”
Hugh’s hand is resting palm-down on his stomach, fingers slack above the slow rise and fall of his chest. Taking a step closer, a slightly guilty sense of relief washes over him.
Ahh.
Paul’s spared the apology he was going to make, because Hugh is sound asleep on the couch, head propped up on a rolled-up throw and bare feet tucked against the pillow at the opposite end. His jacket is tossed over a chair, pants unbuttoned, and Paul spends a few moments enjoying the sight of his bare arms. He doesn’t stir when Paul presses a kiss to his temple, but it’s no hardship to wait on a shower and let Hugh finish his nap so they can share.
He’d happily cuddle him in the meantime, but he’s sprawled over the cushions. Years of experience tell him that an unconscious Hugh Culber is harder to move than a ton of duranium, and it’s always a losing battle to shift him when he decides to take over the middle of the bed or edges Paul off the mattress. Rather than getting dressed again, he takes Aida’s quilt off the foot of the bed and wraps it around his shoulders against the slight chill - Hugh runs warmer and the environmental controls are set a couple of degrees cooler than Paul prefers - and settles into the chair closest to Hugh’s head.
There are a few papers he’d been planning to read and there’s always data to review, but the stillness in their quarters leaves his hands and mind idle. He props his feet on the coffee table, then turns sideways in the chair and tucks them up under himself instead. The stars in their infinite span have nothing on the elegant arch of Hugh’s brows or the spreading silver in his hair, and Paul lets his eyes rest content on the man he’s loved through life and death and back again.
A wordless murmur brings him out of his reverie an indeterminate amount of time later. The quilt’s kept him warm enough that his feet haven’t gone cold, so it could be minutes or an hour passed. On the couch, Hugh half-mumbles something that he can’t make out. His eyes flit back and forth behind closed eyelids, and Paul wonders what dreams his unconscious mind has conjured. They don’t seem to be bad (a welcome change from those of late), but Hugh’s chin jerks in response, head turning as if reacting to something only he can see.
”Hugh?”
Paul keeps his voice low, unsurprised when Hugh merely relaxes again, motion falling still. His expressive face is relaxed, lips slightly parted, and affection pools warm in his stomach. Beneath the quilt, he gives himself a few idle rubs, not arousal so much as the sensual pleasure that being near Hugh evokes. He’s not planning on going anywhere with it - and these days it does take a bit more than merely the thought of Hugh naked to make certain body parts stir - simply enjoying the feeling of his own hand.
A few minutes later and Hugh twitches again. There’s a frown knitting his brow this time, head shaking as if in negation.
“Hugh.”
His voice is louder than before, and Hugh comes awake with a sudden inhale. For a moment after Hugh’s eyes open, there’s weariness written on every line in his face, eyes shadowed with exhaustion in a way that goes deeper than the physical. It’s so fleeting that he wonders if he imagined it, because he blinks and then Hugh is giving him the soft smile that belongs to Paul alone.
”…mmmm. Hi love.”
”Hi,” he climbs off the chair and sits on the edge of the coffee table, “have a good nap?”
Hugh’s chest is warm under his palm, vibrant and alive.
”I wasn’t planning to fall asleep,” Hugh murmurs, voice rough with slumber. His hand grabs at the folds of quilt, reeling Paul in for a peck on the lips. It’s an awkward angle, and Hugh releases him before it strains his neck, yawning and stretching.
”Hungry?”
He chuckles when Paul stands and unwraps himself from the quilt, followed by an appreciative hum.
”What?”
”Are you on the menu?”
Oh. Right, naked.
“Err. I was going to shower, but you were asleep.”
Paul grabs Hugh’s outstretched hand and pulls him to his feet, unsurprised when the motion ends with his hands on Paul’s waist.
”I didn’t realize I needed to be conscious for the shower to operate properly.”
Hugh’s smirking, and Paul rolls his eyes.
”Shower with me? Then dinner.”
“Mmm.”
The squeeze of his ass is completely expected, and he shakes his head in mock annoyance.
“Was that a yes?”
Releasing his hips, Hugh guides Paul around by the shoulders and gives him a gentle push towards the bathroom.
“Yes.”
Behind him, he can hear the susurrus of fabric and the swish that means Hugh dropped his clothes on the floor somewhere instead of the laundry pile.
”Make sure you pick u-“
”Yes, babe.”
The shower is full of mist as Hugh joins him, and Paul steps aside to let him stand directly under the spray.
”So how was your day?”
”Fine.”
”Hugh…”
His partner doesn’t turn away, but he does close his eyes briefly, retreating inside for a few moments.
”Can we not, right now? Please.”
Hugh’s not generally one to fall asleep early, and it isn’t hard to guess that it’s more than physical fatigue. That being said, Paul knows pushing won’t get him anywhere, and he nods.
”Okay.”
This kiss is longer than the last, and Hugh finds his hand and squeezes it briefly.
”Thanks.”
He pulls Paul under the water again, leaning out of the way for him to retrieve the shampoo. They wash their hair in silence, and Paul waits until Hugh’s soaping under his arms to speak again.
”Do you want to hear about Adira’s latest idea about making the quantum relays more efficient?”
That earns him a smile as Hugh rinses.
”Do I have a choice, and will you limit the explanation to words of four syllables or less?”
”No,” he pours a handful of water onto Hugh’s shoulder where he missed a few suds, “and…I’ll do my best.”
Fingers muss his wet hair, and he swats them away.
”Quit that, I can’t science if you’re distracting me.”
”Who was it who had an epiphany about mycelial density while I was going down on him?”
Touché.
The mock frown crumbles, and Paul has the grace to look contrite.
”Anyway.”
”I’m listening,” Hugh reaches for conditioner, “…thank you.”
He doesn’t reply out loud, just runs the backs of his fingers over Hugh’s cheek.
”So. Adira was working on the quantum relays with Reno, and…”
Letting his mouth tell the story on autopilot, he can focus on the last of the tightness draining from Hugh’s shoulders as he complains about Reno meddling with his power supply. He sees the tension around his mouth relax while he praises Adira’s brilliance (completely deserved), and by the time he winds down on a tangent about comming Tilly, the shower cycle ends. They dry off and pull on pajamas, sitting down for a quiet dinner.
One day at a time, he thinks, the little things still matter.
Notes:
The visual of Paul with his legs tucked up comes from watching the Disco Does DnD streams where it always seems like Anthony is pulling his feet up onto the chair with him :D
This story got away from me and visited more places than originally intended, but I’m not mad about it.
Chapter 464: Smash
Summary:
What was Tilly thinking about after she and Admiral Vance settled in to watch the end of the world?
Chapter Text
Facing down inevitable death by DMA bombardment isn’t how Tilly expected her life to end. She’s thought about the dangers, of course she has - late nights spent sleepless trying to figure out why she no longer fit - but this is something else. In all of the situations Discovery experienced, the closest sense of finality had been suffocating in the corridor, vision dimming as Owosekun climbed the ladder into the nacelle. Even then, she’d been too focused on planning, scheming, keeping her crew alive to worry about her own until they ran out of oxygen.
She’d told Admiral Vance that she’s satisfied with how her life has turned out, and it’s mostly true. Two years in nine hundred, really, and Cadet Tilly feels both close at hand and impossibly far away. There’s so much she’s seen and done, and today she couldn’t be more proud of her cadets for mastering their own fear and saving others.
Tilly’s found her purpose, but holds two unvoiced regrets. One is not knowing the fate of her family on Discovery. She takes another sip from the flask, grimacing a bit at the burn. Vance is staring out the viewport in silence, and she looks out, down onto the Earth. Here and there a few more small vessels struggle past the debris, rising on thrusters from Earth’s orbit. Their sublight engines might be enough to outrun the edge of the DMA’s destruction, but they’re likely too late to survive unless another passing ship takes them aboard…and there aren’t any warp-capable ships left. The second regret of not being able to save everyone wars with the knowledge that they’ve done everything they could in the face of impossible odds.
Kobayashi Maru.
She thinks about Michael, fearlessly steering Discovery towards the galactic barrier. Thinks about all the lessons she learned, as many in the straining of their friendship as when it felt strongest.
She thinks about Paul, his scientific mind outmatched only by his capacity to love, remembers a man broken by grief only to be borne up in joy so fierce that there aren’t words. Thinks about going from scared cadet to where they are now, knowing unspoken that he cares about her more than he’ll ever say.
She thinks about Adira, and hopes they’re safe because they’re the first person Tilly had to mentor and they’re so much more than they believe of themself. Thinks about the awkward honesty and watching them grow in confidence, happy that they have Paul and Hugh to look out for them.
She thinks about Hugh’s kind eyes, the way he somehow projects a feeling of safety on his patients. Remembers how he helped her find her own path, the hug he gave her when she departed for the Academy. He and Paul are together, no matter what happens, and she’s satisfied with her own part in their story.
Mostly though, she thinks about her mom. Instead of remembering the arguments and disappointments, she digs past the words and knows with certainty that she was loved. And she stands beside the admiral, facing down her own death secure in the knowledge that she’s made a difference.
Chapter 465: Soundless
Notes:
T’Vala’s back!
Chapter Text
Humans, T’Vala ponders, are far more complex than they appear.
Whereas Vulcans believe in mastery of one’s emotions, humans express them freely. Suppressing them, she’s learned, can lead to mental distress and even physical illness. It’s a disquieting thought, but it also explains much of their behavior.
Her own people order their lives by logic, gathering all available evidence before making a rational decision. To their credit, many humans seem to as well, particularly those in the science and medical fields. Yet even then they may act on impulse or use ‘intuition’ to guide their actions when evidence is insufficient to form a conclusion. She would expect a statistically equitable distribution of outcomes - positive or negative - based on this, and doesn’t understand how they more frequently end up successful.
Hugh, for example, will ‘have a feeling’ with an eighty-three percent chance of correctness so far as she’s observed. For all that he claims to have a null psi-score, it appears otherwise. Tracy had tried to explain, but the gulf between the limits of evidence-based conjecture and a ‘gut feeling’ is vast indeed. More to the point, Tracy’s own predictions have an even higher rate of success that T’Vala can’t tie to any one thing.
Vulcans prize stillness and silence, conditions which provide the optimal environment for meditation and thought. Their own behavior reflects this, no extraneous motion or expression of emotion in body or voice. Humans, however, communicated in varying levels of non-verbal language. She’s had the opportunity to catalogue such items, and the list grows longer and more complex as time passes:
- Pursed lips might signal displeasure, dyspepsia, or the suppression of mirth.
- Smiles could equally display happiness as anger, in combination with the openness of the eyes and tensing or relaxation of the forehead.
- A nod, though widely used across many species as an affirmative gesture, might also denote disagreement if accompanied by silence.
Intriguingly, the non-verbal language between Hugh and his mate seemed to surpass the use of spoken words altogether. She’s witnessed them communicate through the volume of sighs, frequency of blinking, and avoidance or endurance of eye contact. Subtle shifts in their posture signaled an invitation to engage in sexual activities - she’s been certain to learn these to avoid interrupting them when they failed to select a private location - and the placement of Hugh’s hand on Paul’s back appeared to signal his thoughts as well. Even verbal disagreement might be accompanied by a lack of non-verbal signs of hostility.
(“They’re flirting, T’Vala.”
”I fail to understand how Hugh criticizing Paul’s dining etiquette constitutes a positive interaction.”
”They like pretending to argue.”
”For what reason?”
”Have you asked them yourself?”
”Hugh stated that he found Paul to be sexually appealing when displeased. I believe the term he used was ‘hot’.”
”Well, there you go.”
”It is not logical.”
“Love generally isn’t.”)
Her parents, while not critical of her continued associations, do not agree with her assessment of humans. It’s a position which she cannot fault the logic of based on their own limited contact, but equally would seem to deny themselves a fascinating subject of study. Perhaps their own bond enabled the sharing of such things without the need for other communication. Regardless, T’Vala has come to the unfortunate conclusion that they have misjudged the human capacity for many things.
Indeed, human mating bonds might have an equal if different depth. There is some indescribable quality to their eyes when the other is in sight that transcends biological urges and conversation. T’Vala is certain that it means something, but her studies have remained inconclusive.
More observation of Hugh and Paul is the only logical course of action.
Chapter 466: Splash
Summary:
Lazy mornings are the best.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s been a lazy day off where they haven’t even bothered to dress, although he’s currently shirtless due to a careless splash of coffee. Hugh seemed well-pleased with the turn of affairs (and his wide-eyed apology for accidentally bumping Paul’s elbow was just a bit too sincere) and snuggled himself up to his side to 'keep him warm' despite it being a comfortable temperature. As Paul read, he’d traced idle fingers over his chest, petted his stomach, nuzzled his shoulder, and generally radiated contentment.
“…pppthhhehhh.”
Paul sets down his PADD and focuses on the man half-draped over him, rewinding the last several minutes to see what, exactly, led to Hugh making that noise. Looking at him now, he barely controls a chuckle at the expression of betrayal on Hugh’s face.
”Did I miss something?”
”-hair,” Hugh pouts, sticking his tongue out, “hmmphh.”
”What did you expect?”
”Bleh,” Hugh complains swiping the back of his hand over his mouth.
”Why, exactly, did you decide to lick my arm?”
A shrug.
”Why not?”
”Because you’ve had fifteen years to realize it’s not exactly hair-free?”
“Hmmphh.”
"Well? Do I need to kiss it and make it better?"
Hugh pretends to ponder, mock-frown wavering at the edges.
"Yes."
Shaking his head fondly, Paul pushes up off the sheets and rolls Hugh onto his back. He goes willingly, smiling as Paul leans over him and slips a hand between his head and the pillow to hold him at just the right angle. The kiss is unhurried, small sounds of satisfaction escaping with each breath, until at last they separate.
"If I go back to reading are you going to lick me again?"
"Will it get me another kiss?"
It's not necessary to ask because he knows the answer full well, but that's not how this game is played.
"What if I said no?"
"I'd think of something else."
"You could just ask."
Hugh hands him his PADD back and winks.
"Where's the fun in that?"
Notes:
Fluffity fluff fluff fluff.
Chapter 467: Swirl
Summary:
Hugh during a first contact mission.
Notes:
Set during the several months between Season Three and Four.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The touch on the back of his hand is cool and unyielding, but a trickle of warmth seems to flow into his fingers.
"A Reflected One!" the universal translator puts an excited tone to the guttural words, "you honor us with your presence."
"...pardon?" Hugh blinks, polite doctor's smile still in place.
The planet’s leader shuffles side to side, wings unfurling before folding closed again.
"You are a Reflected One, yes? You have a Mirror?"
The emphasis is clear, although he's not sure what it means. The beings assembled around them wait with a sense of excitement projected in the swirling colors of their skin.
"I mean no disrespect, and seek to understand what you mean. A Mirror?"
"Yes, yes. You have an...other. Who shares your life."
Oh.
"Yes, I have a partner."
The being’s skin goes from turquoise to orange, and he has an odd sense of uncertainty in the change.
"Perhaps this word does not translate? This is not a compatriot alone.”
Hugh tries again.
”I have a mate.”
”Many will mate,” comes the response, “it is not needed for procreation. You have a one whose self resonates in harmony without dissonance. Your existence is more full. Your essence is bright."
"What a beautiful way to describe it," he murmurs.
“So you are a Reflected One?”
“Yes. We call that love.”
The being sways in place, a rich sunset purple mixed with gold.
”You are welcome to our home. Your…Federation. Come, we have much to discuss.”
Notes:
Not the sturdiest of plots, but my sleep-deprived brain says it works. Can’t go to bed yet, because the Strange New Worlds premiere should be available in an hour and a half.
Chapter 468: Strangest (New Worlds)
Notes:
**MINOR SPOILERS FOR STRANGE NEW WORLDS SEASON ONE EPISODE ONE**
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
”…oh. Huh.”
Paul surfaces from the simulation he’s running at Adira’s voice. They’ve been silent other than assorted muttering while waiting for their own sims to stop processing, but he can’t tell if that’s a positive or negative reaction
”Hmm?”
”They named a ship after you.”
He blinks, thoughts screeching to a halt at the complete non sequitur.
“What?”
”A shuttle I mean. Umm. It says here, Captain Pike returned to the Enterprise by the new Discovery-class shuttle Stamets.”
Paul turns to face them, aware of his mouth hanging open in a way that probably looks like a landed fish.
”Sorry, what?”
Adira steps aside, and very familiar face appears floating over their console. The man in the file photo is identical to their erstwhile Captain, but there’s something about him that’s different. Pike could be stern and solemn, and yet this is something more. His eyes seem haunted and lines of pain or strain bracket his mouth, ones Paul is intimately familiar with from his own not-so-distant past. Paul hopes it’s not Discovery’s uncertain future that put them there.
“…Tilly said-“ Adira clears their throat, fingers fussing with the edge of their jacket, “she said Captain Pike was like Admiral Vance, and she really admired him. And so I wanted to, umm, learn more about him.”
Leaving aside the part where they apparently decided to commemorate him via shuttle (and isn’t Hugh going to have a field day with that?), he shakes his head to refocus.
”You could just ask,” he makes sure his tone is inviting rather than reproachful, “I’m sure people would tell you.”
”I thought it might be awkward? Or…painful.”
Adira’s console chirps completion.
”Let’s wrap this up and get lunch, hmm?”
They nod, collapsing down the file and calling the simulation back up.
”Maybe…is he a good memory for you? Captain Pike, I mean.”
Paul smiles.
”I think he is for most people.”
Notes:
I rewound to make sure I heard that right, didn’t I? Heck of an Easter egg in a pilot *full* of them.
Still processing, but I can tell I’m going to love this show (I mean, Pike is Starfleet at its best). I’ll be very interested in them fleshing out Christine Chapel’s role, I’m intrigued by Spock and T’Pring’s backstory (it does make sense), and I didn’t remember Kirk’s brother being Starfleet but I also don’t think it was specifically addressed in Operation: Annihilate! either.
Chapter 469: Strain
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
They're having a very...exciting moment, as Tracy had once deemed it.
The sex they have is always good, although lately it's mostly been lazy and sweet. Not that Hugh has any complaints with that at all, but a deeper hunger propelled him to turn their snuggling and goodnight kiss into something else entirely. He has Paul bent over the foot of the bed, elbows braced and handfuls of sheet moving beneath him with the enthusiasm of Hugh's thrusts. Paul's shirt is pushed halfway up his back, dark with sweat in patches and heavily rumpled. His own pants are still tangled around his ankles, and he pauses long enough to kick them off before resuming.
His love has been eagerly meeting every move, moaning and cursing into the duvet, and he can't resist the urge to be somehow even closer despite the very physical nature of their connection. Releasing his grip on Paul's hips, he falls forward until his own hands meet the mattress, chest pressed to Paul's back in all its damp deliciousness. Hugh licks the side of his neck, leaning in for Paul to twist his head around to share a messy kiss that's more tongue than anything else. Grinning, he hooks a hand around Paul's left thigh, hiking it and his knee onto the mattress beside them and opening him up further.
At least, that's the intent until Paul stiffens beneath him and cries out in a way that's most decidedly not erotic ecstasy.
"-fuck! Oww- Hugh, I..."
Lust-addled or not, he's in tune with Paul enough to read his body language even as the words slowly penetrate the fog glazing his eyes and freezes immediately.
"...sweetheart?"
Paul's chest is heaving, and he lets go of the sheets to swat at the arm attached to the hand holding his leg up.
"Can't..."
Hugh releases his thigh, pushing up to take his weight off Paul's back and pulling out. As he straightens on his own shaky legs, concern rapidly replaces every other feeling when Paul remains unmoving save for clutching at his left hip.
"Paul?"
"Help," Paul sounds like he's gritting his teeth as he pants, "fuck. Can't turn over."
Oh hell.
Chagrined, Hugh moves to support his left leg, gently easing it back down before carefully lifting Paul's lower body onto the bed and helping him roll onto his back. He's already reaching for the nightstand to retrieve his tricomm and scan, but Paul catches his wrist.
"It's fine."
He's not at all sure that's the case, but lets Paul draw him down next to him, running a soothing hand over his hip and thigh.
"I'm sorry love," he murmurs, "not bending that way anymore?"
Blue eyes open at last, and Paul manages a rueful grimace.
"S'not that. Well, today apparently is. Spent three hours crawling around a Jefferies tube today, so..." he flaps a hand in a vague gesture, "yeah."
Hugh kisses his forehead, rubbing the protesting muscles more firmly now that he's sure it won't do further harm.
"I forgot, I'm sorry."
He leaves the bed just long enough to retrieve a damp towel from the bathroom, giving them both a cursory wipedown before settling at Paul's side again. Hugh kisses the aggrieved body part and does a quick scan to confirm that it really is only a minor strain, no lasting damage done.
"Well," Paul sighs, "that's one way to ruin the fun. One of the joys of being fifty?"
"I was going to say occupational hazard. Was it bothering you earlier?"
A head shake.
"No, I wasn't thinking about it either."
He cradles Paul's cheek with his hand, thumb stroking the still-flushed skin.
"Did you want me to...?"
It's a sign of how well they know each other that the vague question doesn't need explaining. Exhaling, Paul turns his head to kiss his palm, and gives him a wry smile.
"I'm okay. Do you want to finish?"
Hugh glances down and back up again.
"Nah."
They peel off sweaty pajama shirts and climb under the covers, Paul moving more slowly than usual, and he waits for him to get comfortable before cuddling closer.
"Sor- mmmphh."
The kiss that cuts him off is firm.
"I love you, dear doctor. Quit apologizing."
"I love you too."
"Sleep?"
"Sleep."
Notes:
Originally I thought about making it humorous (falling off the bed), but ended up taking it in a more serious direction that I think works better.
Chapter 470: Stillness
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh loves that Paul loves to cuddle.
Clothed or unclothed, sleepy or awake, post-coital or innocent, he eagerly snuggles into Hugh’s arms or hugs him tightly.
Everything else seems to slow around them, time stretching out into the rhythm of their breathing.
Sweetness.
Stillness.
Stolen moments.
Paul’s scent, warm and welcoming.
Home.
The universe is vast beyond measure, but it doesn’t come close to the space set aside in his heart for Paul’s love.
Notes:
Sleep deprived and stressed with work, needed Culmets therapy.
Chapter 471: Swan (Song)
Summary:
Hugh’s thoughts at the bitter end.
Notes:
Throwback (way back) to “Saints of Imperfection”.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“We’ll find another way.”
Paul’s eyes are full of conviction, his voice firm. Hugh wants so badly to believe him - does believe him - but they’re out of time.
“You’re devoted to creation,” he cradles Paul’s face in his hands, filthy palms against creamy skin, “to life.”
The smile is unbidden, bittersweet but true as he continues, a condemned man’s final plea. It tugs his lips in strange ways, because he can’t remember the last time he felt anything but pain and despair.
”And there are a million reasons to love you, but that’s mine. Please don’t ruin that for me.”
Even if the network doesn’t destroy itself, even if he could convince Paul to leave him, he knows he won’t survive. Can’t survive, the shredded remnants of his heart too few if he has to send Paul away again.
Better to die like this, he thinks, with Paul’s arms around him. Better to make peace and give up the last of himself while in Paul’s embrace, his hair tickling Hugh’s cheek and his tears hot on his neck. He holds on fiercely, trying to convey all of the things that are unspoken between them.
The touch of the jahSepp is like a thousand tiny white-hot needles, but he endures it without complaint. He hopes Paul will forgive him for his own anguish that Hugh’s causing, for this final comfort.
“I love you,” he whispers, “so much. Goodbye, sweetheart.”
He’s about to draw back, arms loosening just enough, to claim one final kiss. It doesn’t matter if there’s witnesses, because the universe has always shrunken down to just the two of them when it matters most. And maybe Paul will give him a last smile, something beautiful to take with him into oblivion-
“-wait a minute!”
Notes:
Rewatching this episode because reasons (getting back into the mindset to edit When Sorrow Turns to Joy), and I had to revisit this scene yet again. Since we don’t technically see Hugh’s face the whole time he’s hugging Paul, there’s nothing in canon to say he didn’t whisper something in his ear…
Chapter 472: Stretch
Notes:
Filthy hot Culmets sexytimes. Contains very light bondage and toys.
Chapter Text
While Paul’s regrettably lost the ability to let Hugh push his knees all the way to his shoulders, Hugh’s stayed flexible. He’d always maintained his body in good (perfect) condition, but this new body is even more…bendy.
Case in point, Hugh’s thighs are currently splayed wide, head resting on the pillow where Paul eased him down from kneeling on the bed. Paul’s original plan of tying his hands to the headboard screeched to full stop when, instead of straightening his legs, Hugh simply laid back with calves still folded under his thighs and tucked his fingers under his own ankles. The lazy smile combined with an eager light in his eyes robbed even more blood from Paul’s brain as it all rushed downwards in a resounding clamor of desire.
“Sweetheart,” comes the husky entreaty, “please…”
Resisting the urge to replace silicone with himself is a monumental challenge, but Paul knows that it would all be over far too quickly.
Forget being older and lasting longer.
Since there’s absolutely no reason not to, he gropes sculpted abdominal muscles and kneads at Hugh’s chest. Hugh could be an erotic offering to some deity like this, ankles alongside his hips and no sign of discomfort or strain beyond putting his body on display for his partner. He squirms when Paul gives the base of the toy lodged deep inside of him a few playful taps, erection bouncing as he thrusts upwards seeking some sort of friction.
”Touch me, please.”
Instead of responding out loud, Paul leisurely nibbles his way up one stretched quadricep, sucking yet another mark over the crest of Hugh’s left hip. He gives the straining evidence of arousal a friendly lick on his way past, repeating the actions in reverse until his chin is resting on Hugh’s right knee.
“Paul…”
The frustrated growl only highlights how tightly Hugh’s gripping his own ankles, quick-release cord unneeded on the sheets beside them. They’ve been at this a while, and Hugh must be even more worked up than it looks if he’s using Paul’s name. It’s not a sign to stop, but he recognizes the implied request for what it is. While their games sometimes involved teasing denial and the other’s enjoyment of it, they never cross the line into cruel.
“Shhh,” he pets Hugh’s hip, leaning forward to kiss him gently, “okay.”
Acknowledgment accepted, tension transforms into anticipation and then an appreciative sigh when Paul strokes him properly. Hugh’s delightfully hard in his mouth, sweet stickiness leaking onto Paul’s tongue as his squirming shifts the toy against the thumb Paul has firmly pressed to it. His moans blend with Paul humming his enjoyment, sweat glossing Hugh’s stomach as it flexes with every upward thrust.
”Fuck- mmmhhhh, sweetheart, your mouth…”
He ruts into the bed as he sucks, giving himself a little relief. Paul waits until he has Hugh trembling on the edge of release, then lets him slip from between his lips with a pop. Before the surprised noise can turn into a protest, he pushes the button on the controller concealed in his hand.
Here we go.
The wait - not to mention his own ignored tented pants - is worth it, because the vibrator buzzes to life right as Hugh inhales, and the ragged, wordless cry he gives when Paul dials it up to high makes his aching groin throb. Hugh’s back bows upwards in an arc off the sweaty sheets, fingers releasing his ankles to clench into fists that pound the mattress. His eyes are glazed and unfocused, mouth wide open as he comes so hard that the gleaming ribbons land on his chest.
He’s so beautiful.
“…fuck me- please…”
Paul can’t think of a single reason to refuse the invitation. Biting his lip, he wiggles the still-buzzing toy out, tossing it and the controller carelessly onto the floor where it rolls under the bed. Hugh’s pliant beneath him in that post-climax way, limbs loose as Paul unfolds his legs and hauls them over his shoulders. There’s a brief delay when he realizes his pants are still on, waistband catching as he yanks them down just far enough. Thankfully, there’s plenty of slick already, enough that it’s one delicious slide until he can’t go any deeper.
Hugh’s not tight around him (courtesy of the toy and the orgasm), but it hardly matters when he’s still shaking with aftershocks, all gasping breaths and slightly vacant smile. Luckily for Paul’s back, it doesn’t take more than a minute to come, moaning into Hugh’s mouth as he does. Hugh’s recovered enough to lay a hand on the back of his neck, guiding Paul’s head down to his shoulder as coherent thought abandons him.
When his brain reconnects with his body, he realizes he still has one of Hugh’s legs pinned beneath his weight. His partner isn’t complaining, but he untangles his arm and lets him lower it before burying his face in Hugh’s neck again. He smells like clean sweat and sex, intoxicating.
”Mmmm,” Hugh murmurs against his temple an indeterminate amount of time later, “that was so good.”
They both laugh as the sticky mess between their chests squelches when he pushes up on his elbows. Hugh’s eyes are heavy-lidded with satisfaction, and he sighs as Paul disengages to flop boneless on the cool sheets beside him.
”Liked it?”
Hugh runs a finger across his collarbone, wiping the evidence on Paul’s arm.
”Don’t ask stupid questions, Doctor Stamets.”
Paul huffs a chuckle, slinging that arm over Hugh’s waist and cuddling into his side.
”I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
”When did you replicate that- it’s a new one, right?”
He kisses a clean patch of skin, nodding.
”While you were walking around after we showered, complaining to Tracy about being on gamma. Good thing she was audio-only.”
“She’s seen worse.”
“True.”
The sweat is starting to cool on their overheated bodies, Hugh’s heart slowing beneath his cheek.
”I need to look at the database, we’ve missed nine hundred years of sex toys.”
“Speaking of…” he rolls onto his back, hand sweeping along the floor until his fingers bump into the controller and switching it off, “that’s better.”
”We are definitely doing that again.”
Hugh’s damp towel is still crumpled on the floor, and he retrieves it to wipe them off before they’ll end up having to change the sheets. It doesn’t quite make it all the way back to the bathroom when he tosses it that direction, but getting up isn’t really an option when Hugh starts playing with his hair. They snuggle closer and Paul orders the lights off, eyes closing.
“Babe.”
The gentle shake of his shoulder rouses him.
”…whuh?”
”You can’t fall asleep yet.”
He stifles a yawn.
”Why not?”
“You’re on my side. And I need a towel.”
Grumbling, he climbs over Hugh and reclaims his pillow. He grabs the neatly folded hand towel off his nightstand, waiting for Hugh to spread it across the sheets beneath him and settle back down.
“Love you.”
Hugh’s lips are warm and familiar, lazy goodnight kisses in contrast to the excitement a few minutes ago.
”Love you too, sweetheart.”
He makes a mental note to actually retrieve the vibrator in the morning before Adira shows up for breakfast, nuzzles Hugh’s neck, and slips into well-earned sleep.
Chapter 473: Sentinel
Notes:
Set during early Season Four, after the events of “Kobayashi Maru” and its aftermath described in Chapters 357, 359, 365 (Survivor’s Guilt) and 366 (Snickerdoodles).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
32nd century uniforms might be much less form-fitting and more forgiving than their 900 year old predecessors, but it’s still a relief to pop the collar open and unzip his jacket after a long day. Hugh’s already working his arms out of the sleeves when the door swishes shut behind him, eager for a shower and hopefully cuddling Paul even if his partner is still pulling late nights reading DMA data.
At least he’s doing it in bed.
”Hi babe,” he calls, tugging the jacket off, “how was yo-“
”Shhhhh!”
Being shushed isn’t high on the list of responses he expected. He tosses the garment into the laundry pile before turning around, and finds Paul with a finger up to his own lips. Hugh’s not sure at first what warrants the exaggerated silence, but it falls into place when he realizes that the heap of rumpled fabric beside Paul isn’t just a discarded quilt.
Paul lowers his hand, resting it lightly on Adira’s shoulder as Hugh takes off his boots and makes his way over quietly. He bends to collect a kiss hello, then settles on the arm of the couch in lieu of any room on the cushions for him.
”Sorry,” Paul whispers, “you know they haven’t been sleeping, and…”
Hugh smiles, shaking his head.
”I know. How did you manage…?”
”Tilly left her snickerdoodle recipe in the replicator. Ran sims until they started eating them,” he gestures at the empty plate on the coffee table, “and I think i managed to bore them to sleep.”
There’s a fond affection shining in Paul’s eyes as he speaks, and Hugh leans down to kiss his cheek.
”I knew you weren’t just pretty.”
Paul huffs a laugh at the long-standing tease, resting his head against Hugh’s stomach. He ruffles Paul’s hair, fingers massaging gentle circles as he watches him keep an eye on Adira. They’re curled up on the cushions, legs tucked up and feet just peeking out past the quilt.
“Hungry?”
”Mmm. Yeah. But…”
Adira sighs, stuffing their face further into the throw pillow butted up to Paul’s hip.
”How long?”
”Hour, maybe.”
Much as he would love to have Paul crawl into bed with him, he’s not about to make his partner disturb Adira when they’ve been running themself ragged. On the other hand, they appear to be deeply asleep, not stirring even as Paul shifts his weight and they’re no longer quite whispering.
”Hang on.”
He stretches over and retrieves another pillow from the lounge chair, then hands it to Paul and stands up.
”Hugh?”
Without replying out loud, Hugh slowly works his hand between Paul’s thigh and the pillow Adira’s using, until he’s supporting them with his forearm. Paul catches on immediately, edging his way off the cushions and making a noise of discomfort as his knee pops audibly.
“Okay?”
A nod with a slight grimace, but Paul doesn’t voice another complaint, using the second pillow to prop up the first at the same angle. They both watch as Hugh carefully withdraws his arm, identical exhales of relief when Adira sleeps on.
”Come on,” he catches Paul’s hand and tugs, “shower. Food. Bed.”
Paul chews his lip briefly, clearly weighing the need to stay and keep an eye on them against his own body’s needs. Eventually, he nods again and lets Hugh lead him away. They pause at the dresser to take clothes with them into the bathroom (Adira’s still vaguely scandalized seeing them in any form of undress), then the door shuts with a hiss.
He takes the opportunity to pull Paul into his arms for a proper hug, feeling some of the stress recede just a little.
“So,” he closes his eyes, breathing in deeply, “tell me about your day.”
Notes:
There’s a lot going on in the world right now, but at the same time, life ticks by in a mundane way each day. I know it’s a drastic shift from the last chapter (because who can resist the two of them bantering while screwing themselves senseless?), and I hope this snippet brings you as much of a sense of peace as writing it did for me.
Chapter 474: Scratchy
Notes:
Dialogue-only.
Chapter Text
“What are you in the mood for for dinner?”
”You.”
”Wha- oh. Ohhh.”
”Mmhmm.”
”What’s got you all…”
”Horny?”
”I was going to say excited.”
”Your voice.”
”My voice?”
”Yeah.”
”I sound terrible. Scratchy.”
”No, you sound sexy.”
”Being allergic to Adira’s Ran’thalion orchid isn’t sexy.”
”I beg to differ.”
”If you say so.”
”Babe, you sound like you do after you’ve been sucking my dick.”
”-huh.”
”Yeah.”
”Well. In that case, dear doctor… what did you have in mind?”
”Naked dinner.”
”Are we skipping straight to dessert?”
”Mmm. I was thinking, your balls, my chi- err. Hi Trace.”
”I’d tell you two to keep the eye-fucking to your own quarters, but we all know that’s not going to happen.”
”Ummm.”
”I’ll finish the files, Hugh. Shoo. Go…do things you absolutely will not tell me about later.”
”Going.”
”Night Trace.”
Chapter 475: Startle
Summary:
What finally convinced Adira to stop letting themself into Paul and Hugh's quarters unnannounced?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul's on Hugh's lap, right hand curved behind his neck as they kiss slow and sweet. Hugh's palm is warm and a little damp where it's pressed to Paul's left, fingers laced together and squeezing with the rhythm of their kiss. The covers are half kicked down, tangled over Hugh's thighs where he's straddling them. They might be an impediment later depending on where things go, but for now he's content to use them to keep his partner exactly where he wants him. Hugh's other hand is squeezing his ass rather more tightly than his fingers, but Paul isn't complaining.
Not one bit.
The kiss roams a little, over cheeks and chins and nibbles down the side of Paul's neck, squirming when Hugh's tongue tickles the delicate skin inside his upper lip. His eyes are closed, but he can feel Hugh smiling against his mouth, chests pressed together with each breath. Hugh's beard keeps catching on his day-off stubble, sending delicious pinpoints of sensation with every move. He smells like their soap and the faintest traces of cologne, and really, as far as evenings go, this one is pretty close to perfect.
Hugh hums happily into the kiss, pulling back for air and resting their foreheads together.
"Mmmmm."
"Mmmm?"
Kissing the tip of Paul's nose, he smiles.
"Mmmhmm."
Paul untangles their fingers, swiping at the dampness on Hugh's chin before walking them down across Hugh's stomach and dropping to tug at the hem of his shirt.
"Off."
The swish of fabric hitting the floor is followed by the delightful feeling of velvet-over-steel as Hugh flexes each muscle beneath his wandering hand.
"Yeah?"
"Obviously," he bends to lick the notch of Hugh's collarbone, "mmmmm."
Hugh's left hand flirts with the hem of Paul's shirt at the small of his back before migrating beneath and down the back of his pajama pants. It's not quite an invitation for more - his fingers are kneading rather than caressing - and he's content to walk the line between playful and suggestive a while longer.
Swish.
"Hey guys, I- umm. Okay. Wow."
Beneath him, Hugh makes a noise that's half sigh and half groan.
"Adira."
He also doesn't move his hand. Rather, his right arm comes up to circle Paul's waist and hold him in place as his stomach flip-flops between the satisfaction of making out with Hugh and chagrin mixed with a strong urge to facepalm.
"You know," Hugh tips his head to the side, "I'm pretty sure we had the Do Not Disturb sign up."
"The what?"
Thirty-second century. Right.
Turning, he can see Adira's cheeks flaming pink, eyes wide, and concern overrides the momentary annoyance at being interrupted.
"Is everything okay?"
Adira is busy looking anywhere except at them.
"..what? No, yes, I..."
"The door was orange," he adds, "wasn't it?"
"Yeah. I'll just- go...sorry! Sorry."
They gesture over their shoulder, spin on one heel, and are gone before either of them can say anything else.
"I don't know how people with kids do it," Hugh chuckles, "you know?"
It's an effort to keep his expression neutral.
"I'm pretty sure they do it the same way the rest of us do."
Hugh lets go of his waist to swat his ass.
"I meant with the interruptions."
He drops his head to rest on a bare shoulder, laughing quietly.
"Think they'll finally stop doing that?"
"I mean, we did give them their own code to use instead of overriding the door every time."
"At least we weren't naked."
"I'm not sure which of you would be more embarrassed."
"Oh, me. Definitely."
He has two seconds of feeling Hugh tense beneath him before the room spins on its axis and he finds himself flat on his back on the sheets looking up at the ceiling and Hugh's pleased smile.
"Now, where were we?"
Notes:
475 chapters - I can't believe it! I appreciate every comment and kudos and THANK YOU for all of the amazing support.
One of the things I love most about Culmets is their ability to have a secondary conversation through look and touch, and here, through single words and sounds.
Read part two in Chapter 540.
Chapter 476: Sway
Notes:
Takes place after the end of Season Four. References Paul and Hugh's reunion in Chapter 174 ("Saved") following his rescue from the nebula, and a conversation between Detmer and Hugh in Chapter 441 ("Span, Part Three").
Chapter Text
The lounge is full, an ensign whose name Keyla can't remember playing classic Earth music to the delight of Discovery's crew.
"Is it me, or are Stamets and Doctor C even more...you know?"
She raises her eyebrows and shrugs, eyes tracking the pair as they dance together beside the piano. They sway back and forth, Stamet's hand on the small of Dr. Culber's back guiding them around other couples.
"It's sweet," Joann offers, "like before."
But it really isn't exactly like before, when they had the Klingon war nipping at their heels. The way she'd seen them interact sometimes had an air of desperate shelter, hiding from the reality that threatened them all. Even after their jump to the future, after Stamets lost that broken look in his eyes, she'd thought they were different somehow. Re-learning each other maybe, but it seemed like they were connected more deeply in the looks and tiny touches she saw them exchange.
(After they defeated Osyraa, she remembers how Stamets' fingers dug into Dr. Culber's back while they hugged before the bridge crew's debrief began and he was shooed out, the way he was shaking and had to be practically pried off his partner by Dr. Pollard. Keyla doesn't share that with anyone though, because it feels private somehow.)
The DMA weighed on everyone, including Dr. Culber. Keyla didn't realize it until they were on their way out of the galaxy, the fact that he spent all of his time listening and helping others that she wondered if he saved anything for himself. Then she was too busy navigating the spatial cells to give it more thought, forgot it almost until now.
"Stamets was pretty...that was too close of a call on the dilithium planet," Rhys stirs his drink thoughtfully, "think about it, how many times they've almost lost each other."
Joann leans back in her chair, expression thoughtful.
"The universe owes them a break. All of us," she laughs.
Dr. Culber's head is resting on Stamets' shoulder, arms holding each other in a way that conveys comfort and safety so clearly that she bites her lip to push down the surge of feeling reminiscent of the swirl of emotion she'd felt on the 10-C's doomed homeworld. Keyla remembers asking Dr. Culber if that's how he felt about Stamets, if that all-encompassing sense of rightness and care and quiet joy was love. She understands now, why it feels different.
"Yeah," she shakes her head, smiling before Jo and Rhys notice anything odd, "it really does."
Chapter 477: Sabotage
Chapter Text
Stamets’ gentle chiding could have felt condescending, but instead it feels like they’ve been taken into confidence, given a taste of a secret that’s too fleeting. Now that they’re not touching his ‘life’s work’, there’s a warmth to his eyes, a gentleness about a man who looked like he was itching to physically remove Adira from the weird isolation cube. He’s taller than Adira (everyone is), but not physically imposing, seemingly patiently waiting for them to reply.
Adira’s heart is pounding in their ears, bluster and fear at Stamets discovering their sabotage turned to an almost impossible excitement. This ship, this crew…there’s something different about them, more than piloting a 900-year old starship with actual physical interfaces. They want to know more, to figure out what it is that creates a bizarre instinctual desire to trust.
“Are there others like you?”
His lips quirk into a smile with an edge of sadness to it.
”There’s no one like me.”
“…they’re really something.”
Despite the oddly comforting weight of Paul’s jacket, they’re more awake than asleep at that. They can’t quite remember what he and Hugh were saying, but there’s a sort of pride when he looks at them that they’ve only ever seen him direct at Tilly.
Adira isn’t sure what to do with that feeling, and it wanders off on its own when they have to focus on keeping their eyes open long enough to find a turbolift and make it to bed.
Hugh’s more free with physical affection with everyone, hugs and shoulder squeezes and a sort of radiating warmth in his proximity. Paul’s much the same - but only with Hugh. There’s an awkwardness that Adira is completely familiar with, but it wears away between them little by little until they can’t remember why it was even there to begin with.
“…I will always reach for you if it seems you’re hurting. My dad never did that for me. So, uhhh, I might do it a little extra for you.”
Paul’s voice goes a little funny, a hesitation that’s not discomfort so much as…well, actually Adira isn’t quite sure what it is. It does, however, match the strange fluttery feeling in their stomach when they’re almost asleep on the couch after the mission is over and Discovery’s crew has saved Earth, when he covers them with a quilt and kisses the top of their head.
No, Adira thinks, there really isn’t anyone else like Paul.
Chapter 478: Stratus
Chapter Text
Thud.
“-oww!”
Hugh sets down his washcloth. Leaning to the left, he can just see Paul’s reflection rubbing his elbow with a scowl.
”You okay, babe?”
The monosyllabic response has a distinctly uncharitable tone, although it’s standard variety Stamets irritability that he struggles not to smile at.
“It’s not funny,” Paul’s reflected backside disappears, presumably towards the bed, “that hurt.”
Biting his lip, Hugh schools his face into a neutral expression and turns to leave the bathroom. On the way out, he gently deflects the chair Paul must have collided with, setting it firmly on the deck and reinitializing the magnetic clamp holding it in place.
“I wasn’t laughing,” he soothes, “want me to kiss it better?”
”Ugh. I hate this. Hurry up so I can activate the micro-grav.”
Paul’s grumble emerges from under the covers, and Hugh can’t help grinning at the slightly ridiculous circumstances. The fluffy duvet now billows cloud-like over the bed, one hand visible clasping it around Paul’s shoulders where he floats several inches above the mattress. His other hand is busy holding the pillow, but releases it to grip the headboard instead.
“It could be worse.”
A blue eye appears amidst the linens.
“Really.”
“Well,” Hugh pushes off the partition and drifts the last few feet, “we could be stuck in zero-G without the micro-grav. Or the three-G’s from before Reno took the whole system offline.”
They’ve secured all the breakables in case gravity goes back to normal overnight, and Hugh’s honestly more amused than anything. It’s been years since his last training, and the feeling of weightlessness is just as exhilarating and freeing as he remembers. Paul, on the other hand, seems determined to be cranky about it.
”Don’t remind me.”
He reaches his destination, bringing his forward motion to a stop courtesy of a foot hooked beneath the edge of the bed. A tug on the duvet spins Paul the rest of the way around, momentum bumping him against Hugh’s chest.
”There you are,” he wraps both arms around his partner, “hi.”
Paul’s still holding the headboard, frowning at the mess of floating sheets.
”I swear Reno’s doing it on purpose.”
Having treated the bruised kneecap she’d sustained from a heavy-grav collision with a console, Hugh’s nearly positive that isn’t the case, although he can tell Paul isn’t serious.
”I didn’t think it would bother you this much.”
“…hmph. It doesn’t, I just…missed showering.”
Cranky or not, he doesn’t object when Hugh gently untethers them from the bed, kissing Paul’s palm and setting them spinning together slowly. He does have a point - a water shower in these conditions would have been impractical - with the sonics never quite feeling like a proper clean.
”Would have made a mess.”
Still, after a long day, he knows Paul was probably looking forward to winding down with a steam shower and giving Hugh big innocent eyes until he offered to scrub his back (impossible tonight, lest someone end up with an elbow to the face).
”I know.”
The kiss following that statement lingers as they continue rotating, nothing to hinder their motion. It’s a novel sensation, really, to see their quarters all at wrong-angles and Paul’s hair floating in a staticky halo.
“Mmm,” he nibbles at Paul’s lower lip, “you know…”
”Hmmm?”
He scratches at the exposed skin on Paul’s lower back, enjoying the pleased sigh.
“Ever wondered about having sex in zero-G?”
“Hugh- argh!”
The swat Paul directs at his ass is hardly forceful, but it transfers enough momentum that they start to drift apart. Hugh catches him before they separate too far, wrapping his legs around Paul's waist.
“Think about it. No ridiculous worrying about squashing me, or a bad angle. We could go down on each other,” he nuzzles at a pale throat, “no sore neck. No falling off the bed.”
Paul’s side-eye is definitely the one he uses when he’s trying to pretend he’s not amused.
”That’s because we wouldn’t be on the bed, Hugh.”
Chuckling, he kisses him again.
”True.”
To be fair, the reluctance is actually probably more to do with the shadows under Paul’s eyes and stifled yawn than anything else.
”I’m just teasing, love.”
”Tell you what,” Paul’s lips quirk up, “if we’re still in zero-G when we wake up, we can try?”
”Mmm. Deal.”
He pushes off the ceiling, anchoring them back to the headboard and waiting for Paul to activate the portable micro-gravity generator. There’s a moment of disorientation as his body is reminded of its own weight even at half of normal, but it passes relatively quickly. The covers land more or less back on the mattress as he extends the field around the bed, and they make quick work of putting the sheets and duvet back in some semblance of order. It’s telling how tired Paul actually is that he doesn’t complain about them being tucked in messily, just snuggles into Hugh’s side.
“Love you.”
”Love you too, sweetheart.”
“Nigh- oh.”
”Hmm?”
”Can I still tie you to the headboard in zero-G?”
Huffing a laugh, he wraps the covers around them more securely.
”Whatever you want, love.”
Notes:
No idea where this one came from, but I’m not mad at it.
Chapter 479: Shapeshift, Part Twenty Four
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Paul, I’m fine.”
The disbelieving look coming from a cat ought to be jarring in its familiarity, but he takes comfort in that in the midst of the last few days. In his lap, Paul’s tail twitches back and forth, the tip thudding against his side as his partner stares at the tricorder data hovering between them. More specifically, at Hugh’s vital signs and the medical scan results. He’s tempted to say staring at them won’t change his injuries, but there’s no point to adding any additional frustration.
You have a concussion and your knee is broken, that’s not fine.
“A minor concussion,” he catches Paul’s tail as it thumps his thigh, “and yeah, my knee really hurts like hell, but it’s not as bad as a broken ankle.”
So far, he’s refused the suggestions that he rejoin Adira and Tilly as they try yet again to clear the blockage, insisting that he needs to keep an eye on Hugh. Not that he necessarily wants his partner in his fragile cat body to be climbing around precarious piles of twisted duranium, but the hyper focus on Hugh’s vitals isn’t helpful either.
Eventually though, she and Adira admit defeat for the time being, coming to sit beside him. He gives them a tight smile, wrapping his right arm around Adira’s shoulders and tucking them against his side. It strains his hip again and leans on his bruised ribs, but the added warmth for them both is nice. The section’s grown chilly with malfunctioning environmental controls, Tilly wearing her jacket again at his insistence despite her claims of staying warm through activity. Adira huffs as Paul climbs over Hugh’s knee and curls up in their lap instead, pressing himself to their stomach in what Hugh is certain Paul will deny is parental comfort.
“Come on,” he holds his left arm up for Tilly to settle under, “no point in any of us freezing before they get this sorted out.”
He softens his tone with what could be harsh words, and she seems to take it in the dark humor intended. Scooting the last few inches between them, Tilly sighs and folds her arms around her bent knees.
”What a day,” she mutters, “and this isn’t even the weirdest thing that’s ever happened.”
Adira snorts, wrapping their own arms around Paul even as he opens the tricomm interface to say something.
Pretty sure being a cat counts as the weirdest thing ever.
There’s the slightest sound of an inhale that abruptly stops, and Hugh notices Adira’s mouth half open as if they were about to say something. They glance down at Paul again, who has his face in the crook of their elbow, and sigh.
“Adira?”
Their cheeks flush slightly, a vaguely guilty expression in place.
”…what?”
“What we’re you going to say?”
”Mrrrrowww?”
”Umm. I was- well, I was going to ask Paul what it’s like. Being a cat.”
On his other side, Tilly perks up, her frustrated frown smoothing into a look of interest.
”Other than weird?”
Paul stares at them both, ears swiveling as the debris behind them creaks. Then he squirms until Adira loosens their hold enough to free his paws and starts typing.
The lack of opposable thumbs is horrible.
The temperature drops even further over the next twenty minutes, and he mentally detaches just a little, focus turned inwards while the others discuss the merits of human hands. Then it turns to the data they’d been able to glean before whatever mischance had struck, but the effects of the concussion mean he loses track multiple times before giving up. He surfaces again when Paul fluffs his fur - and isn’t Hugh absolutely curious about how that feels for him - for the third time in two minutes. They’ve fallen silent, and he debates whether leaving Paul to keep Adira warm is worth the worry. In the end, he follows his instincts.
”Babe?”
Paul’s ear twitches, and he pulls his face out of the curve of his own front legs. Hugh nods at his own lap, releasing Adira and Tilly to free his arms. For once he’s grateful for the looser uniform cut as he zips Paul partway inside his jacket
Paul squirms as if in protest.
”Too tight?”
A head shake. Part of him worries about cutting off Paul’s means of talking with his badge pressed between them, but he and his partner don’t usually need words to communicate. Case in point, the peevish look doesn’t need any interpretation.
“Do you want to ask Tilly or Adira to keep you warm?”
It’s barely more than a whisper, and while Adira and Tilly side eye him curiously, he’s positive the furry ear he spoke into heard it clearly because Paul stops moving so much. He butts his head up under Hugh’s chin in response, and he can feel the rapid thrum of Paul’s heartbeat against his stomach through the thin fabric of his undershirt. Paws shift, one reaching up to pat at his collarbone before quickly retreating at the draft it lets in.
“Want to try comming again?”
Notes:
Seriously, this was never meant to be quite so long. Once cat!Paul took up residence though, the story just kept on rolling. Am thinking to wrap up this part of the plot and get Paul back to his normal cat-like but human self soon.
Read the other parts at: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22
Chapter 480: Spar
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s nice to see new faces, Keyla thinks.
Not that long ago, she remembers Tilly first coming aboard Discovery as a nervous cadet out to overachieve on everything, perpetually nervous and always in fear of disappointing Stamets. It’s not always easy to reconcile that with the steady calmness Tilly sometimes radiates as an Academy instructor, the tiny flashes of command grown to outshine her uncertainty. Still, Keyla can’t help but be impressed with the batch of newly-graduated cadets Tilly dropped off last week with an air of proprietary pride.
(“Look after them, please?”
She smiles at Keyla, a familiar upward lilt of nervousness peeking through.
”Not like, babysit,” Tilly clarifies, “they’re all great. Just…”
”I know what you meant,” Keyla quirks her lips, “Discovery will take care of them for you.”)
So far they’ve been polite and inquisitive - and young - although she’s not sure she’ll ever get used to people wanting to know about mundane twenty-third century experiences. Then again, they’re as far removed from them as she was from Earth’s medieval period, so it really shouldn’t be that surprising.
Imagine talking to someone before the first combustion engines had been invented and probably would have considered flying to be impossible.
At the moment, she and Owosekun are in the gym, going a few rounds on the punching bag - Joann with a rekindled interest in kickboxing after that mission to retrieve isolinium - when she notices one of Tilly’s kids paying a lot more attention to something besides the free weights he’s nominally lifting.
”Hey,” she murmurs, pointing with her chin, “going to make sure he’s okay.”
Joann nods, and she crosses the few meters between them and the weight bench, stopping a polite distance away but still close enough to catch the bar. The gym’s safeties ought to kick in, but she still can’t quite embrace dependence on that over physical intervention.
”Do you need a spot?”
The ensign’s head jerks her way, and she can see his cheeks color as he sets the bar back on the rack with a clatter.
”No, Commander, uhh…I’m fine?”
”Not on the bridge,” she reminds him, “just call me Detmer. Roberts, right?”
”Yes. Sorry Co- err. Umm.”
”How’s Discovery’s gym compare to the one at the Academy?”
”Good.”
His eyes keep drifting over her shoulder, and she glances in the gym’s mirrored wall to check what he’s looking at.
Huh.
Rhys and Dr. Culber are squaring off for sparring, circling on the mat. Watching practice isn’t the most boring thing, but she doesn’t think it warrants this level of interest or the thoughtful frown.
“They still teach hand-to-hand at the Academy, right?”
He blushes again, and Keyla wonders if she ought to leave him be.
“Yes. I just- never mind.”
She looks up as Joann appears, unwrapping her wrist braces.
”Commander.”
“You don’t have to call me that off duty,” Joann sets down the flexible supports, “did you need a spot?”
Roberts shakes his head and chews his lip, seemingly working up the nerve to say something. Tying her hair back more securely, Keyla smiles at him in what she hopes is a reassuring manner.
“We can go away if you want,” she offers, "don’t worry."
He takes off his own gloves, neatly matching the edges together before pulling them apart again.
“…can I ask you something?”
Ahh.
She shares a look with Joann, wondering what historical event or experience will come up next.
”Sure.”
Keyla hopes it’s not food-related, otherwise she owes Rhys a two-disc advantage the next time they play Velocity.
”Doctor Culber seems nice.”
That’s unexpected.
”Oh, he is. Really nice.”
“He, umm, works out a lot?”
Behind her, she hears the full impact of someone landing on the mat. From the groan, she thinks it might be Rhys.
”Yeah. Did you want to know his routine? Doctor C isn’t scary or anything, I’m sure he’d tell you. Or help.”
Their companion fiddles with a sleeve cuff, coughs, and swallows hard.
“Do you know him pretty well?”
“Not as well as some,” she shrugs, “but sure. I mean, from what I hear, Doctor Pollard’s been his friend since med school.”
”Is he seeing anyone?”
The middle-distance stare that says Joann is only half-listening vanishes, attention now clearly on the very unexpected turn of conversation. There’s no good way to soften the answer, but she’s always been best at being direct.
“He has a partner he’s been with for a long time.”
Keyla resists the urge to add exactly how long that is, mostly because Roberts looks like he’s barely older than that.
“Oh,” the ensign’s face reflects disappointment, before switching to consideration, “well, I suppose that makes sense. Are they…you know, flexible?”
It takes a moment for her to catch onto what he’s asking, not when she’s almost certain that they’ve never looked at anyone else since.
“I don’t-“
Beside her, Joann chokes on the water she’s drinking. The fit of coughing and sputtering draws Dr. Culber’s attention, and he lets go of Rhys’ forearms before jogging over with a concerned frown.
”Hey,” he catches her elbow, “are you okay?”
“I-eckkk, hehhh…hee!”
”Jo-“
”Ackk! Ehehh hehehehe…”
From her flailing hand, Keyla can tell she’s laughing herself silly, but the crying probably looks alarming to anyone else.
”She’s okay,” she assures Dr. Culber, “really.”
He gives her a dubious look, then crouches down in front of Joann, a move that - Keyla is amused to note - draws Roberts' eyes to his backside.
He does have a nice butt.
“…fine, heh, Doc- hee! Doctor. Culber.”
Dr. Culber doesn’t look completely convinced, but explaining the context is sort of out of the question. When he finally lets her shoo him off, she passes over a towel and used a second to mop up the spilled water. Roberts is watching them with the look of someone who’s missed a joke.
”Sir- umm. You-“
”Not,” Joann giggles, “oh, no.”
”Huh?”
Keyla takes pity on the poor confused ensign.
“He’s with Commander Stamets.”
He follows her face over to where Stamets is sitting on a weight bench in off-duty clothing, holodisplay open from his tricomm and obviously reading.
”Him?” Roberts cringes at his own incredulous tone, but it sets Joann off again.
As they watch, Stamets glances up from the figures scrolling past and focuses in on the pair on the mat in front of him. Rhys has Dr. Culber in a leg-lock, and they’re both sweating and making noises of exertion while also grinning. Luckily, Roberts is too busy staring to catch the way Stamets licks his lips when Dr. Culber’s biceps bulge as he grips Rhys’ thigh and tries to pry his legs apart, squirming.
”Give up?” Rhys gasps.
Instead of replying, Dr. Culber’s hand does something behind Rhys’ knee and suddenly Rhys contorts with a bark of laughter.
”Wait…” Joann drops the towel, “did he just tickle him?”
She sounds both impressed and scandalized.
“That’s cheating!”
Rhys doesn’t sound terribly upset.
”Aren’t you always telling us to fight dirty?” Keyla calls over, “At least he didn’t kick you in the-“
Both men cringe, so she doesn’t finish the sentence. Dr. Culber shrugs cheerfully, offering Rhys a hand up from the mat.
Wait for it-
The surprised yelp when Rhys flips him over his shoulder echoes off the walls. He’s laughing when he sits up, accepting a towel and letting Rhys pull him to his feet.
”That was a good one,” Jo observes, “clean.”
Roberts’ mouth is hanging open, eyes tracking when Dr. Culber balls up the towel and tosses it at Stamets, who looks remarkably nonplussed when it sails through his holodisplay and hits him square in the chest. Dr. Culber gives the rest of them a wave, then- well, she would call that sauntering - over to Stamets.
Jo’s talking to Rhys about a hold, oblivious, but Keyla thinks she can probably feel the charged air between Dr. Culber and his partner. On the other hand, Roberts is doing a very poor job of pretending to not be staring at the way Dr. Culber’s hand is pressed to the small of Stamets’ back when they exit.
”Sorry,” she offers a sympathetic smile, “they’re…well. Stamets and Doctor C are something else.”
”Oh. Umm. Com- Detmer?”
”Hmm?”
”Commander Stamets, Lieutenant Tilly‘s mentor?”
”Yeah.”
“Could you maybe not tell her?”
Keyla suppresses a laugh.
”No problem.”
Notes:
I don’t feel like I got the character tone (Roberts is just about the most generic typecast I could write) or scenario quite right, but it’s been over a week since I posted and I wanted to get something up! Have been in When Sorrow Turns to Joy mode, so switching out of that has been a challenge.
Chapter 481: Sunset
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Sometimes with everything else - from literal universe-ending threats down to a new route of scientific inquiry or what to eat for breakfast - Paul forgets to simply be. His brain is busy with ideas, turning problems over to examine them from new angles, worrying about Adira on their trip to Trill, predicting Reno’s next salvo and preparing a snappy comeback. He doesn’t do idle well, and the last few years have certainly provided little opportunity otherwise. Paul doesn’t slow down, then, until something pulls his focus to the here and now, to this moment and no other.
Hugh’s palm warm against his is like an anchor to keep him from getting wholly lost in his own thoughts, body reading the minute shifts in fingertips and subtle squeezes that communicate entire paragraphs. The world shrinks down to four square meters when he’s tucked in bed beside him, the sound of Hugh breathing and his head on Paul's shoulder. He’s the only person Paul doesn’t let interrupt him when he’s science-ing, because while he can physically hide in his lab or stare intently at a screen, he can never actually ignore him.
Hugh sails right over and beyond his defenses with a warm smile and skilled, generous hands.
He’s a sunrise on Deneva with the covers and clothing strewn about them, waking to find him gazing at Paul with tenderness.
He’s a voice amidst the unending pain of heartbreak and heart-puncture, promising to take care of him.
He’s the brilliant flare of sunset on his grandmother’s back deck, the gentle rocking of the swing beneath them.
He’s light and shadow, joy and sorrow, hope and despair, love and third chances.
He’s Paul’s Hugh, and Paul is his.
Notes:
The world is a lot to deal with at the moment, and it’s making writing difficult even though escaping to this universe is a solace. I’m still here, I haven’t abandoned When Sorrow Turns to Joy or Survival, but I’m facing some mental roadblocks to the enormity of the stories they’re trying to tell.
Chapter 482: (Un)scathed
Notes:
Takes place sometime during the first half of Season Three, prior to Kovich revealing what's wrong with Georgiou.
References Hugh's memories of meeting Mirror!Paul when he was lost in the network in When Sorrow Turns to Joy (not the Terra Firma Mirror!verse in Survival).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh is no stranger to medical mysteries, but Georgiou's condition defies anything he, Tracy, or Aisha have ever laid eyes on or seen reference to. The 32nd century Starfleet Medical database seems woefully incomplete, portions redacted or placed behind security clearances for the Admiralty. He can't imagine what could be the cause of secrecy when it comes to medicine, but also knows there's a good reason most physicians never make Admiral, uninterested in power or politics.
Still...
He can tell it's getting worse even without the scans, her sneers and cutting comments coming with more frequency. Whereas before they flowed with an ease, a sort of menacing smugness she radiated at will, there's a sharp edge to them that speaks of fear. Perhaps to a Terran, too cowed by the Emperor to think otherwise, nothing would seem amiss. For Hugh though, it's nothing he hasn't seen before in other patients, though with quite a bit less homicidal threat.
Sometimes he wonders how a people so similar to humans in this universe could turn wholly to conquest, seeking domination with ambition unbounded by any mores whatsoever. Tilly had told him that it was as though all of the things that she was proud of in herself had been twisted in her Mirror counterpart, untempered by compassion or mercy. Force over understanding, and beneath it all, constant fear of everything and everyone. He remembers the other Paul he met in the network, so like the man he loves and yet not. No warmth, no trust, always waiting for the next knife in a dark corner, save for what seemed to be the singular constant of Paul and Hugh loving each other.
("Would you let yourself be defenseless, knowing the person next to you could easily kill you in your sleep?")
How incomprehensibly terrible, Hugh thinks as he shampoos his hair in the shower, sleep not as solace but as a liability.
That same vulnerability, to him, is strength of a sort so intrinsic to their relationship that the nights he spent alone in bed in those terrible weeks after his return were filled with shadows and nightmares. He feels safest asleep with Paul beside him, his presence and warmth even when they're not touching telling his body that nothing can harm him.
In fact-
Whoosh.
Hugh surfaces from his thoughts at the cold draft from the shower door opening behind him, quickly assuaged by familiar hands on his waist. He sets the unease aside before turning around to rinse his hair, wiping water from his eyes as Paul leans forward for a kiss hello.
"Sorry I'm late," he sighs against Hugh's lips, "I- well. Adira had an idea, and I wanted to get the algorithms set to run overnight. Did I miss dinner?"
Dropping his own arms to circle Paul's waist, he pivots them neatly around to let his partner stand under the water.
"Nope. I was waiting for you."
Paul pauses with his head half tipped back, eyes opening.
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine," Hugh answers, and he means it, because Paul coming home to him is what matters. He follows the assertion up with a kiss on the the tip of Paul's nose, then starts to soap him up while Paul washes his hair.
Showering with two sets of hands can occasionally be distracting, but tonight it means they're sitting at the table with damp hair just a couple of minutes later, Hugh in just a towel and Paul in his pajamas. He eats slowly, listening to Paul talk about Adira's brilliance with an excitement that reminds him of Nella's science fair projects and every time she talked Tío Paul into getting dirty digging in the bushes in Aida's backyard to show her roots and mycelia.
When they're done, they settle into bed, Paul finishing up some calculation or other and Hugh reading an article Tracy sent earlier. It's quiet, the only sounds Paul's thoughtful humming and the rustle of the sheets. He drowses off at some point, the feeling of Paul idly scratching the top of his foot with his own toes familiar and relaxing.
Safe.
Notes:
Read Hugh's encounter with Mirror!Paul in Chapter 21 and Chapter 57 of When Sorrow Turns to Joy.
Chapter 483: Salute
Notes:
Begun in February (mid-season) and shelved while I worked on other ideas.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It's Paul's second promotion in as many years, which feels quite out of the ordinary. Then again, saving the universe twice probably counts as extraordinary.
You did tell Adira they had no idea what goes on on this ship...
Hugh's been a lieutenant commander for so long, and he's never really thought about it, rarely hears him addressed as anything other than Doctor. He’s certainly not one to stand on ceremony and demand rigid adherence to protocols in being addressed. Even so, the white Medical uniform sets him outside the usual command structures, and usually produces a nominal amount of respect with even the most rank-conscious officers.
He still teases Paul over the fact that he was an ensign when they met, despite Hugh being younger. Even after his promotion, it wasn’t long before Hugh changed his badge out again, the next step down the path towards being a starship CMO. Yet, while ambition could be at the expense of others, Hugh’s came from a genuine desire to help.
They played with rank from time to time and in the right mood, Hugh ordering Paul to his knees with a wicked glint in his eyes or pulling 'doctor's privilege' to carry out a medical examination that rarely involved actual diagnosis. Hugh's ability to make any word absolutely filthy is something he loves about him, the way his mouth caressed the word lieutenant, lips and tongue shaping it into something more erotic than it had any right to be. It certainly made up for his dislike of his rank from Lorca. Moreover, addressing each other as Doctor had a sense of play to it, either a tease or a pointed comment that he much preferred.
Paul had finally gotten used to being Lieutenant Commander Stamets after the Klingon War ended when they catapulted into the future, and rank-climbing was the furthest thing from his mind. His interest and plans had never been concerned with promotion, and aside from occasional comments from his peers, he tended to ignore it. The standard ‘Fleet drive for performance seeking advancement was a distant second to ambition in his quest for scientific discovery, an afterthought and annoyance for annual evaluation. (Justin used to roll his eyes good-naturedly when evals came around and he was subjected to Paul grumbling about interrupting his work for ‘an artificially contrived means of getting more from people who can’t be bothered to self-regulate’.)
Still. There's something that clicks inside when he sees their names and ranks together, when Admiral Vance congratulates them and they draw to attention for the ceremony re-opening the Academy. Level footing for others to see if they cared to, roles to settle into for them both.
Notes:
I love this Season Four promo pic, the playfulness that Paul is finally able to show with Hugh safe and their Space Family secure. Here's hoping we get a date night in the lounge for them next season...or if we don't, I'll just have to write it :)
Chapter 484: Soles
Notes:
A more poetic take on an evening of love. No names, but alternating points of view from the foot of the bed (pun intended).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Four amorphous shapes lie hidden beneath the covers, shifting idly with the rustle of fabric against fabric or skin, until the same concealing sheets are kicked downwards.
Two and two side-by-side become two on two, accompanied by content sighs and the sound of kisses exchanged. Minutes pass as such while their ankles cross, the high arch of one elegant foot moving affectionately over a pale heel to vanish upwards, following a leg wrapping itself around a waist and evoking a hum of delight.
The other foot remains, heel pressed into the sheets for leverage and toes flexed and curling as they begin to rock together. There’s no rush, no words spoken when they separate for a moment, pajama pants kicked off and away from both. Those same arches ghost over calves, tickling the hair there to raise goosebumps, toes digging into the backs of knees just beginning to sweat.
They make love with the stars as their only witness.
Together they roll, feet twisting to expose their soles to the ceiling. He moves astride, knees to either side of his lover’s hips, feet held snug beneath his thighs, protected and protecting.
Barely-there slick sounds, then more kisses and quiet curses.
An indrawn breath becomes a gasp, tension filling the air before a long exhale as if from a place deep within. Toes curl, then abruptly relax.
”I’m ready.”
A kiss pressed to a well-muscled shoulder, then hands set themselves on narrow hips and the rocking starts again. He rides, slowly at first, then falling forward to lie on a back sheened with sweat.
Fingers clutch the sheets, then entwine together, golden with arousal-flushed cream.
Ankles cross, calf and thigh muscles straining to make himself tighter, to draw every bit of pleasure out of his partner.
The sheets are darkened, damp beneath his knees as he buries himself - is welcomed into - searing heat, again and again. Murmurs of tenderness mix with gasps and sighs and moans. A hand grips his wrist when he would rise again, worried at his weight.
"I-"
“Stay. Let me feel you.”
Blond hair clings to his forehead, face surely gone pink with their lovemaking and the effort to keep from spilling too soon. Feet pull from beneath tense thighs, knees spread more until he can go no deeper. He licks sweat from shoulders straining from the effort to push back onto him, driving their mutual pleasure higher and higher until he thinks the man beneath him is the only thing anchoring himself to his own body.
”I’m close.”
“Come for me.”
He won’t need much more himself, delicious friction against the pillowcase with every movement. The answering moan pushes him over the edge, surprised, and he ruts into the pillow beneath his hips, shameless and delighted, heels jerking.
Panting, he turns his head enough to see eyes gone dark with a wild lust tempered with love.
”Come in me.”
The spiraling exhilaration rushes up from where they're joined, carrying release down to his toes and fingertips. He cries out and spills himself, never wants the moment to end. And yet, when it does, when they catch their breath and soothe each other through the moment of disconnection as he slips out, he can't imagine anything better than the sated contentment on the face of his partner.
Can't wish for anything greater when the body beneath his turns, gathering him into an embrace, legs tangled again.
"Hi."
"Hi yourself."
Toes tap the sides of his feet.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
Notes:
Is it hot in here, or is it all the Culmets?
Chapter 485: Shapeshift, Part Twenty Five
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
They do manage to patch back into the comm system, but everyone on the bridge still seems to be busy figuring out exactly what happened and making sure it doesn’t strike again. The most popular theory is that Discovery came into contact with an intense gravitational outburst from a cosmic string collision, although it wouldn’t explain the EPS overload or knocking transporters offline. It does give them something to discuss at least, while they shiver and wait for someone to come dig them out.
“-can’t have been manufactured, right?”
Tilly chews her lip and considers Adira’s question, prodding a mangled door plate with the toe of her boot.
”No, I don’t think so. I hope not, because…well…how would you even control that?”
The conversation is a distraction from his throbbing knee and hip, although he’s less pleased that the gentle purring against his chest stops when Paul squirms around inside his jacket until his paws are free to join.
Unless they’re extra-dimensional and can manipulate the laws of physics.
”Still, the odds of a collision in any given point…”
Abstract one-dimensional looping is far beyond the knowledge born of two astrophysics courses decades ago at the Academy - or even what he’s picked up from years of Paul’s mycelial network theories - so he’s willing to accept that it’s nothing more nefarious than sheer odds-defying bad luck.
Your partner is a cat.
That’s plenty of statistical impossibility for the next six months.
Possessed of patience or not, two hours seems to be interminably long when waiting for rescue. There isn’t much any of them can do from where they’re boxed in, though it’s a relief when Hugh finally gets through to the medbay and Tracy and Aisha reassure him that there’s no major injuries. Plenty of concussions, broken bones, and a dislocated shoulder should keep them busy but not overloaded. It’s one less thing for him to worry about, particularly when his own leg is now radiating icy-hot needles of pain from the knee.
Eventually, there’s a grating sound overhead, followed by the groan of metal being pried apart. The corridor is still on emergency backup lighting, and the headlamp shining down cuts through the twilight gloom immediately.
”Hello?”
“Well,” Reno’s voice emerges from the gap in the ceiling panels, “so much for programmable matter.”
Adira shields their eyes against the glare.
”Can you get us out?”
”Clearly, I’m just here to stare at you like a fishbowl.”
One of Reno’s drones swoops down, circling once before hovering a meter or so off the debris-strewn deck to illuminate them all. Paul makes a noise against Hugh’s chest that sounds suspiciously like a feline sigh, although he’s sure his partner will deny it later.
”Reno?”
A clang, assorted rattling, then her head and shoulders appear, arms outstretched.
”Pass him over, Doc.”
Hugh realizes she’s addressing him, ignoring the concerned looks from Adira and Tilly.
”Can’t really stand right now.”
”Mrroowwww.”
“Well,” a second drone dips down in front of him, “Crankypaws could hold on to the kids…”
No. Absolutely not.
Hugh huffs out what might be a laugh, but stops halfway through when it makes his hip burn. Thankfully, Paul’s too busy typing out whatever he plans to say next and doesn’t notice.
“Here,” Tilly bends down as Hugh unzips his jacket, picking up Paul and standing again, “I’ve got him.”
Reno edges forward another couple of inches, gesturing impatiently.
”Sorry Commander,” Tilly mutters when her hands end up under Paul’s rump.
She lifts him as far overhead as possible, but there’s still a good half meter between Paul’s outstretched paws and Reno’s hands.
Of course we’re stuck at a junction with higher ceilings than the corridor.
”Can you get any closer?”
“Trying,” Tilly goes up on her toes, “now?”
“Nope. Toss him?”
”Mrrrowwww!”
Paul’s indignant yowl only makes Reno chuckle.
“Kidding.”
Something about the situation nudges a memory of a different solution to the issue, and he smiles for the first time in what feels like hours.
”Tilly.”
”Doctor?”
”Put Adira on your shoulders.”
Adira, who’s been eyeing the piles of debris, turns to stare at him.
”Me?”
”You know, that’s actually not a completely terrible idea,” Reno calls down.
“Jett, can you pull Adira up with you after you get Paul?”
“Probably. Still have to figure out a way to get you and Tilly out after. Crankypaws, you good with that?”
Paul’s tail twitches against Tilly’s arm, but he nods.
“Adira?”
”Umm. Sure?”
Beside him, Tilly cracks a smile.
”Dysfunctional teamwork, right?”
Notes:
Cat!Paul refuses the indignity of being tossed :).
Reno to the rescue is a clumsy plot device, but I couldn’t come up with a way for them to dig themselves out given how massively disabled the ship is and the fact that Hugh isn’t going to be much help physically at the moment. Also, I just enjoy having her call Paul ‘Crankypaws’.
Chapter 486: Saffron
Notes:
Fluffity fluff fluff fluff
Chapter Text
Shore leave takes many forms, usually involving a great deal of kissing and snuggling and sweaty sheets in addition to the charms of whatever locale they've chosen. It's the sun-drenched Old Town district in Barcelona overlooking the port this time, Hugh's skin glowing gold beneath rolled-up shirt sleeves and his hand warm on the small of Paul's back as they wander the winding cobblestone districts. Paul turns off his universal translator, enjoying the sound of a hundred different languages, but mostly the Spanish rolling off Hugh's tongue as he bargains with the vendors over souvenirs and fresh produce.
They enjoy tapas at a small eatery tucked away amidst the retro turn-of-the-millennium buildings, sipping rich red wine as the bustle of people on the sidewalk below continue on with their lives. It’s leisurely, sitting in unhurried silence beside each other, occasionally feeding each other a morsel of food from the small plates set before them. After, they wander aimlessly through the streets again, hand-in-hand and taking in the sights until sunset.
Their balcony is situated behind a screen of trees, effectively hiding them from prying eyes as they kiss after dinner. Paul’s lips are warm and taste of saffron from the paella, its subtle earthy sweetness a reminder of the grassy plains of Deneva. He pulls Hugh onto his lap, hands sneaking up beneath his shirt to caress the dimples at the base of his spine and tracing secret words over his skin. Hugh peels damp linen away from Paul's collarbone, chasing droplets of sweat as the moon rises and the stars appear and their napkins lay abandoned on the table.
They fall asleep outside, waking to seabirds calling and clouds caught high in the bright blue sky.
Chapter 487: Stems
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul knows plenty about mycotrophic wildflower species found on several worlds, and a fair amount about their more conventional cousins. Understanding their lifecycle and growing conditions isn’t, however unfortunately, nearly the same thing as appreciating their aesthetics. Nor does the ability to explain the importance of flowering in plant reproduction serve him any advantage in finding blooms that a certain opera-loving doctor with gentle eyes and a generous heart might appreciate.
He’s never paid much attention to traditional romantic gestures - after all, doesn’t everyone on Earth think that roses are the epitome of tender regard? - and is honestly starting to regret that for the first time in thirty-odd years. Reading several texts on the language of flowers over the centuries is even less constructive, because there’s no point in attempting a gesture with potentially contradicting messages. Justin’s no help either, mostly because he’s too embarrassed to ask for advice on the subject.
Paul briefly considers bringing Hugh something else instead, but his doctor had mentioned a love for growing things during their date at the Los Angeles botanical gardens, and he wants to be sure Hugh knows Paul is listening. Although…
No, that won’t work.
Would it?
He almost discards the gift twice on the way to Hugh’s apartment, doubting whether someone as cultured and interesting as his boyfriend could understand why Paul chose them. In the end though, he’s glad he didn’t toss them in a waste reclamation unit, because the look on Hugh’s face when he answers the door and Paul presents him with a bouquet of mushrooms is full of delight. The way his smile grows even wider when Paul stumbles through an explanation of why he chose the brilliant blue fungi for their traditional application as antiseptics and analgesics makes something in his chest grow heated and full.
“…and they, umm, taste good,” he finishes awkwardly, breaking off a small piece of one of the stems and holding it out, “here. Uhhh. If you want?”
There’s a moment of panic when Hugh just stares at the chunk of mushroom between his fingers. Paul’s about to backtrack when he leans forward and accepts it straight from Paul’s hand, tongue flicking warm and wet over his skin. He stands there frozen while Hugh chews and swallows, then carefully takes the bouquet from him and sets it on the table next to the door, and Paul’s left standing there with comically empty hands.
“Hugh-“
He doesn’t get past a single syllable, because Hugh’s fingers grip the front of his shirt and reel him in across the threshold, then he’s shoved against the closing door and being kissed within an inch of his life.
”You,” Hugh murmurs between kisses, “are amazing. I. Love. Them.”
“So how’d it go?” Justin asks on Monday, leaning across the lab bench, “Was it okay? You seem a little distracted.”
”…”
”Paul?”
”…hmmm?”
Paul’s vacant smile is apparently the answer he was looking for, because Justin turns away chuckling.
”All right. You two really are made for each other, aren’t you?”
Notes:
Inspired by Wilson posting on more than one occasion that he buys himself flowers.
Chapter 488: Slug
Notes:
Takes place sometime after the midpoint of Season Three.
Chapter title used as both a noun and a verb.
Note: I don’t condone violence. However…sometimes it’s an understandable reaction.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As a physician, Hugh abhors violence as a general rule, too much experience putting people back together after senseless acts of war and terror. He’s always been prone to finding common ground, de-escalating and talking conflict out rather than throwing a punch. His partner is much the same, although Paul is possessed of a sharper tongue on a more frequent basis, never one to pick up a weapon over a sensible solution. Hugh is, therefore, justifiably bemused when the landing party returns with Reno physically dragging a visibly agitated Paul into the medbay and shoving him to sit on a biobed.
“-go of me.”
”Nope,” Reno’s tone is deliberately light, although he can hear how clipped her words are, “not a chance. Hey Doc, come take a look at his hand.”
Hugh is halfway across the room before she finishes the first sentence, taking in Paul’s flushed cheeks and mussed hair and the fact that what he originally thought was a restraining grip on Paul’s forearm now looks like one of support. To add to the confusion, Paul’s knuckles are swollen and abraded, a hairline fracture starting to form on the second joint of his index finger. He hisses in pain when Hugh straightens his fingers.
”Owww!”
”What happ-“
Swish.
The doors open to admit Adira, rushing through and coming up short once they see Paul, eyes wide.
”Are you okay?”
”He’ll be fine,” Reno releases his arm and holds out her own instead, tucking Adira against her side in a casually protective embrace.
Hugh’s just opening his mouth again when Saru arrives.
”Commander Reno. Adira. Mister Stamets,” he fixes Paul with an indecipherable look, “I’ve just received a comm from First Minister Indis who told me that you punched a member of the trade delegation. What, exactly, is the meaning of this?”
”It’s my fault,” Adira blurts, “please don’t- don’t be mad at him.”
Reno squeezes Adira’s shoulders one more time before taking a step between Saru and Paul. He’s still clearly fuming, but doesn’t resist when Hugh holds his wrist steady to use the osteoregenerator, just reaches out with his free hand to Adira.
”He shouldn’t be mad. Stamets just prevented a bigger diplomatic incident.”
”Oh?”
Saru’s ability to infuse arch skepticism into a single syllable rivals Tracy’s.
“Yeah,” she props one hand on her hip, “luckily the Mushroom Lord is a lousy swing. I’d have broken that guy’s face instead.”
”Commander!”
“Okay-“ Hugh cuts in, “would someone please tell me what in the world is going on?”
Paul’s been uncharacteristically quiet, the deep frown on Adira’s face directed at his knuckles.
”Long story short? The First Minister’s nephew or cousin or whatever is a xenophobic asshole,” Reno’s voice is flat, “he insulted the kid and Stamets and I took exception to it.”
The disapproval radiating off Saru sharpens.
”Commanders, while I’m certain this person was offensive, may I remind you that you’re both Starfleet officers. This may be an uncertain future, but to react with physical violence-“
”He called them a degenerate slug-loving freak and kept misgendering them,” Paul bites out, “which I might add is the nicest thing that I’m not repeating right now.”
Adira flinches, and he immediately softens.
”Look. I don’t- you want to reprimand me, fine. But I’d do it again.”
Saru opens his mouth, then closes it again. His eyes move from Paul to Adira to Reno, the only sound that of the regen humming for a few long moments. Then he makes a clicking noise and sighs, nodding.
”That won’t be necessary this time, I think. I believe we can salvage the situation, as the First Minister did not seem to be aware of the provocation. However,” he closes his eyes on a long blink, “please don’t make a habit of it.”
He waits for their murmured assent, then turns and leaves the medbay.
”Well,” Reno runs a hand through her hair, “who else wants some ice cream after all that? And Doc, don’t be too mad.”
Hugh takes in Paul’s still ebbing temper and the slightly bruised look in Adira’s eyes, and decides that modeling good behavior definitely includes standing up to bullies.
“I’m not. And I’m off shift as of five minutes ago, so dinner and dessert sounds great.”
Paul gives him a slightly crooked smile.
”Think I’ll run home and get cleaned up first, if you don’t mind.”
He exchanges a look with Reno, who nods.
”All right. Come on kid,” she reels Adira back in, “let’s go order. See you two there in a few?”
Despite her reputation for bluntness, Hugh can recognize an out in case he and Paul need to speak privately. His opinion of Reno - already high - rises further.
”Nah, I’ll come with you. Paul doesn’t need my help to change his shirt.”
It’s telling how rattled Adira is that they don’t even seem to notice the potential innuendo that Reno ignores as well. He kisses Paul on the cheek, then turns to follow the others out.
Swish.
”So, what’s everyone in the mood for dinner?”
Notes:
…over 55,000 views. I’m speechless. THANK YOU!!
I’m also so incredibly behind on replying to comments. Please know that I read (often multiple times) every comment and deeply appreciate them.
Chapter 489: Satisfait
Notes:
For the delightful LadyRiona with the hopes that life has settled down, and Finnegancat for supporting my re-use of words in French.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He’s smiling even before his brain is fully awake. A warm hand is resting on his chest over his heart, fingers splayed. Eyes still closed, Hugh hums sleepily when a thumb gently caresses his collarbone, shifting against the sheets. Then he untangles his own right hand from the covers, fumbling a few inches until it comes into contact with a hip.
When he opens his eyes, he already knows what he’ll find, but seeing Paul gazing at him with eyes half-lidded and a tender little curve of his lips still makes love bloom golden and soft in his chest.
”Hi,” a sleep-roughened voice greets him, “did I wake you up?”
”Mmhmm.”
A tiny frown starts to form.
”I’m sorry.”
Hugh traces his knuckles upwards, making Paul’s shirt ride up along the way. The tickle of hair against the back of his hand flutters in his senses like the prickle of sunshine, and he glances down at the exposed skin. He considers the slightly sagging stomach with a delighted sigh, eyes following the path his fingers take until they stroke the silver mixed with golden strands at Paul’s temple.
He shakes his head, smile widening.
”Don’t be.”
Notes:
I keep coming back to the idea of one of them waking up to find the other gazing lovingly at them because it’s just so…powerful in its simplicity.
Chapter 490: Stall
Summary:
Hugh brings Tracy and T’Vala home with him and Paul to celebrate Christmas with Aida.
Chapter Text
Beep
[Pollard-Tracy-LTJG/MED] Are you two decent?
Glancing downwards, he smiles. Paul is half on top of him, arms wrapped around his torso and cheek resting on Hugh’s chest, sound asleep. They’re both still naked, and he admires the way Paul’s creamy skin contrasts with his own where their legs are tangled together. Hugh gently ruffles messy blond hair, wipes a bit of drool off his sternum, and taps out a response.
[Culber-Hugh-LT/MED] Is that a rhetorical question?
[Pollard-Tracy-LTJG/MED] I’m serious. Nella is on her way up, so you two better get dressed NOW.
[Culber-Hugh-LT/MED] I thought T’Vala was teaching her meditation.
[Pollard-Tracy-LTJG/MED] That was before breakfast. It’s 1045, and your niece is worried because you two haven’t shown up and I am absolutely not letting our Vulcan friend explain to her what you two might be doing to keep yourselves busy.
”Babe,” he shakes Paul’s shoulder, “sweetheart, you have to wake up.”
A groan, followed by a displeased huff and Paul burying his face further in Hugh’s skin.
[Culber-Hugh-LT/MED] Stall 2 minutes? Please?
[Pollard-Tracy-LTJG/MED] 90 seconds. GO.
Sighing and internally wincing at the response it’s going to get, Hugh sits up, ready to catch Paul as he slides off his chest and roll him back onto the sheets.
”…mmmuhhh. Whuhhh-?”
The grumpy glare he gets is adorable, but they don’t have time for it. Hugh flashes an apologetic smile, already using his foot to sweep the floor next to the bed in search of their clothes.
”Sorry,” he retrieves Paul’s briefs and his own socks, dropping the former on the bed and the latter back onto the carpet, “we’ve got one minute before Nella shows up.”
Paul blinks, brain clearly still coming back online even as Hugh pulls on his own underwear and rapidly steps into a pair of shorts.
”…the door‘s locked.”
”Do you,” Hugh sighs and gives up looking for his own shirt in the tangled sheets, focusing on getting Paul’s back on right side out and more or less buttoned, “want to explain to her why this time?”
”Fuck.”
Groaning, Paul hauls himself off the bed, fumbling with his pants as Hugh rapidly tosses the used towel and bottle of lube into the bathroom sink, closes the bathroom door, throws the duvet back over the bed to hide any other evidence, and opens the window to let fresh air in.
“Exactly.”
Paul finger-combs his hair into some semblance of order before zipping his pants, then makes a face like he’s thinking desperately unsexy thoughts.
“Door?”
Hugh checks the room again, then grabs a fresh shirt from their bags and nods. He’s just finished putting it on when the sound of feet on the stairs gets louder.
“Okay.”
He’s a half step behind when Paul thumbs off the lock and opens the door, just as his niece rounds the corner and comes to a stop. T’Vala follows a moment later, expression calm as ever.
“Hi Nella.”
”Tío! You missed breakfast,” she gives Paul what Hugh recognizes as a version of Aida‘s serious stare, “it’s almost time for lunch.”
Paul clears his throat.
”Sorry, we uhh- were. Sleeping?”
Nella turns her unimpressed frown on Hugh, and he bites his lip to keep from smiling.
”Were you wrestling again? Abuela says we’re not supposed to do that in the house.”
Over Nella’s head, T’Vala raises an eyebrow.
”Antonella, I am quite certain your uncles were not, in fact, wrestling by definition. Surely they know the guidelines for proper behavior in this house.”
Hugh gives Paul’s back a nudge, pushing him towards the stairs as he closes his door behind them. Nella gives them both another look, then nods, apparently satisfied.
“Okay.”
She turns and starts to head back down the stairs. He gestures Paul down after her first, lingering on the first tread to address T’Vala.
”Thanks. For covering.”
”Indeed,” she nods, “though perhaps you might wish to go back and choose a different shirt?”
”What?”
”The area immediately proximal to your suprasternal notch is marked by petechiae particular to the shape of Paul’s dental arch.”
Oh.
Wincing, he chuckles.
”Thank you. I’ll go change.”
Notes:
I’m considering a companion piece with T’Vala commenting on human holiday traditions…
Chapter 491: Spinach, Part One
Summary:
Adira: "...BOBCAT?!"
Hugh & Paul: **knowing looks**
Chapter Text
Real spinach, Adira decides, is so much better than the replicated stuff. Actually-
"Is this seat taken?"
Before she’s even halfway through the question, Reno plonks her tray down next to them, dropping into the empty chair.
"...aren't you supposed to ask that before-" they gesture vaguely at the table, "...never mind."
"Smart kid," Reno takes a large bite of her sandwich, "could teach you a thing or two, Crankypants."
Across the table, Hugh chuckles into his napkin. Adira catches Paul's lips twitching in their peripheral vision as Reno snakes a hand across the table and helps herself to some of Hugh's uneaten fries, staring levelly at Paul as she does. He narrows his eyes with apparent effort, watching her return for a second handful.
Adira wonders if they ought to excuse themself.
"...anyway," Paul clears his throat, "as I was saying before we were rudely interrupted-"
Waving a fry, Reno cuts him off.
"Hey, I asked politely."
The eyeroll that earns from Paul looks like it might have strained something, and Adira finds themself abandoning the remainder of their dinner to watch the interplay. They’ve gotten used to Paul and Hugh poking at each other, the difference between performative bickering and actual disagreement. Reno is still something of a mystery, but they’ve come to realize at least part of Paul enjoys letting her wind him up.
"And you say I don't have a bedside manner," Paul mutters in Hugh's direction, "at least I'm not..."
Hugh gives Paul a look, eyebrows raised, and Reno blithely ignores them both to address Detmer, casually swiping another fry and dipping it in the cup of dressing on Keyla’s plate.
"Nice flying you did out there."
"Thanks."
”Seriously.”
”Just doing my job.”
Adira privately thinks Keyla is being modest, because her piloting a shuttle through an asteroid belt full of volatile gases and chunks of rock with unpredictable trajectories to render assistance to the stranded ship is, objectively, badass. Not that stopping the DMA last week is exactly normal grounds to compare anything, but it makes things like this rescue mission look practically boring.
There's a lull in the conversation, everyone busy chewing, and it seems as good a time as any to bring up something that's been bugging them.
”Why-“ Adira shakes their head, “I’m probably going to regret asking this…”
Reno smiles, twirling a forkful of (her own) pasta.
”I like the sound of that already.”
Keyla sets down the last spicy wing on her plate, losing all pretense of paying attention to her meal
”Why do you call Paul…”
”Mushroom Lord?”
”That one’s pretty obvious.”
”Crankypants?”
Paul huffs in indignation.
”You-“
”Not listening,” Reno waves a hand at him and turns back to Adira, “continue.”
”That makes sense too. I meant, when the DMA stopped, you called him-“
”Bobcat.”
“Bobcat?” Detmer echoes half a breath later, and yep, that's about how Adira felt when they heard that over the comm in Engineering.
Paul's unimpressed frown wobbles at the edges, like he's trying to prevent it from turning into a smile.
"Are you going to eat that?"
Adira blinks a couple of times and finds Reno pointing at their untouched bowl of rice pudding.
"Umm, no?"
"Great," Reno pulls it closer and tastes it, making an approving noise, "not too bad."
”It’s my grandmother’s recipe,” Hugh offers, “a bit heavy on the cinnamon though.”
”I like your grandma.”
" 'Bobcat' " Keyla repeats, "...what? Where did that even come from?”
Flicking a few crumbs off her sleeve, Reno reaches for her napkin.
”That’s a longer story. Drugs were involved, and I threw my back out.”
“Wait. Not- not from when Stamets was, you know…”
Paul’s cheeks turn pink, and he groans.
”Not from when he was a cat,” Hugh finishes for her, smiling.
That was weird enough on its own.
As a cat, once they’d gotten past their initial shock, it hadn’t been difficult to see him with ginger-striped fur, big ears, and a twitching tail. He’d contentedly let them carry him, even tolerated petting and purred between typing out missives to take part in conversation. Mostly, he seemed personally offended at the lack of thumbs-
Anyway.
”So what was it?”
“What," Reno points at Adira, "do you know about the two of them before we landed here?”
She uses her spoon to indicate Hugh and Paul, and Adira wonders what she's getting at.
"They're...Paul and Hugh? I mean, they're-" they shrug and flap a hand in their direction, "them."
”Real descriptive there.”
They turn their head to look at Detmer. Keyla’s eyes widen at their beseeching expression, but she nods.
“I mean, they sort of are just…them.”
”Why,” Paul addresses the table at large, “does everyone else know what that even means?”
Hugh’s smile widens. He leans over to whisper something in Paul’s ear that Adira can’t quite make out, but whatever it is makes Paul give him one of those looks that seemingly ignores the rest of the universe around them, before Hugh turns back to Reno.
“Go on.”
Notes:
Continued in Chapter 570.
Chapter 492: Stroking
Chapter Text
“Already brush your teeth?”
Hugh swipes steam off the bathroom mirror with his hand, expecting any moment to hear footsteps behind him and Paul reminding him for the millionth time to use a towel. Instead, all he gets is a noise that isn’t his partner’s usual distracted-while-reading hum or a sound of assent.
Setting down his toothbrush, he leans out of the bathroom doorway to ask again in case Paul didn’t hear him properly.
”Babe-“
Oh.
“Hi.”
Paul’s not quite breathless, but his lips are pink - from biting them, Hugh’s sure - and there’s the lightest sheen of sweat beginning on his brow. He’s slouched against the pillows piled at the headboard, the hem of his pajama top rucked halfway up his stomach and pants pushed down around his thighs.
Beautiful.
He slows but doesn’t stop stroking himself, unhurried as Hugh crosses the room and sits down beside him on the sheets. His eyes, half-lidded with arousal, fall closed when their lips meet in a kiss just as leisurely as his self-pleasure. Hugh licks the inside of Paul’s upper lip, teasing before pulling back.
”Want some help with that?”
Paul takes a moment to think about it, and Hugh waits patiently, his offer - hands, mouth, body, or something from the nightstand - settling comfortably in the air between them.
”Mmm.”
It’s a neutral noise, and Paul’s hand stills as he glances at him sidewise. Hugh rubs the nearest hip, thumb tracing down the crease between thigh and groin and back up again.
”Just want me to watch?”
He’s always happy to play, but they’ve been together long enough that he doesn’t read anything into Paul’s nod, no fear of rejection. Instead, he kicks his towel off towards the end of the bed and settles on his side, elbow propping himself up as Paul discards his shirt. The unspoken invitation is clear as Paul’s unoccupied hand curves along his jaw, reeling him back in for another kiss. One kiss turns into a dozen, into more as he walks his own fingers across Paul’s collarbone and down his chest.
Even without the subtle shift in the mattress, he doesn’t have to look down to know that the stroking has started in earnest again. He smiles against his lips when Paul’s shoulder drops just enough to give him better access, swallows his gasp when Hugh swipes his thumb through some of the sweat on his chest and starts playing with a nipple.
”Like that?”
“Mmhmm.”
He sits up a little more, slips his arm behind Paul’s shoulders, hand traveling downwards to squeeze some of the flesh near Paul’s waist before returning. Hugh’s seen his fair share of erections, but Paul’s dick is just so pretty, the rosy tip peeking out from under Paul’s thumb on the downstroke. Nuzzling a slightly stubbly cheek, he switches sides with his fingers and rubs himself on Paul’s hip just a little, still soft but enjoying the contact.
Paul huffs out an amused hum, then retrieves the bottle from the sheets. He pauses with a palmful of lube when Hugh pushes away the pillows, hands guiding him to lean forward.
”…Hugh?”
“Hang on,” he wiggles and slides until he’s between Paul and the headboard, pulling him to rest between his own spread legs, “there we go.”
Paul’s head lolls back on Hugh’s shoulder, breath gone shallow and faster as the change in position lets Hugh use both hands to tease his nipples.
“Feel good?”
It’s a rhetorical question, but Paul turns his head enough to give Hugh a look.
“HmmMmmm.”
Wetness glistens on Paul’s fingers, the barely-there noises of slick skin-on-skin punctuated by moans. Hugh watches, plucking and rubbing the sensitive nubs as Paul’s strokes speed up. He murmurs encouragement when he can tell Paul is getting close, bending to work a love bite into the place where neck meets shoulder. Some evenings they’re so loud that he’s grateful for soundproofed bulkheads, but tonight is quiet.
Eventually, Paul’s breath catches, and Hugh kneads at his chest, anticipation growing.
”M’gonna…”
Hugh traces the shell of Paul’s ear with the tip of his tongue.
“Yeah?”
”Mmhmm- mmm. So close…”
Paul’s body tenses in his embrace, back arching to press his chest further into Hugh’s hands.
“Come for me, sweetheart,” he flicks and pinches, as hard as he dares without hurting, “want to see you come.”
Three breaths later and Paul inhales sharply, then cries out in climax. Hugh smiles, tightening his arms as Paul’s stomach clenches and he rocks with it, working himself through with short strokes. Neither of them speak, but Hugh kisses Paul’s temple and gives his reddened nipples a few more feathery caresses, trying to prolong the pleasure.
At last, Paul slumps back against him, lets go of his softening dick and gives Hugh a satisfied smile.
”Hi.”
”Hi yourself. That was hot.”
”Yeah?”
He’s not quite half hard, but rubs himself against Paul’s ass a couple of times playfully.
”Mmhmm. You’re gorgeous, sweetheart. Love watching you come.”
Paul starts to put his hand down on the sheets, clearly thinking better of it as he makes a face and retrieves Hugh‘s towel with his toes. He wipes his hand and stomach, then tosses it towards the bathroom doorway.
”Want me to do you?”
It’s always a tempting offer, but Hugh laughs quietly.
”Nah. I’ll just hump your ass in the morning.”
Paul pinches his thigh, an affectionate chuckle that Hugh feels in his own chest.
“All right.”
They lapse back into silence, Hugh tracing idle circles over Paul’s stomach until he notices him starting to drift off.
”Mmm, you can’t fall asleep yet, babe.”
”…m’not.”
”Yeah, you are. Come on, bathroom, teeth,” he thumbs over the love bite on his throat, “then sleep.”
Paul wrinkles his nose, getting deliberately heavier by relaxing further into Hugh’s arms.
”Already brushed my teeth.”
”Well, I haven’t done mine, so you’ll have to let me up.”
The sleepy-eyed pout earns Paul a kiss before Hugh goes for the ticklish spot under his ribs on the right side. As he curls in to protect it, Hugh takes advantage of the motion to roll Paul off of him and escape.
”Hmph.”
”Be right back,” he laughs, “two minutes.”
Paul grumbles, flopping back onto the pillows.
”Ugh, fine.”
It takes Hugh less than the allotted time, but Paul’s already half-asleep when he returns, curled around Hugh’s pillow.
”That’s mine.”
”…hmmm. I thought I was yours.”
Shaking his head, Hugh nudges him back onto his side of the bed, climbing under the covers and kissing Paul’s shoulder.
”Love you, sweetheart.”
”Love you too. Night.”
Notes:
Hugh likes to watch, nothing can convince me otherwise.
Edit: Apparently I was too tired last night to realize that ending the chapter with “all right” was a bit abrupt. I’ve added a bit more to bring the story closed properly.
Chapter 493: Spasm
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Harder.”
Paul presses his fingers deeper, twisting.
”Like that?”
Hugh’s eyes flutter shut, head tipped back against the edge of the tub.
”Oh, yeah. Right there.”
Sweat beads on his brow, drips down the bridge of his nose and he wants to wipe it away, but both hands are busy.
“More?”
Mouth falling open on a drawn-out moan, Hugh nods.
”Yeah. Keep goin- oh! Ohhhhhh…”
“You’re too tight.”
”Thought…ahhh! Thought you’re fixing that.”
“Stop moving so much.”
”Not my fault you- mmmm. You have magic hands.”
Paul huffs a quiet laugh, lips turning up at the corners.
“Yeah?”
“Mmhmm.”
He wiggles his index finger, watching Hugh’s face as he seeks out the right spot. His partner is panting now, mouth open.
”Why…fuck, sweetheart…why didn’t we do this sooner?”
Paul moves his fingers faster, intent on bringing Hugh relief.
“Because you’re stubborn and I’ve been busy?”
Whatever Hugh’s planning to say next is lost, water sloshing as his back arches away from the side of the tub. Paul presses his finger in as hard as he dares, until, with a long shuddering exhale, Hugh slumps back down, sending another splash onto the bathroom floor.
”You’re so good to me,” Hugh murmurs, biting his lip, “so good.”
He tugs Hugh’s hand away from where it’s clutching the side of the tub, kissing the inside of his wrist.
”Only for you, dear doctor. Now quit squirming and give me your other foot.”
Setting the now-relaxed foot back into the water, Paul gestures until Hugh sets the other in his lap, trailing water droplets. He traces his fingers down the tense calf muscle, massaging a touch more forcefully than usual, trying to work out the soreness. The elegant arch feels stiff once he moves down from Hugh’s ankle, toes flexed.
“Relax for me.”
”I can’t,” Hugh groans, “believe me.”
Instead of replying out loud, Paul continues rubbing, concentrating on the ball of the foot. The muscle spasm in Hugh‘s other foot took the better part of ten minutes to work out, but this one doesn’t feel as bad. Once he’s sure it’s released, he sucks on Hugh’s big toe briefly, just long enough to summon a startled giggle. He leans back in time to avoid an accidental kick to the chin, sputtering at the splash.
”Sorry.”
Smiling, he sinks down as far as he can comfortably go, water lapping at his ears.
“Feel better?”
The now-relaxed arches of Hugh’s feet stroke his sides, toes kneading at his hips.
”Mmhmm. Thank you, sweetheart.”
”Any time.”
Water sloshes, Hugh moving onto his knees and leaning over for a kiss that’s interrupted by a yawn.
“Wanna get out?”
”Hmmmm. You can if you want, I think I’ll stay a bit longer.”
”Nah,” Hugh settles back on his side of the tub, feet flirting with Paul’s inner thighs, “not as much fun being in bed without you.”
Paul squirms when Hugh’s toes caress his balls oh-so-gently, catching the errant foot.
”Stop that, you’re going to start something.”
”Very astute, Doctor Stamets.”
”Thank you, Doctor Culber.”
They fall into comfortable silence after that, Hugh idly playing with the hair on Paul’s right calf, smoothing it up and back down again. It’s oddly soothing, and Paul can feel his own eyelids drooping. He squeezes Hugh’s heel, receiving a drowsy but inquisitive hum in response.
”We should probably get out.”
”Mmm. Prob’ly.”
He means to sit up, but the steamy air settles like a blanket on his exposed skin.
”A couple more minutes?”
”Mmmhmm.”
Paul closes his eyes and starts counting in his head, planning on enjoying the bath for a minute longer before hauling them both out.
The water is completely cool when he wakes up, Hugh snoring on the other side in a way that tells him just how exhausted his partner must be. His backside is a bit numb from sitting, and Paul groans at the pins and needles when he sits up.
”Hugh.”
Hugh snores on, and Paul sighs, grimacing at the temperature change when he goes to stand. Climbing out, he wraps himself in a towel and tries again, a little louder this time.
”Hugh, wake up.”
”…mmmuhhh.”
There’s confusion writ plain over his face when Hugh’s eyes open, and Paul gives a rueful chuckle.
”We fell asleep in the tub again.”
Sighing, Hugh slowly pulls himself to his feet, swaying. He passes him a towel, holds out a hand to steady him but doesn’t let go after, simply enjoying the contact.
“Come on. Bed.”
“Mmmkay.”
They slide naked beneath the sheets, Hugh cuddling into his side.
”Pillows.”
”What?”
”Need pillows for the tub.”
Paul kisses the bridge of Hugh’s nose and closes his eyes.
”Next time.”
Notes:
Wilson posted a bathtub selfie (well, shoulder and arm) and I’m just… *melts*
Completely innocent Culmets with suggestive dialogue? Yes, yes it is.
Chapter 494: Stent
Summary:
Medical care during the Klingon War takes an unwelcome step backwards.
Notes:
In my headcanon, Hugh served as CMO of Starbase 12 before Discovery launched.
Warning: Contains mention of injuries that may be disturbing.
Chapter Text
Wartime means that they don't always have the latest technologies on hand, or the time to use them if they do. When literal hundreds of critically injured soldiers and civilians alike are flooding into Starbase 12's overcrowded medical wards, they don't have the luxury of hours to spend painstakingly performing microsurgery to perfectly repair injuries. Sometimes, there aren't even enough dermal regenerators available to do more than close wounds that have to be physically bandaged for days on end because they can't afford to waste precious resources on someone who isn't actively dying.
Hugh hates it.
Hates that as a physician, he can do no more than triage.
Hates that he can't heal everyone, can't fix the broken bodies and make them whole again.
Hates that he has to make choices about who can be saved, and who he has to let go because they don't have the time or the equipment necessary to help.
Hates that children are being brought in, horribly burned and mangled and missing limbs, so terrible to witness that even T'Vala has to stop and close her eyes when she thinks no one is looking.
He tries to shunt that all aside though, banking down the rage and helplessness that leaves no room for fear, concentrating on placing an honest-to-the-gods stent in an ensign's trachea because they can't spare a ventilator. Alarms are blaring around him, raised voices of the medical staff as they call for supplies, cries of pain mixing with an announcement that yet another starship has docked and will be offloading the wounded. His head nurse passes by, nodding at him, and he knows she'll take care of the routing, but also that the wards are going to need him and the CMO can't have his hands on every patient.
Beside him, T'Vala works with Vulcan efficiency, laying a gloved hand on the forehead of a human child whose vitals are too unsteady to sedate, saying something he can't hear even as she uses her other hand to patch their heavily-bleeding liver. She sways on her feet briefly, and he's reminded that they've all been operating on less than four hours of sleep in the last two days, caffeine and nutrient drinks their only sustenance. He finishes stitching the stent into place - and he's glad that the medbay here has a seemingly endless supply of sutures, even if most of the staff only ever used them in training - then whips off his gloves and heads for the docking ring.
On the way, he steals a precious ten seconds in the miraculously-empty turbolift, popping his collar open and lifting out the gold chain beneath. The metal is body-warm, heavy in his palm as he ignores the blood soaking his cuffs and presses Paul's Academy ring to his cheek for the space of two breaths. He thinks about the last comm Paul sent that he couldn't open until hours later, recalling the gentle smile as Paul leaned in closer, kissing his fingers and touching the screen.
("I miss you, Hugh. I- stay safe. Please. I love you.")
Opening his eyes, he drops the ring back beneath his uniform, feels it settle against his breastbone and closes his collar. Takes another deep, cleansing breath, pulling Doctor Culber back around him. When the turbolift doors open, he exits at a run, focused again on saving lives.
Chapter 495: Stitch
Notes:
Takes place shortly after Season Three begins, once Hugh has moved back in with Paul.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Shhhhhh. It’s okay. You’re here, with me.”
Hugh holds Paul as tightly as he can while still letting his partner breathe, face buried in the space between his neck and shoulder when the words pierce the haze of desperate comfort-seeking.
“You…”
His voice is hoarse, throat raw from crying out in his nightmares and then crying in Paul’s arms once he’d shaken Hugh awake.
Awake.
For a moment after he’d opened his eyes, it hadn’t been Paul’s beautiful face with a frown of concern between his brows, crowned with unkempt hair and haloed by the starlight coming in over their bed. Hadn’t been his sleepy but determined voice saying his name, repeating over and over that he’s safe, that Paul has him, that he’s not going anywhere. Hadn’t been his arms wrapping around Hugh and rocking him gently.
Instead, the horrific vision from his nightmare lingered. He saw Paul’s face cast in pallid gray, eyes dull and unseeing. He heard the biobed alarm change from the staccato of cardiac arrest to the shrill wail of brain death, the wet rattle of Paul trying to breathe with a collapsed lung gone silent. He felt Paul’s heart cease its weak fluttering in his palm, ruined and refusing to beat again. He tasted blood, saw it everywhere, Paul’s blood staining his bare hands as someone pulled him away and he fought them, begging and pleading.
Then warm lips had pressed themselves to his, stubble catching on his beard and anchoring him in the waking world. Hugh blinked, and the smell of smoke and ozone vanished, replaced by woodsy musk and citrus. Paul’s voice replaced the cacophony of battle, wordless murmurs of reassurance and his heartbeat under Hugh’s grasping hands. He’d taken a shuddering breath, and Paul rolled him onto his back before settling on top of him, placing himself between Hugh and the entire universe.
Safe.
Eventually, Paul lifts his head from the pillow, separates them just enough to look Hugh in the eyes. He doesn’t ask what Hugh was dreaming about, just cradles his cheek in one broad palm and stretches up to kiss Hugh’s forehead.
“I’m here,” he murmurs, “you’re safe.”
Memories of fleeing for his acid-eaten existence in the network still plague him, but are nothing next to these.
”I wasn’t-“ Hugh swallows convulsively, “not that. Not me.”
Sometimes, he thinks that if the horror of his occasional nightmares of losing Paul is this crippling, he can’t imagine Paul’s anguish when he was dead.
Paul uses his foot to retrieve the covers from where they’ve been kicked down, angling himself as far as he can with Hugh clinging to him until he can catch the corner of the duvet between his index and middle finger and pull it up over them. He doesn’t stop at their shoulders, but covers their heads, tucking it between a miraculously upright pillow and the headboard to leave them space to breathe.
”Did I die?”
It’s spoken quietly into air between them, and he’s endlessly grateful that Paul understands, no incredulity or patronizing tone.
“Yes.”
He hates how small his voice sounds.
Paul doesn’t try to offer any platitudes, just lets Hugh take more of his weight, shifting his elbows on the sheets until every breath presses their chests together tightly.
“It was…the battle with Control. You…I couldn’t. Couldn’t-“ Hugh closes his eyes but opens them again immediately to avoid the darkness behind his eyelids, “I lost you.”
It’s hard to see in the shadows beneath the covers, but he hears the tiny, pained noise Paul makes.
“You saved me.”
It’s such a simple statement, but there are so many layers of meaning.
“I had to…” he forces past the lump in his throat, “I couldn’t.”
Paul’s heart beats against his palm, and he worries that his clutching fingers will bruise, but his partner only leans into him harder.
“Had to?”
He knows Paul’s seen his own medical file, and they talked about it in blasé terms when he was dragging Paul out of the Jefferies Tube and putting him back in the cellular regeneration chamber, but he’s never spoken the details aloud.
“Heart massage. You coded. Twice. I- my hand.”
The hiss of indrawn breath a moment later tells him that Paul’s deciphered the sentence fragments. Then he’s cradling Hugh’s face, noses touching, sharing the same air.
”I’m sorry you had to-“
Hugh cuts him off with a shake of his head, adamant.
”I’d do it a thousand times if it means…to save you.”
He knows Paul knows he’s not just talking about what happened in the medbay.
”I know.”
The kiss that follows makes him lightheaded with its intensity, open-mouthed and deep but not sexual. They’ve shared kisses like this before, and it awes him every time, Paul’s love made tangible.
Paul’s arms around him, his body anchoring Hugh in the present.
Paul’s heart beating strong and whole, nearly destroyed before Hugh painstakingly stitched it back together again.
Paul.
Notes:
This was supposed to be a Hugh waking from a nightmare followed by comfort sex, but it veered this way instead. I might still write the sex part, but will have to frame it a bit differently.
I keep revisiting this point in their history because there are so many raw feelings Season Three didn’t give us that I needed to happen.
Chapter 496: Scanty
Summary:
Hugh likes seeing his clothes on Paul. This though…
Notes:
Takes place early in their relationship. Something to make up for the angst in the last chapter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Are those mine?”
At his words, the man in front of him freezes, bare shoulders gone stiff. Hugh can see his face reflected in the mirror, surprise turning rapidly to a flush of…
Is he embarrassed?
He needn’t be at all.
”I-“ Paul’s still facing away from him, eyes slamming shut, “I…you’re not supposed to be home yet.”
It’s a colloquial turn of phrase, but Hugh’s heart flutters at the thought of ‘home’ together. They’ve spent the better part of the last four months living in Paul’s small flat on Deneva while he completes an extended course on xenobiology, and though neither likes to speak of it, his time here is coming to an end. Soon he’ll be back aboard ship or at Starfleet Medical in San Francisco, limited to comms and messages until they can meet in person again.
No matter how long they have, it’s never enough.
Tracy had once joked that ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’, only to fall silent as the look on Hugh’s face told her everything. He wants more, wants to truly come home to Paul without impending separation, wants to have somewhere to call theirs where neither of them has a bag waiting to be packed. Wants to wake up every morning to Paul’s grumpy noises when Hugh gets up for a run, wants to hear him snore and get annoyed at him for stealing the covers every night.
“Shift ended early,” he comments absently, still focused on the sight in front of him.
The black silk briefs fit differently on Paul, clinging lovingly to his hipbones and contrasting beautifully with the pale skin of his backside. Whereas Hugh knows very well that his own ass fills them taut, they settle enticingly into the cleft between Paul’s cheeks.
“Oh. Umm…well.”
Sometimes watching Paul squirm is enjoyable, but he can’t let any misunderstanding stand.
“Did you,” he frowns, trying to place the slightly guilty twist of Paul’s lips, “think I’d be mad at you for trying on my underwear?”
“It does sound vaguely ridiculous,” Paul mutters, and Hugh isn’t deceived by the brittle layer of playfulness.
They’re mostly of a size, though Hugh’s more well-muscled, and sharing clothing is one of the simple joys of being together. He loves pulling on a shirt that belongs to Paul, particularly after his lover has discarded it, breathing in musk and hints of clean sweat. This though…
“Like them?”
”They look better on you,” Paul’s lips quirk in a half-smile, eyes opening again to meet his gaze in the mirror, “let me-“
He fumbles for the waistband, but stops when Hugh catches his wrists, staying him.
“Leave them on,” he murmurs, “please.”
“I- wait. This…”
Hugh licks his lips when Paul finally turns around.
”Hmm?”
“This turns you on.”
It’s not a question.
“Obviously.”
The gentle smile and tip of his head must communicate the intended tease and not a reproach, because Paul’s shoulders relax.
”Hi.”
”Mmm. Hi yourself,” he leans forward for a kiss, “what made you decide…? Actually- wait. Hang on, where did you find them?”
Now that he’s thinking again, he’s fairly certain they misplaced them last week, flung somewhere between the door and the bedroom when undressing each other after an evening out.
“Under the coffee table. Next to your socks.”
Hugh blinks.
“They’ve been there since Thursday?”
Paul’s rather fixated on personal hygiene, so he can’t imagine him fishing them out and deciding to put them on straight off the floor.
“I was doing laundry,” Paul gives him a rueful look, “before you got back.”
”So they’re clean.”
That earns him an eyeroll.
”Obviously.”
It’s hardly the first time Paul’s made sure his clothes are put through the refresher, but Hugh’s never had a boyfriend willing to do his laundry before. And honestly, it’s disproportionately sexy. An idea latches onto his brain a moment later, and he turns towards the dresser to dig into his duffel.
”Hugh?”
“Here,” Hugh holds out another bundle of fabric, “try these.”
Paul shakes out the brightly-colored cloth, face reddening again. The mesh trunks are an intense orange, sheer to the point of being practically transparent. They’re clearly not meant for practicality, gauzy fabric incapable of offering anything but the most minimal support. He swallows.
”These are new.”
Stepping forward, Hugh drops to his knees at Paul’s feet, hooking his fingers beneath the waistband of the briefs Paul’s still wearing.
”Let me help.”
He glances up, sees Paul‘s lips part as the suggestive tone sinks in.
”Okay.”
Inch by inch, Hugh skims the silk over Paul’s hips, exposing blond curls. He eases the elastic over his soft dick, unable to resist pressing a close-mouthed kiss to the shaft before letting the briefs fall to the floor. Wordlessly, Paul hands him the pair he’s still holding, then places a hand on his shoulder for balance as he steps out of the others and into them.
Hugh takes his time pulling them up, aware that dragging the mesh over Paul’s copious leg hair is probably creating maddening prickles of sensation. Paul’s cheeks are growing pink again, eyes impossibly blue as Hugh’s thumbs caress his inner thighs. Once he reaches Paul’s groin, he cups cock and balls together, cradling them in his palm before settling the fabric at Paul’s hips.
”There we go.”
The fiery orange meant to contrast with his own skin looks even better against Paul’s. He stares unabashedly, taking in the way Paul’s tip is perfectly outlined and barely concealed beneath the sheer mesh.
”Hugh?”
”Beautiful,” he breathes, gazing upwards, “so perfect, sweetheart.”
Paul catches his hands, lacing their fingers together with a very familiar expression of building arousal and more than a hint of self-consciousness.
“If you say so.”
Opening his mouth, he exhales slowly over the bulge in front of his face, ghosting his lips over it as he feels Paul start to thicken. Paul’s grip tightens when Hugh mouths at his balls, a moan escaping as he uses his tongue to trace the shaft.
”Fuck.”
”Did I mention,” he frees one hand, “these are made for that?”
He cups Paul’s ass, sees the moment that Paul notices what he was too distracted from before and realizes that the back…isn’t.
“You-“
Hugh gives him a wicked grin.
”I got these so you could bend me over the kitchen table like you keep promising.”
Paul’s mouth falls open and he inhales sharply.
“Had to use Tracy’s synthesizer so you couldn’t trace the log,” Hugh continues, trailing a finger up the cleft.
“…when?”
He closes his own eyes for a moment, Paul’s husky tone gone straight down to where he’s growing increasingly uncomfortable in his uniform pants.
”Last week.”
Wiggling his fingertip between Paul’s slightly spread thighs, he presses against the tender skin behind his balls and revels in the mewl it produces.
”Nnnghhhhh. Mmm…I see. Should we- ahhh! Should we. Test them out?”
Hugh sucks the tip briefly, tongue working over the mesh.
“Are you suggesting an experiment, Doctor Stamets?”
”I’m suggesting, Doctor Culber, that you fuck me before I do it myself and make you watch.”
That makes him moan. Paul still isn’t as comfortable as Hugh is in his desires, and an offer like that is a most unexpected treat.
“Is that a promise?”
”Do you want it to be?”
Rocking back on his heels, Hugh surges to his feet, crowding Paul back against the wall and fastening their mouths together.
”Yes,” he says against Paul’s lips when they have to break for air, “do I get to pick?”
Paul bites his chin, thigh pressing up between Hugh’s.
”Pick what?”
He bites Paul just under the jaw, not hard enough to sting but plenty to earn him a squeeze from the hand now gripping his ass.
”What you fuck yourself with,” he whispers into Paul’s ear.
Fingers fumble at his collar, pulling it open. Paul returns the favor, sucking a love bite into Hugh’s throat as his hands roam freely. He tugs Hugh’s earlobe with his teeth, traces the shell of his ear with his tongue.
”Maybe. What- mmmmnnhhhh, what were you thinking?”
”My dick.”
The dark, sensual bedroom laugh that evokes makes him thrust against Paul’s hip even as clever fingers unzip his jacket.
“You’re not the only one with a surprise.”
Hugh works a hand between them, pinches a nipple and drinks in the resulting moan.
”…what?”
“Something new,” Paul’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek when Hugh nuzzles him, “I think you’ll like it.”
”Yeah?”
”Mmhmm.”
His jacket hits the floor, hands now delving down the front of his pants.
”Fuck. Tell me? Yo- ahhhh!”
Hugh stumbles backwards when Paul propels them off the wall, landing on the bed with Paul on top. His lover looks down at him, a rare assertive smirk in place.
”It vibrates.”
It’s going to be a good night.
Notes:
Hugh 100% owns sexy underwear. I refuse to believe otherwise.
So uhh, this was supposed to be a cute little piece about Paul being embarrassed to be caught trying on Hugh’s undies and, well… this happened instead. Oops?
Almost at 500 chapters! Any requests?
Chapter 497: Sprawl
Chapter Text
“That was good.”
The covers are hopelessly tangled, half the pillows on the floor and the two remaining on the wrong end of the bed, but Hugh isn’t complaining. Instead, he revels in the languid contentment, sweaty sheets and all.
”…mmm.”
Turning his head on the pillow, he’s greeted with the sight of Paul starfished on the bed, limbs still where they’d fallen when Hugh finally disengaged and rolled off of him. Paul’s breathing is slowing back down to normal, and his skin glows pink with exertion. Unable to resist, Hugh trails the backs of his fingers down an out-flung arm, breathing in the scent of them together.
”Wanna clean up, love? Or dinner?”
Paul doesn’t bother to open his eyes, but his lips quirk upwards.
”You’re asking me to think after that?”
”Hang on,” Hugh heaves himself onto his side, head propped on his hand, “shouldn’t I be the one that’s tired?”
“Hardly.”
It’s clearly a tease, and he summons up all the mock outrage his post-coital brain can manage.
”I’m pretty sure that was me doing most of the work.”
One eye opens partway, a hint of blue beneath damp lashes.
”I will have you know,” Paul huffs dramatically, “it’s a ridiculous amount of work not to come when you’re looking at me like that.”
He reaches for a corner of the sheet, swiping at the mess on Paul’s stomach before snuggling into his side with a quiet laugh.
”Fair enough.”
Paul finally moves, arms coming up to circle Hugh’s shoulders.
”If we fall asleep we’re going to stick together.”
”True. Up for a shower?”
Tucking his chin against his chest, Paul makes a show of looking down his own body.
”I don’t think I’m going to be ‘up’ again for anything until tomorrow.”
Hugh pinches his side at the terrible pun, but doesn’t make any move to leave the bed either.
”Nap, then food?”
”Mmmm.”
”Zora-“
”Yes, Doctor Culber?”
“Wake us up in half an hour?”
”It would be my pleasure.”
Alarm set, he squirms until their bodies are touching from head to toes. Hugh lets his eyes fall closed, nuzzling into Paul’s neck.
“I think the pleasure was all ours.”
Chapter 498: (un)Said
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh’s first defense has always been a disarming smile, followed by skillfully diverting the conversation. Those who persist, he finds a way to insert mention of his partner, casual and unaffected. Third on the list - and Tracy has called him to task over the years for not making it first - is an expression of polite disinterest.
("Why don't you just tell them you're not interested and to stuff that back where it came from?"
"There's no point in being rude, Trace."
"No?"
"...until they deserve it."
"Mmm. If you say so.")
Hugh is a man prone to touch, generous in affection for those he cares for and ever communicating comfort and calm with a warm hand on an arm or shoulder. He’s held toughened officers while they cried on his shoulder, too long a soldier and in pain, never suggesting anything but compassionate understanding. His personal space is no smaller than anyone’s, but he welcomes others in without concern or hesitation. He offers to spot shipmates at the gym, brushes elbows moving through the mess hall, and never looks uncomfortable in a crowded turbolift.
And yet.
If someone moves to touch him beyond the bounds of propriety, the icy cold he can summon is its own defense. The physique he’s worked on becomes less an expression of careful strength and more one of solid refusal. His warm amber eyes go hard, voice losing its soft edge even as he doesn't speak any louder or faster.
He might freely share his touch with those he cares for, with Tracy and Adira and Tilly and the rest of their family, but only Paul need never seek permission. There’s no sense of personal space between them, a shared bubble housing them both that others can read as easily as Hugh’s smile. Even at their professional best, the little hallmarks are there: bodies slightly angled together, smiles just that much more genuine when catching the other's eyes, a subtle teasing comment.
Hugh is ever willing to use his body to give Paul pleasure, to express his love in kisses and caresses and fingertips brushing in the turbolift, cuddles and hugs and passion. They read unspoken things in body language, the amount of pressure and placement of a touch, the quirk of an eyebrow. Paul knows all of his secrets, and Hugh knows his. He's secure in the knowledge that his partner is far too caring to thoughtlessly take more than he gives, and so he gives with abandon, offers everything that he's ever wanted to share with the person he loves.
Hugh's never had any defense against Paul, and he doesn't want one.
Notes:
Taking requests for Chapter 500 (!) - let me know if you'd prefer:
1) Space Family aka Spinach Part 2
2) Culmets smut
3) The next installment of cat!Paul
4) Another Nella adventureI have all of these and more saved in drafts, and am trying to figure out which one to finish in celebration of making it this ridiculously far :)
Chapter 499: Sheltered
Chapter Text
“You’re always who other people need you to be,” Paul’s voice is gentle but firm, “whatever and however and when ever that is. It’s one of the reasons I love you. But sometimes you need things too.”
“I can’t stop caring," Hugh addresses the viewport, throat tight.
The conversation has followed them for days, in bits and pieces around avoidance and interruption, started and stopped over breakfast and in the shower and brushing their teeth. If the stakes weren't so high, Hugh could appreciate the reversal of roles from Paul and the spore drive. Here though, there's no hiding from each other.
”I’m not saying that. I’m saying you’re responding to all the demands of you, but you’re forgetting that you shouldn’t have to be someone for everyone and not yourself. Even me.”
Beside him, Paul mirrors his position on the sheets, hand reaching for his on top of the duvet and squeezing gently to emphasize the last two words.
”Sometimes,” he confesses to the shadows above the bed, “being with you is the only time I’m me. Not Doctor Culber, just me.”
Paul’s indrawn breath hitches. He doesn't say anything yet, giving Hugh space to continue if he wants. Hugh's out of words, but he loves him all the more for it.
After a minute, he rolls onto his side, no longer content with gazing out at the stars. Paul follows suit, moving closer until the pillowcase creases beneath both of their cheeks. He strokes Hugh’s temple, his jaw, then kisses him deeply.
”Let me take care of you. Please, Hugh.”
Such a simple request whispered against his lips. Paul's eyes, storm and steel, are soft with entreaty. Hugh studies the fine worry lines etched at their corners, the furrow in his brow speaking more of concern than any words could. He nods once, then buries his face against Paul’s chest as he's pulled into a fierce embrace. The tension he’s been carrying in his spine, in his shoulders, has been with him for so long that he's not even sure how to let go.
“I’m scared, Paul.”
Nodding against the top of his head, Paul gently rolls Hugh onto his back, blankets him with his body. The arm behind his shoulders tucks itself beneath the pillow, Paul’s other hand coming up to cradle his head. His weight settles onto Hugh, and suddenly he can breathe again, fill his lungs.
”I know. Me too.”
He’s safe, if only for a little while, but right now it's enough.
Notes:
I started this nine months ago, but didn't quite know where it was going mid-season. I'm glad to have picked it up again, because it illustrates the quiet but profound intimacies between them.
Chapter 500 is next! Thank you to everyone who's commented on what you'd like it to be. It'll take a few days to finish any of the drafts, so it's not too late for more requests :)
1) Space Family aka Spinach Part 2
2) Culmets smut
3) The next installment of cat!Paul
4) Another Nella adventure
Chapter 500: Shapeshift, Part Twenty-Six
Notes:
Chapter 500 (!) by popular demand: the next installment of cat!Paul, clocking in at over 1,600 words.
Apologies for the delay - I stalled out writing part two of “Spinach”, and decided to switch gears after several days of staring at my screen in frustration when I couldn't get the voices quite right. It tied with cat!Paul for number of requests, so will be coming soon :)
Continues directly from Chapter 485.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Are you-"
"Yeah...no! Yes. Hang on."
"Good?"
"...maybe? Yes. No. Okay."
It’s a moment of much-needed levity as a distraction from his throbbing head when Tilly crouches and Adira only slightly awkwardly climbs onto her shoulders.
"Oww. Hair."
"Sorry!"
"Just- your leg is on my ponytail."
"Sorry."
They spend a few seconds navigating the wobbles of standing upright like a drunken stilt-walker before maneuvering into position beneath the open ceiling panel.
”…umm. Err. Paul?”
Paul, who had been pacing back and forth with tail twitching, looks up at them and makes a noise somewhere between clearing his throat and a whine.
"Much as I love the free gymnastics show, let's get a move on it before my back decides to dislocate again?"
Cat-pupiled or not, Hugh recognizes the resignation in his eyes, and glances up at Reno, who’s watching the scene play out with amusement.
"Paul?" he reaches out, gently scooping him up. "Ready?"
A nod.
”You two can make googly-eyes at each other later.”
"Hssssskkksssss!"
Smiling, Hugh chuckles as Paul literally bares his fangs and hisses.
"Tilly?"
Adira tips precariously forward as Tilly holds out her arms, hands seemingly looking for something to hold onto that isn’t her hair. They elbow a bit of paneling that clangs to the deck, and Hugh winces.
"I- yikes!"
”Sorry,” Tilly mutters, "hmmm."
Paul's dangling tail swishes like a pendulum, but he's quiet in Hugh's arms. Lifting his partner upwards strains his bruised ribs and hip, but thankfully Paul’s back is to him so he can’t see Hugh’s grimace. Tilly bends at the knees this time, not even blinking as Paul’s claws hook into her sleeves when she straightens again, Adira's hand on the bulkhead for balance.
“Here…” her voice is muffled by Paul’s tail brushing over her face, hind paws dangling, “got him?”
"Yep."
”Mrrowwwww.”
His partner’s feline form is on the larger side, and he stifles a laugh at the sight of him practically sitting on Tilly’s head like an orange-striped fur hat while Adira gets their arms and his paws sorted out.
"Good?"
"Yeah."
It's still uncomfortably cold, and he zips his jacket back up, wishing he could do more to help. Tipping his head back sets off a pounding in his right temple, but getting to his feet is out of the question.
Standing up and falling over would be bad.
Really bad.
Above them, Reno scoots just a little further forward, leaning down.
”Pass ‘im up.”
Tilly clamps her arms over Adira's calves as they stretch upwards.
"I've got you."
For all their verbal sparring, Reno’s grip looks surprisingly careful, catching Paul beneath his front legs and immediately bringing his body to her shoulder while remaining half out of the ceiling.
"Mrrrowww?"
”Climb up, Crankypaws.”
He hesitates, but Hugh can hear the scratching sound of his claws and paws scrabbling over onto Reno's back, then disappearing in the darkness behind her.
"You good up ther-"
A low thud vibrates the deckplates, shaking loose a few smaller pieces of debris.
"What was that?"
Adira's voice isn't quite panicked, but Hugh can't exactly blame them when another thump rattles the ship.
"No idea," Reno offers, "but if the conduit destabilizes, at least cats land on their feet."
"Mrraaawwowww!"
Paul’s head appears alongside Reno as the ship pitches a few degrees and back again.
"Let's hurry it up so we don't find out. You're next, kid."
"Okay," Tilly shifts, backing up so Adira is under the open panel again, hands loosely clasped around their ankles, "good?"
"No."
Hugh can see the problem right away, as Adira stretches their arms towards Reno but can't quite make contact with her hands while sitting, unable to bridge the distance Paul was able to while standing on his hind legs.
"You're not close enough," he exchanges a look with them, "can you stand?"
Adira's nose wrinkles in a frown, side-eyeing him.
"Ummm-"
Tilly shakes her head.
"I don't think-"
"...yeah. No."
"I could stand on something?"
The dubious tone isn't lost on any of them.
"That's a worse idea."
"Hang on."
Reno disappears for a moment, then a second drone spirals down to join the first. Handles extend from both of their bases with a clicking noise, and they rise to hover in front of Adira at chest height.
"Jett?"
"Grab on," she scoots back a bit, "the kids'll lift you."
"Ummm."
"Go on," Reno adds, PADD in hand, "one of them held me upside down ten meters off that asteroid of doom, two of 'em'll be better."
"Okay."
True to her word, the drones rise without any evidence of strain, pulling Adira upwards. Tilly ducks out from beneath their legs as they float into the ceiling, rolling her shoulders.
"Good?"
Adira's upper half enters the conduit, and Hugh winces as their knee bangs into the edge of the open panel.
"Oww."
Once they deposit Adira, the drones whir their way back down.
"Go on," Hugh gestures at Tilly.
She shakes her head, holding out her hands to him.
"You first."
"Tilly-"
"You're hurt," she crouches, lifting his left arm over her shoulders, "you first."
Try as he might, he can't stifle the yelp of pain as standing ignites what feels like a plasma fire in his knee, sparks bursting behind his closed eyelids. Hugh grits his teeth, breathing in shallow pants while Tilly helps steady him. The world wobbles around him for a few agonizingly long moments, and he leans into her harder until the dizziness passes.
"Hugh?"
That's Adira, and he does his best to summon up some of Dr. Culber's calm.
"I'm okay."
"Mrroooo-"
"I call B.S.," Reno offers, "but hey, I'm just a gearhead."
Paul's typing, and Tilly waits for Hugh to grab the drones before gently untangling herself from him.
"Hold on Doc. Kid- Stamets, move," Reno orders, sarcasm vanishing as Paul abandons his typing and she uses her forearm to nudge him back from the edge, "he'll be fine. Adira, need you to get his legs."
"Okay."
Hugh flexes his fingers around the cool metal, loosening them a little before closing his hands again.
"Go ahead."
"Here we go."
His ribs are very much not happy with being stretched, but Hugh focuses on being glad that the antigravs are seemingly unaffected by whatever strange phenomenon rocked Discovery.
It's a little late now to worry about it anyway.
As he reaches the ceiling, Reno moves to one side to make space alongside Adira for them to guide Hugh over the threshold. It's a tight fit and more painful than he'd like to admit, but it's thankfully less then thirty seconds before he can let go of the drones. He pushes with his good leg and pulls himself a little further into the conduit, feeling something brush along his side before a warm, furry body presses itself against his neck and shoulder.
"Mrrowww?"
Paul's quiet, but he winces anyway.
"M'okay."
He can't see Paul's face completely, but doesn't need to look to sense the skepticism radiating off of him. A paw pats at his chin, followed by a rough tongue. Sighing, Hugh rolls onto his back and swallows down the nausea, the sound of Reno giving Tilly instructions receding into the background as Paul's nose rubs against his cheek.
It's a fairly miserable twenty-minute crawl from the labs to the medbay, but Aisha's waiting on the other end with an antigrav platform to lower him from the ceiling and transfer him to a biobed. The earlier rush of injuries seems to have slowed, and Tracy arrives from the back medical suites to give him a look that works on Captains and security teams. It has less of an effect on him in his current state, but she also gives him a neural blocker that he's horribly grateful for, and lifts Paul out of Hugh's lap to set him on the floor without comment.
"Mrrgglllhrrrmmmphhh."
Aisha's busy scanning Tilly and Adira, the familiar hum a counterpoint to the osteoregen Tracy sets up over his knee. She flips the scan results around, the throbbing in his head receding into blessed coolness so that he can actually read, zooming in on the cranial images.
"I'd ask you what year we're in, but I don't think you hit your head that hard."
It's delivered with sarcasm, a hint of concern lurking beneath Tracy's bland smile.
"Disoriented for a bit, no memory loss. It's fine now."
Tracy gives his hip a completely unnecessary poke, reaching for another regen when he winces.
"Well, I'm officially putting you off-duty for the next eight hours, modern medicine or no."
She smirks as Paul climbs onto a stool and hops back onto the biobed.
"All of you."
Repairs. And whatever happened, we need to find out why.
"Captain's orders once Reno got you out of there," she probes Hugh's sore ribs, "can argue with her."
"It's not like we're on a ship full of scientific geniuses or something," Reno adds, lounging against a cart, "even if some of them have their heads-"
"Mrrrowwww!"
"-I'll tell you if something's wrong with your mushroom machine, Stamets."
Paul starts to type something, deletes it, types and deletes again, then sits with a huff.
"Cat got your tongue?"
The answering hiss sounds like the exhaust manifolds powering down. Adira and Tilly join them, and Hugh looks down at his own soot-smeared Medical whites and back up at their dirty faces with a wry smile.
"Hugh?"
Shower.
Adira's mouth opens, then closes again.
Go rest, both of you.
"We can help Reno-"
"Nope," she calls over, wiping her conspicuously clean drones down with an actual towel, "off-duty, means you're supposed to not be doing work. Crankypaws could look it up for you."
I strongly dislike you.
Her back is to them, but Hugh catches the reflection of Reno's smile before it vanishes and she turns around with a shrug.
"Feeling's mutual. Could also say thank you for rescuing you before you turned into ice pops."
Paul's eyes narrow, paws typing in exaggerated motions to convey his grudging response.
Thank you.
"Wasn't that hard, was it?"
"Mrrowwww."
Notes:
Read the other parts of "Shapeshift" at: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25
So much has happened between me posting the first chapter back in January of 2020 and now. This is a milestone I never anticipated reaching, and I honestly couldn't have made it this far without the comments and kudos and all of your support. The Trek fandom is awesome in so many ways, but the Culmets fic community is some of the best of it.
THANK YOU.
Chapter 501: Solace
Notes:
Contains a whole lot of affection and a very non-graphic handjob as an expression of said feeling :)
Can be read as a companion piece to Chapter 492 (“Stroking”), or as a standalone.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“You’re twitchy,” Paul comments absently, left hand stealing over to scratch gently at the back of Hugh’s neck, “want me to turn out the lights?”
He keeps reading, scrolling one-handed in a way that someone else might think dismissive, but Paul Stamets and multitasking are a glorious combination.
”Mmmm. No,” Hugh sighs, “sorry, just feeling restless.”
His own PADD teeters precariously for a few moments, balanced on top of his water glass as he sets it aside. Paul’s frowning a little in thought, enlarging a section of an equation. Hugh rolls onto his side, right hand tucked beneath the pillow, and closes his eyes.
Two minutes and four unsatisfied minor shifts in position against the sheets later, Paul’s voice drifts over as his hand lands on Hugh’s still-tense shoulder.
“Can I help?”
His fingers move unerringly, seeking out and carefully kneading away the day’s tension
“Is that an open offer?”
Paul smiles.
”Cuddles, kisses, rubbing your feet…?”
He waits for Hugh to finish his sentence, expression open and patient, gaze affectionate and soft. The tightness in his trapezius melts away and he sighs, long and slow.
“Hmmm.”
Hugh tries to consider his options, but being the object of Paul Stamets’ undivided attention makes it awfully hard to think. They’re due to wash the sheets soon, and he happily inhales the scent of them amidst the cozy cocoon of covers while he thinks. The light catches Paul’s hair, turning it to pure platinum, individual strands nearly transparent at the ends. His lips are slightly chapped, probably from chewing them in thought, the tip of his tongue darting pink between them for a moment.
“Mmm?”
Really though, it’s not that difficult of a decision.
“Want to play?”
Hugh tips his chin down, glancing up at Paul with mischievous invitation. What he gets in return is a moment of stillness while his partner seems to listen to his own body, then eyebrows rising before his smile widens with a hint of ruefulness.
”Not tonight, but I can take care of you?”
“You don’t have to,” he kisses the hand still resting on his shoulder, “if you want to keep reading.”
Paul wrinkles his nose, thumb rubbing idle circles on Hugh’s collarbone.
”Definitely done reading, I don’t have it in me to deal with the rest of the reports until tomorrow.”
There’s an easy double entendre to make about having things in him, but Hugh resists the urge.
”You sure?”
“Yes, dear doctor. Did you want my hand, or…?”
“Yes.”
Chuckling, Paul sets down the PADD and holds out his arm, waiting for Hugh to get comfortable cuddled into his side and propped against the stack of pillows behind him. They share a kiss and Hugh nuzzles at Paul’s neck, inhaling deeply as Paul’s fingers move to fondle him through his pants. He sighs, hips shifting and his own fingers trailing up and down the inside of Paul’s thigh.
“Good?”
”Mmhmm.”
He doesn’t draw out the tease like he might on other nights, but rubs and squeezes in the right way to have Hugh half-hard in short order. The heat of his hand combined with friction from the fabric makes him moan quietly into the skin of Paul’s throat, and he squirms, working his pants down to mid-thigh, erection bouncing a little with the motion.
“Better?”
”Mmhmm.”
Paul takes him back in hand, giving Hugh full strokes just the way he likes it.
“You know,” Paul rubs his thumb over the tip, spreading the slick wetness, “I was thinking about this theory I read on…”
He closes his eyes, cheek resting on Paul’s shoulder while he hums and makes thoughtful noises. Hugh doesn’t mind the mostly one-sided conversation, knows it has nothing to do with disinterest, just Paul’s brain filling the silence when he’s comfortable and relaxed.
”-and I thought, maybe if we use the transverse variable-“
Paul’s heartbeat is steady against his arm, the rumble of his voice soothing.
”-not sure, but it’s worth a try if the simulations agree. Although-“
Unbidden, Hugh’s hand slips underneath the hem of Paul’s shirt, playing with the trail of hair disappearing under the waistband. There’s a bit of a dip at his side, where his stomach creases over his hip, and Hugh’s index finger settles there.
Paul works him with practiced strokes, pausing every now and then to play with just the head again. The buildup of arousal is slow and steady, perfect for a night like this.
“-which might work, but then we’d have to-“
Eventually, Hugh can feel his balls growing heavy, squeezes Paul’s thigh gently to let him know.
“-tomorrow.”
Paul finishes the sentence, then settles Hugh back on the pillows and retrieves the arm from around his shoulders. Before Hugh can react, Paul bends down and replaces his hand with the wet heat of his mouth. Hugh gives his thigh a much harder squeeze, hears and feels the chuckle it evokes, sees how Paul’s lips try to curve into a smug smile around him.
“Babe, I-“
It’s too much and just enough, and Hugh’s breath catches, stomach tensing. Paul pulls off at the last moment, stroking him by hand through a very pleasant orgasm.
”Sorry,” Paul murmurs when he’s done, “already brushed my teeth.”
Hugh chuckles at that, warmth flowing through his limbs and carrying a welcome lassitude.
”I’m not complaining.”
Paul smiles, fingers giving him a few more feather-light touches before withdrawing.
“Better?”
”Mmhmm.”
He can feel his eyelids growing heavy, but fights back the urge to drift off just yet.
”Thank you, love.”
Paul kisses him, then climbs out of bed. Hugh hears his footsteps in the direction of the bathroom followed by the sink running as Paul washes his hands. He rouses himself enough to strip off his now-wet shirt, wipes his stomach and pulls his pants back up before straightening the covers the way Paul likes.
His eyes are closed, but he’s still awake when Paul spoons up behind him, ordering the lights off and wrapping an arm around his waist.
“Sleep?”
”Mmhmm. Love you, sweetheart. Night.”
”I love you too,” Paul murmurs into the back of his neck, “goodnight.”
Notes:
Realistically, both partners in the most intimately loving relationship might not *always* have their interests aligned.
Flight delay, 10 hours on a plane, 2.5 hours on a train…and vacation is much, much-needed.
Chapter 502: Shiver
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Mmmm.”
Hugh blinks, focus sharpening from the hazy almost-doze he’s been floating in. He turns his head just a bit on the pillow, cheek brushing against Paul’s forehead, Paul’s in turn pillowed on his shoulder.
”Hmmm?”
A rustle of covers and Paul shifts, cold toes delving under the cuff of Hugh’s pajama pants and evoking a small noise of surprise. Paul pauses at that, and Hugh can feel his eyelashes catching in his beard as they flutter.
”Sorry.”
”You know,” Hugh murmurs in their shadowy lair beneath the duvet, “I still don’t know how your feet get that cold.”
”I have poor peripheral circulation.”
His chuckle bounces Paul’s head, earning him a sound of displeasure.
”No you don’t.”
”No?”
“I’m positive.”
Hugh brings the arm not already wrapped around Paul’s shoulders up, fingers flirting with the dip in his collarbone.
”Really.”
The overdone skepticism makes him laugh again.
”Yes. Because I’m pretty sure that’s your hand down my pants, and it’s not a block of ice.”
Paul uses a knee to lift the covers, peering into the darkness. His hand’s really in an innocuous enough location - palm and fingers curved possessively around Hugh’s hipbone - but he frowns in mock surprise.
”Oh. Huh.”
”Mmhmm.”
Raising his head off Hugh’s shoulder long enough to claim a kiss, Paul settles back down with a content hum. Their breathing slows, Hugh’s eyelids growing heavy again. He nuzzles Paul’s forehead, messy hair tickling his nose, then exhales long and low.
Sleep claims them not long after, snuggled content in each other’s arms in a tiny pocket of warmth while the stars wheel overhead.
Notes:
Vacation has been amazing, but it also means I haven’t had much time to write. Hope you all enjoy this little tidbit :)
Chapter 503: Stories, Part Two
Summary:
Getting stuck twice in one week while on Discovery is just a coincidence, right?
Notes:
Time jump back! A very late follow on to Chapter 296 (“Stories”) set a few days later during Season Two.
Posted from a very oversized bathtub in Dublin 🤓
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Don’t suppose you’ve got a deck of cards stashed somewhere, Commander?”
The tapping and rattling halts and Stamets’ face goes perfectly blank for a second as he pauses mid-poke into the guts of the turbolift panel. Chris can almost see him weighing whether or not to take the attempted levity at face value, or assign some deeper meaning. For the hundredth time, he has to remind himself that Discovery’s crew isn’t the Enterprise’s - they don’t know him, their mission gets stranger by the day, and their last captain was, put charitably, a sociopath from another universe masquerading as a dead officer. This isn’t Chief Louvier ready to give Chris an earful about the latest proposed regulation changes, or Amin and Nicola challenging him to a friendly game of Velocity, or Spock chopping vegetables into precise cubes beside him, back ramrod straight as they discuss philosophy.
He has been trying to get to know the crew better, and the ready room incident on Tuesday certainly helped break a lot of ice (proverbial, given that the environmental controls were set to sweltering). All of the bridge crew and senior staff are quick and sharp minds that Chris is grateful and impressed to be with on the ship. He’s had an opportunity to speak with most of them one-on-one, save Stamets; the man is oddly elusive, and Chris hasn’t been able to spend any time with him outside of briefings.
”No,” comes the eventual answer, “I don’t usually plan to be stuck in a turbolift with the Captain for three hours. Sir.”
He waves off the appended formality and slightly annoyed tone, straightening his legs to stretch them. The turbolift floor isn’t the most comfortable thing he’s had to sit on, but at least the temperature hasn’t been affected by the circuit failures that continue to dog them.
“Well, since we’re here, might as well entertain ourselves.”
That earns him a frown, but Stamets pulls his hands out of the panel and slides down to sit with his back to the doors.
“Captain?”
“No cards, no PADD,” he catches Stamets grimacing at the reminder, “anything you’ve been dying to have the Captain’s undivided attention for?”
Chris smiles encouragingly, and wonders why it makes the other man wince. It’s quickly mastered between one blink and the next, enough that someone else might think that they imagined it.
“I haven’t finished this week’s report on the drive system reconfiguration, so…”
Stamets shrugs awkwardly, fingers worrying at a seam on his uniform. He sighs mentally, wondering if he ought to try a different tactic. Being stuck in a turbolift with Una or Spock wouldn’t feel nearly this awkward.
”While I am terribly curious about the spore drive, that can wait until we’re down in Engineering sometime.”
A nod.
”How about twenty questions?”
“Twenty…?”
”Old game from the Academy, you get twenty questions to guess what something is.”
Stamets’ lips twitch upwards.
”I’m familiar with the game, Captain. It just usually-“
”Involves drinking. I know. I’m not sure that gives the best impression from your Captain twice in one week,” he chuckles, “but there’s a reason that stuff like that sticks around.”
He gets a noncommittal hum, suggesting Stamets is being too polite to tell him he’s uninterested. Silence creeps over them, Stamets’ gaze drawn back to the middle distance.
Well.
Chris mentally reviews birthdays and anniversaries for his senior staff on Enterprise, recites the epic fifty-stanza Vulcan poem On Logic and Mastery of Self, and decides he owes Una an extra long unofficial update. He’s not expecting otherwise, but it’s still somewhat surprising when Stamets’ expression barely changes.
“I know,” he puts on his best receptive smile, “how about you tell me something interesting, something I don’t know? Anything.”
It’s what he might ask a nervous cadet to ease their anxiety coming aboard Enterprise, something to coax them past the moment. It also has the added benefit of Chris amassing more random information than he’ll ever have a use for outside of Fleet trivia night in San Francisco, but does lead to interesting log entries. The topics have been as varied as the geology of rock formations in southeastern Libya, the origin of the family name McTavish, Lieutenant Amin’s grandfather’s recipe for lamb tagine (that he had to swear never to tell anyone else), how to tune an oboe, the way snowflakes form, and so many more. Since his time on Discovery, he’s also added how to skim a flitter over thermal drafts from Detmer, Bryce’s method for determining the best part of a wave to surf, and five ways to fix a malfunctioning EPS conduit without the use of a standard toolkit from Commander Reno.
Still, none of that helps now.
“You’ll find I’m not all that interesting, Captain.”
It’s not passive aggressively curt, or even a factual statement that Stamets believes to be true. Instead, there’s a weariness to it, as if engaging in conversation is a terrible effort.
Huh.
Chris might attribute the standoffishness to simple frustration or intimidation if he didn’t know better… and he knows all too well about creating buffers between oneself and the universe, particularly those born of trauma. Stamets’ face is drawn, a tension constantly lingering at the corners of his mouth and around the eyes. His pale skin doesn’t hide the shadows beneath his eyes that speak of troubled sleep, even though Chris has never witnessed him being openly affected by fatigue. He certainly doesn’t strike him as someone easily intimidated by anything so mundane as rank.
He doesn’t want to push past a boundary, but he can see the man bleeding to death from an invisible wound. Neither Captain Pike or Chris can stand by for that to happen, vital mission or not.
Try something else.
”Now that, I don’t believe. Everyone is interesting, has experiences that are unique.”
”I suppose.”
Maybe directing him back towards his research is a better approach?
Chris has yet to meet a scientist as dedicated as Stamets who isn’t happy to expound on their work.
“It’s remarkable science, Mister Stamets. I’m sure the Vulcan Science Academy will be well-equipped for you to continue your research.”
Stamets controls the flinch almost enough that Pike would have missed it if he wasn’t watching.
Damn. Wrong thing to say.
”No. That-“ he sighs, voice dropping, “I…no.”
He thinks about the personnel file he had a chance to read more in depth once Discovery was underway, contrasts the record photo against this man who seems to be hollowed out.
“I-“
”Did Tilly talk to you?”
Chris blinks.
”In general?”
Stamets’ lips quirk upwards for a moment.
”No. She… never mind. Sir.”
Sensing an inroad, Chris latches on.
“Ensign Tilly looks up to you, and that young woman seems to be a good judge of character.”
Another one of those looks, as if Stamets isn’t sure if Chris’ statement is meant seriously. He does his best to keep his expression open and guileless (Una teases him about it, calls it his ‘we’re the good guys, don’t shoot!’ face that’s saved them during multiple first contact missions and hostile encounters). It must work, because Stamets’ gaze returns from the paneling on the far wall.
”She likes fungi too,” he shakes his head, a hint of fondness in his voice, “and she’s brilliant.”
“Very…enthusiastic.”
That earns him a surprisingly sharp look.
”Everything she does is honest. Because she cares.”
The protectiveness is unexpected, but also more animated than he’s seen Stamets thus far. Holding up a placating hand, he hastens to add, “That’s not a criticism. I like when people speak their minds, helps solve problems faster that way.”
“She’s going to be a great Captain,” Stamets murmurs.
“Take credit where it’s due, Commander. Your mentorship saw her through the war.”
”There wasn’t supposed to be a war,” Stamets’ mouth is a hard line, “none of it.”
This time, the silence between them is heavy. Chris received the top-secret briefing on what “it” consisted of, and he sighs. He knew the real Gabriel Lorca, had known him since the Academy when he and Philippa were drinking each other under the table. Had watched Gabe be seemingly the only man in thirty years to fluster Kat, a stoic but caring Captain who was intensely protective of his crew.
So much loss.
”Anything you want to say is off the record,” he offers.
One minute.
Two.
Then-
”If we- if it hadn’t. He…” Stamets closes his eyes, words barely audible, “I brought him here.”
More than three quarters of the medical staff were casualties of the terrible attack on Starbase 12, but there’s no kindness in pointing out that had Dr. Culber remained there, the outcome would most likely have been the same.
“I’m deeply sorry for your loss. I know what it’s like to lose someone.”
It’s not enough, and Chris can’t think of what else to say when his last sentence could be construed as self-centering rather than compassionate. Stamets’ eyes open, and the pain in them is almost a physical blow.
Great job, Chris. Could you have said anything worse?
A deep breath, one that echoes. He closes his mouth, waits.
”Do you?” Stamets’ rough voice is very much present. “Do you know what it’s like to wake up every day alone when someone else should be there?”
No, the face that haunts Chris’ dreams is of a woman who he hopes isn’t dead, but could very well be. Vina’s face appears on every young cadet and ensign with a willowy form and blonde hair of just the right length. Still, if he struggles to let go of someone he knew for less than a week, he can’t imagine the pain Stamets must feel for his partner of over a decade. He’s loved and lost, but nothing on this scale.
“Not like that.”
“You-“ he shakes his head, “no.”
“Tell me about him?”
The twitch of Stamets’ lips is almost a smile.
”I thought you wanted to know something interesting about me.”
Chris raises his eyebrows, straightens his legs until his heels touch the turbolift wall. He counts to two hundred before Stamets speaks again.
”Hugh is…was,” he swallows hard, “the kindest, most generous person.”
Dr. Culber’s smiling face in his file suggested the kind of compassion that the best doctors had in abundance, like Boyce and M’Benga.
“Have you ever known anyone who’s so…good but also human? Not- I don’t mean as a species. Most people can pretend, but Hugh just was. Good.”
‘I’m sure he was’ seems like an empty, trite reply. Stamets seems to be waiting for a reply though, and as ever, Chris decides to go with honesty.
”Rarely.”
It doesn’t feel like enough, but the opportunity is lost when the turbolift lurches into motion again.
Notes:
To be continued?
This one just kept going, so I hope the long read isn’t too cumbersome because I couldn’t find anything I really wanted to cut. The end seems a bit abrupt, so I may go back after I have some sleep and do some tweaking, but it’s been in drafts for six months and deserves to be out :)
Chapter 504: Shapeshift, Part Twenty-Seven
Summary:
Paul’s being (justifiably) cranky again.
Chapter Text
“Paul, I’m fine.”
I know that.
Hugh does his best to keep the testiness out of his voice and expression.
”So…?”
The warm weight on his chest shifts, Paul’s front legs unfolding as he settles onto his hindquarters.
I don’t like it when you get hurt.
”Well,” he strokes the fluffy tail resting on his thigh, “that makes two of us.”
I’m serious.
Hugh’s exhaled breath stirs Paul’s whiskers, and he makes a huffing noise suspiciously close to a sigh. His nostrils flare and tiny fangs come into view, lip curling back as he does. It would be - it is - all kinds of adorable, but pointing that out would be the opposite of constructive right now.
“So am I.”
He’s been resting, per Tracy’s amused order - seemingly more for Paul’s benefit once the regens finished their work - and would really like to do something besides laying flat on his back with Paul literally standing guard on him.
Sitting up would be a nice start.
Another sigh, then Paul’s paws are in motion again.
I hate it when you get hurt, and even more right now because I can’t DO anything about it, Hugh.
The miserable look in Paul’s bright blue eyes (slit pupils and all) deflates Hugh’s own frustration rather suddenly.
”I know. I’m sorry, I just…” he squeezes his own eyes shut for a few seconds, “can I please sit up?”
”Mrrrrrowwwww.”
The meow sounds contrite, and Paul nods, backing up until he’s sitting on Hugh’s hips instead. Hugh levers himself upright slowly, pleased that the lingering headache seems to be gone for good. Once he scoots up the bed enough to lean back on the headboard, he lifts Paul into his arms and settles him back against his chest.
“Thank you.”
Paul pushes his head up under Hugh’s chin, rubbing his cheek over his collarbone as he does. Hugh shifts Paul into the cradle of his right arm, thumbing over a furry cheek the same way he would caress Paul’s human face. A rumbling purr starts when Hugh scratches his belly, paws holding onto his wrist to direct him back when his hand starts to stray.
Eventually, Paul pats his arm until he moves it, and calls up the interface again.
What if I’m stuck like this?
“Why would you say that?”
Until the DOTs clean up the lab, there’s no way to be sure the spore sample is still viable.
“We’ll go back and get more then. Also,” he rests his nose on Paul’s forehead for a moment, “I realize I’m being overprotective, but the thought of you down there when anything can happen, even in an EV suit, is, honestly, terrifying.”
Yes.
Hugh was expecting more pushback, given how charged their earlier disagreement had been. On the other hand, he’d always rather be having a conversation instead of an argument.
”Even if- and that’s a big if - one or more of the best scientific minds, including yours, can’t find a fix…” Hugh catches Paul’s eyes, “we keep looking until we do. Okay?”
Paul squirms, and he sets him back down. Instead of moving off anywhere though, he stands all the way up on Hugh’s thigh, front paws braced on his chest until they’re nose to nose.
“Mrrroowwwwoowwww.”
”I’m going to take that as a yes.”
A nod.
”Now that that’s settled, I think your doctor has prescribed something for the anxiety.”
Walking his paws back down, Paul rebalances and types.
Physician, heal thyself?
”Oh, it’s for both of us.”
Oh?
”We’ve got plenty of time till anyone is going to be looking for us-”
Paul’s side-eye is baleful.
You're not suggesting what you usually finish that sentence with.
It’s not a question.
Chuckling, Hugh stuffs another pillow behind himself, the laughter pulling some tension from his neck.
”Perfect excuse to spend an afternoon in bed, yes, but just the snuggling. Besides, we’re not equipped for anything else.”
I absolutely do not want to consider how that would work.
“And you thought I did?”
No.
I hope.
“Good. Come here, sweetheart.”
Using his toes to retrieve the sheet, Hugh pulls it up to his waist, shedding his uniform undershirt and waiting for Paul to make himself comfortable cuddled into his bare chest. Hugh misses kisses and especially Paul’s arms around him, but there’s something to be said for being essentially sent to bed to curl up with a cat.
Still together.
Notes:
I wasn’t really trying to go there, I promise! Just Culmets banter that has a life of its own.
I know the photo isn’t Hugh - but this is 100% how I picture their conversation.
Chapter 505: Sanctum
Chapter Text
Their bed is a place of safety, of trust, a place where they play and tussle and fuck.
A fortress of sheets and pillows where they disagree and sometimes argue and always apologize.
A quiet hiding place where they give and seek comfort.
A retreat where they speak of things they can’t in the light of day, where yes and no are spoken in confidence, where laughter and tears have lease.
A finite island in the middle of an endless universe where they’re the most honest with each other.
A sanctum where they worship at the altar of their bodies, a place where they make love to each other and make love something real, tangible.
Chapter 506: Session (Between the Sheets)
Summary:
Sensual, playful sexytimes with classic Culmets banter.
Chapter Text
Mattresses in the 32nd century don’t squeak the way their 900 year-old predecessors did, no noise in counterpoint to muffle the rustling of sheets or sounds of pleasure from the bed’s occupants.
”…mmmm…ye- there, sweetheart-“
A kiss, pressed to the damp side of Hugh’s throat.
”Here?”
He smiles into the pillow, eyes barely open and unfocused as Paul angles his hips just right. The gasp it draws from him is followed by pressure on his lower lip, and he opens his mouth, eagerly accepting the thumb Paul offers to suck on as they rock together.
“HmmMmMmmmm…”
Paul’s skin is salty, and he works his tongue against the blunt ridge of the thumbnail, biting down ever-so-gently in response to nibbles at his own shoulder. It’s easy to lose himself in the moments, warm air damp with the sounds and scent of their loving. Easy to give himself over to Paul’s arms around him, bodies fitted together from neck to knees and Paul’s moans breathed into his ear. Every touch and taste is familiar, wanted, and-
“Close?”
Hugh opens his eyes, lips curving upwards around Paul’s thumb at the note of strain in his voice. He turns his head on the pillow, letting the finger slide from his mouth, looks up to meet Paul’s eyes where he’s propped on an elbow.
”Was that a question or a statement?”
Previous lovers didn’t always appreciate complete sentences in bed. Paul, on the other hand, doesn’t mind entire conversations during sex. Tonight though, his flushed cheeks and raised eyebrow together with the way he’s biting the inside of his lower lip are message enough.
“Hand,” Hugh chuckles, wiggling his left shoulder against the sheets beneath them and looking pointedly down at his own groin.
Someone else might take offense to their partner rolling their eyes in bed.
”Says Mister Ambidextrous-During-Surgery,” comes the slightly-breathless response, “hmmm.”
‘Someone else’ doesn’t get fall asleep next to Paul Stamets every night.
Huffing another quiet laugh, he lifts Paul’s hand off his chest and kisses the knuckles.
”Switch?”
Paul wiggles his hand free, arm returning to grip his waist firmly.
”Hang on.”
“Wha- ahhh!”
Paul’s attempt to move without disengaging is rather less successful than Hugh’s smooth version of the maneuver. Hindered by the pajama pants still around his knees, he doesn’t have the leverage to complete the roll or quite the same strength to hold Hugh in place as he does. Instead, they end up in a tangled sprawl of limbs, Hugh’s protesting noise as he slips free turning into a yelp of surprise.
”…fuck.”
Other people also didn’t appreciate giggles during sex, but this definitely calls for them.
“-what…babe! Ehhh- heh heh…oh, Paul, what…?”
Beneath him, Paul’s chest shakes with something between a cough and laugh.
”Why’s it so easy when you do it?”
Rousing himself, he flails for a few moments before rolling over without squishing his partner.
”Well,” Hugh grins at Paul’s exaggerated pout, “you could have told me first.”
He follows up the mock admonishment with a kiss that lingers, deepening in a way that changes the atmosphere as quick as a cloud passing.
”Wa- hmmm. Want to finish?”
Paul’s voice rumbles in his chest, the husky bedroom voice that Hugh loves and still makes his stomach tighten a decade and a half later.
”Yeah.”
”Since you’re up there already…?”
Smiling, Hugh spreads his knees around Paul’s hips, reaches behind himself. They’ve both softened a little in the interlude, but it doesn’t take much before he welcomes Paul back inside with a long, satisfied exhale.
”Good?”
Hands resting on Paul’s shoulders, he fans his fingers out over sweaty skin, thumbs flicking at Paul’s nipples enough to make him arch and moan.
“Mmmhmmm.”
Another time, he might build up to vigorous bouncing, might ride Paul hard until neither of them is capable of anything other than breathless cries. Might clamp his knees around Paul’s hips to hold him in place and torment his lover with slow grinding and pinched nipples until he loses control and tumbles over the edge.
Tonight though, he satisfies them both with an easy pace. Paul’s arms circle his waist, urging him back down to where they can share kisses and breathy sighs. Left hand free, he works himself with lazy strokes.
Unrushed, closer and closer.
Biting Paul’s lip when he gives his ass a playful smack.
Smiling against Paul’s lips when he feels him bend his knees and plant his feet on the mattress for more leverage.
Arching back to let Paul grope his chest, turning his head to press kisses to the palm of the hand cradling his cheek.
Closer.
”M’gonna- sweetheart…”
”…yes. Mmm, yes, please-“
Paul’s index and middle fingers slide past his lips again, and he sucks them mindlessly as pleasure crests and breaks over him. Hears an answering moan as liquid heat spills between them, then the world tips on its side as Paul surges up and rolls them - properly this time. The sheets are cool against his back, thighs flung wide, fingers tangled in blond hair to pull the man he loves down into a searing kiss as he finds his release.
Perfect.
Notes:
Happy birthday to me 🥳 and a thank you to everyone who’s made this journey possible.
(On a much more serious note, thinking of Anthony with support and love and hope that the arc of justice will bend back towards the truth that was painfully spoken. I believe him.)
Chapter 507: Spectacular
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh says ‘pretty’ as a tease, an everyday phrase that he’s spent 15 years calling Paul...
****
“I knew you weren’t just pretty,” Hugh winks, kissing Paul soundly, “that’s brilliant.”
Adira, bouncing with excitement at their discovery, clutches a PADD and side-eyes them hard enough that he has to hide a grin with a fake cough.
***
“You’re lucky you’re so pretty,” he gives an exaggerated sigh as Paul circles the foot of the bed, tucking in sheets and grumbling for the millionth time about Hugh’s tendency to kick the covers out.
****
"Mmm, going to put those pretty lips on me?"
"Hugh," Paul hisses, elbowing him under the guise of stretching, "not in front of the kids!"
****
…but what he means is beautiful...
****
Paul is gorgeous, from the stormy steel of his eyes sparkling with intelligence and focus to the slope of his lower back and capable fingers.
His voice settling warm in Hugh's stomach, rich and nuanced and deep, by turns husky and soft or commanding and firm.
His smile, the stubble on his chin, the way the hair on his arms tickles Hugh's skin and awakes goosebumps so wonderfully Paul.
Starlight catching the tips of his eyelashes as he sleeps, pillowcase creased beneath his cheek and the universe giving him a halo in their bed.
The way those same lashes flutter after a kiss, lips just parted and a hint of a smile on them.
The creases beside his eyes when he looks at Tilly and Adira with pride, the expression fitting him like pajama pants so worn and comfortable that they've forgotten who originally owned them.
****
...and mine.
Notes:
Writing spree between meetings, in honor of Anthony's birthday.
Chapter 508: Seeds
Notes:
Set post-Season Four when Paul is more comfortable with PDA.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Joann is listening to Keyla and Bryce discuss wind vectors and air pressure with half an ear, but most of her attention is on two people very much not a part of their conversation.
A few meters away in the open field they've stopped in for lunch - a class M planet survey, no indigenous wildlife beyond simple invertebrates in the planet's oceans and rivers - Stamets is seated on a boulder, tricomm interface open and scrolling through a catalogue of fungi they've discovered with one hand. The other is busy gesturing in emphasis for whatever mumbled conversation he's having with himself, something humorous gauging by the way Dr. Culber is smiling indulgently while he makes his own mission report and starts eating a large apple.
So much better than worrying about the galaxy ending.
A couple of minutes later, Stamets pauses his data perusal and holds out his unoccupied hand. Without looking up from the expanded view of a mitochondria-analogue, Dr. Culber passes over his apple and absently wipes his fingers on his other palm.
That's sweet.
Stamets accepts the fruit without comment, index finger and thumb tucked into the stem and style, and examines it briefly before setting his teeth into the bitten edge and taking a bite himself. Chewing, he frowns at an entry, then highlights it and starts tapping in annotations. After swallowing, Stamets takes several more small bites in rapid succession. They're all shallow, seemingly more with the intent of stripping the skin off than eating the flesh.
Huh.
Joann blinks. It doesn't seem to be a matter of avoiding the areas already bitten into - after all, she can't imagine either objecting - but she does wonder if this is a common practice for them. Keyla is waxing poetic about undercurrents and thermals, so she nods along and continues observing.
"Paul?"
Without pausing his typing, Stamets holds the apple back out. Dr. Culber accepts it, but his attention doesn't seem to be on the fruit.
"Babe."
Stamets gives a distracted sort of hum, and Dr. Culber shakes his head. He collapses his diagram, then digs briefly into the exposed core with his thumbnail, freeing a seed.
She's suddenly aware of how quiet it's become, and turns her head to find Keyla and Bryce staring at her.
"What?"
"What are you looking it?"
Instead of answering out loud, she tips her head in the direction of the others. As she does, Dr. Culber sets the seed on the pad of his thumb and uses his index finger to flick it. Airborne, it bounces off Stamets' earlobe, and he swats at it as if it were some sort of annoying insect.
"Oh," Keyla wrinkles her nose, "okay."
She swivels on the fallen log, until Stamets and Culber are directly in her line of sight. Joann's eyes widen and she shakes her head.
"No, don't do that!"
"Why not?"
Dr. Culber gives an exaggerated sigh. He's well into Stamets' peripheral vision, but his partner doesn't seem to notice.
"Because it's..." she glances over at Bryce, but he's busy chuckling into his cup, "...you know."
Eyes narrowing, Dr. Culber produces a knife and rapidly pares the remainder of the skin off the apple before setting it back into Stamets' outstretched hand. Joann holds her breath as Stamets opens his mouth and goes to take a bite-
"Hugh!"
He turns an accusing glare at Dr. Culber, who's smiling in a way that Joann can only call long-suffering.
"Yes, dear?"
Stamets looks down at the apple, then back up at Dr. Culber. The annoyance on his face melts into confusion, followed by guilt.
"...was I ignoring you?"
"Yes."
He collapses the data display, leaning over to rest his hand on Dr. Culber's knee.
"Sorry."
Keyla giggles, and both of the men's heads swivel their direction. It's too late to pretend to be doing anything else, and Joann puts on her best embarrassed smile. Bryce, on the other hand, gives them a lazy two-finger salute from the temple that makes Dr. Culber grin and lift Stamets' hand off his leg to plant a kiss on the back.
"Get a room," Bryce calls over.
Keyla's giggles increase.
"Sorry," Joann offers, "we..."
Laughing, Stamets waves off the apology and takes a large bite of the flesh of the apple.
"It's fine."
Notes:
This started with imagining Paul and Hugh sharing an apple, then evolved into it being a third-party POV. My Owosekun isn't as well fleshed out as other perspectives, so I hope it reads okay.
Chapter 509: Sympathy
Notes:
How have I not used "sympathy" already?
Set during "What's Past is Prologue" when they're in Engineering planning how blow up the mycelial orb on the Charon.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"...will incinerate us. I don't think we can make it out alive."
Looking around Engineering, the looks of shock and bleak despair slide off him like waves breaking on the rocky shore. Nothing can touch him, not joy and not fear. He's alone, so alon-
Stop.
The catch in Tilly's voice pummels the wall he's built around his feelings.
Stop.
Around his heart.
Saru's speech should be rousing, his mind tells him, watching the air in the room lift. Or at least, a facsimile of it, because the numbness in his chest excludes all else.
"Stamets, I'm-" Detmer gently touches his elbow as the crew disperses, "about Docto-"
Stop.
"I need to check the simulations."
He turns away from her so quickly that something in his back twinges, shoulders drawn up. Detmer remains, hand awkwardly outstretched towards nothing.
“I-“
"Really busy right now."
Leave me alone.
He leans over a console, determinedly keeps his head down, refuses to look up. Eventually, he can hear the sound of her footsteps retreating.
Alone.
Paul's fists are clenched so tightly that his fingers ache. He tries to clear his mind, rebuild the chips in the wall that every interrupted attempt at condolence makes. He definitely isn't thinking about how Detmer's reflection was visible in the spore cube, face full of sympathy.
Too much.
Notes:
In the middle of a Disco rewatch. Going back to see the early interactions between the characters we've come to know and love over the seasons has put a ton of ideas into my head, which is probably not helpful for finishing all of the WIP I already have going...
Chapter 510: Stroking, Part Two
Summary:
Banter, foreplay, and…breakfast?
Notes:
Belated continuation of Chapter 492.
For LadyRiona, sending hugs and good thoughts as always.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Going for my run,” Hugh murmurs, “back soon.”
Paul rouses at the kiss Hugh presses to his forehead, giving him a sleepy frown that’s far too adorable for words.
”….m’kay.”
He’s quietly snoring into the pillow by the time Hugh finishes putting on his shoes. Pausing, he pulls the covers back up, then heads out the door to meet Rhys.
Paul’s in more or less the same position Hugh left him in - sans duvet - when he limps back in an hour later, sweaty from an unexpected double round of Velocity with Detmer and Nilsson. He drops his sweaty clothes in the laundry pile, then spends several minutes letting the shower beat down on his back, easing the tired muscles. Once he drags himself out, he rinses his mouth and catches his own rueful gaze in the mirror as his elbow twinges. The exhilaration of victory is mitigated by the reminder that excellent health or not, he’s not as fast as he used to be.
Coffee.
Tucking the end of the towel around his waist more securely, he orders a double strong café con leche and wanders over to stare at the wheeling stars. The sound of Paul’s breathing is a familiar background as he sips the velvety liquid and lets the coffee do its work.
At 0820, he recycles the empty cup and spends a few moments deciding whether Paul would be crankier if he doesn’t let him sleep, or if Hugh has breakfast without him. Neither of them is on shift today, and his suitably caffeinated brain decides that breakfast in bed should solve both problems. As he crosses to the bed to retrieve his pajama bottoms, something catches his attention.
Paul’s still sprawled on his stomach over his side of the bed, arms beneath the pillow and miles of lovely pale ivory skin on display. Except… Hugh’s fairly certain they hadn’t gone to sleep with a towel on the sheets. Bemused, he considers the scene further, focusing on details he normally takes for granted, noticing the bottle still on the nightstand, Paul’s oddly-damp hair, and-
Huh.
Well then.
That is most definitely not sweat glistening in the cleft of Paul’s beautiful backside, and he’s positive he wasn’t the one that put it there last night. Moving closer, he delicately strokes one finger through it, following the trail down between Paul’s conveniently spread legs to where he’s hot but yielding to the questing touch. Distracted by this unexpected but most certainly not unwelcome turn of events, Hugh doesn’t notice Paul’s eyes opening until he’s greeted with a lazy hum and those thighs moving further apart.
”Hi.”
”Morning, sweetheart.”
Hugh leaves his finger where it is, but leans over for a kiss. The fact that Paul lets him and the faint taste of mint and scent of citrus means that his partner must have gotten out of bed to brush his teeth while Hugh was gone, showered and gotten ready, and laid back down waiting for Hugh to come home and discover it.
”Well?”
Sore or not, thinking about Paul bent over the bathroom sink or on his knees on the bed, working himself open, sends a spark of desire straight down to his groin.
“You…already?”
Paul pushes up on one elbow, hair sticking out in five different directions and a pillow crease on his cheek. He gives Hugh a look that’s no less pleased with himself despite still being sleepy-eyed, and wiggles his hips.
”You said you were going to hump my ass this morning.”
Licking his lips, he moves a little deeper, the slick heat around his finger making something below the waist twitch.
”I did.”
Paul cants his hips up against Hugh’s hand, inviting and relaxed.
”Figured I’d get ready, since I started without you last night.”
It’s a gentle tease - Paul knows Hugh isn’t miffed that he decided to masturbate while Hugh was in the shower - and he puts on his best mock serious expression while sinking knuckle-deep.
”Mmm. I think I can forgive you for that.”
“I-“ Paul’s eyes close briefly, mouth dropping open when Hugh withdraws only to press in again with his thumb instead, ”…hnnghhh, yeah?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Can I…make it up to you?”
“You could. I haven’t had your ass in forever.”
Paul reaches out and cups him through the towel, squeezing once before pulling the towel loose.
”Fiv- six days isn’t ‘forever’,” he points out, steering Hugh closer with a hand on his hip.
”You’re the scientist, I’m bad at math.”
“The ridiculousness of that statement…”
The unimpressed expression on Paul’s face is belied by the eagerness of his hips riding back.
Gorgeous.
Straddling Paul’s thighs, he strokes the backs of his fingers through the thick hair, then gives his ass a generous squeeze with both hands. Pink marks linger for a few moments on milky skin, and he leans over to kiss them away. Paul giggles a little, wiggling his ass enticingly.
Smiling, he uses his thumbs to trace the cleft before slipping deeper and spreading him open.
“Mmm. So pretty…”
“Yeah?”
”Mmhmm.”
The sheets rustle as Paul stretches off to the side, reaching for the bottle on the nightstand.
”Hmmm,” Hugh bends down until his exhaled breath feathers over exquisitely sensitive skin, “what’s that for?”
Paul gasps, something very close to a mewl caught in his throat.
“For…hnnnnghhhh, for you.”
”Oh?”
Hugh licks a few times, tongue wiggling.
”Fuuuuuck.”
”What’s that?”
”For- ahhh! Stop that, I can’t think.”
Chuckling, Hugh relents, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. He crawls back up Paul’s body, nuzzling the damp hair curling behind his right ear. That ear moves just a little, and he knows without looking that Paul’s smiling.
“Well?”
Dropping the bottle, Paul settles back onto the pillow and laces their fingers together.
”Gonna give it to me?”
“Is that what you want?”
”Oh no you don’t,” the side of Paul’s mouth quirks up in a lopsided smile, “this is about what you want. And if you want to put me through the mattress-“
”What?”
One of Paul’s legs comes up, heel tapping the side of Hugh’s thigh.
”Well, just let me stretch my back first.”
Hugh can’t help the rueful groan.
”Honestly, sweetheart? I’m a little sore, so that might have to wait.”
Paul huffs, pulling their entwined hands closer so he can kiss Hugh’s wrist.
“Game didn’t go well?”
”Keyla and Eva were- wait, how did you know?”
“I commed Detmer and asked for a favor.”
”What did you tell her?”
”To keep you busy while I set up a surprise for breakfast, but,” he pouts a little, “they weren’t supposed to wear you out before you got back home.”
He kisses Paul soundly at that but doesn’t linger, conscious of the strain on his neck.
“Getting off does sound good though.”
”But?”
”Can we have breakfast first?”
Hugh's stomach chooses that moment to grumble loudly enough that they can both hear it. Paul laughs.
“Yes, dear doctor.”
”Unless this,” he rubs himself playfully against Paul’s thigh, “is a limited time offer?”
”This-“ Paul squirms and Hugh raises up enough for him to roll over beneath him, tipping his chin up for a kiss, “mmmm, has no expiration date.”
He nibbles on Paul’s lower lip, sharing a few more lazy kisses until his stomach reminds him again that he’s actually rather hungry.
“Breakfast? I was going to bring it to bed anyway.”
Paul of fifteen years ago would have been horrified at crumbs on the sheets. Now though, he just nods eagerly.
”No argument from me. As long as there’s French toast.”
”I think that can be arranged.”
Notes:
Me: *worries about all the unfinished stories*
Also me: *casually ignores the 20+ partially written chapters to jump on a shiny new idea*I can’t remember which Season Four episode it was, but “Eva Nilsson” is listed in the credits for Sara Mitich.
Chapter 511: Sensation
Summary:
Nothing feels right anymore.
Notes:
Contains reference to self-harm as a concept.
Set post-Season One and before “Saints of Imperfection”.
Chapter Text
Every touch, every sound and sight and taste and smell is a pale shadow of what it should be.
Aida’s quilt is warm around his shoulders, but there should be someone else beneath it with him.
The gentle physical contact offered by others - Detmer squeezing his elbow, Rhys’ hand on his shoulder, his own mother’s hug - are a mockery of him, of the one touch he needs.
His body knows how to smile, how to laugh, how to pretend he’s not empty inside, but it’s an effort to remember to do so. He does his best, because he can’t stand their sympathy when the façade cracks.
Tilly doesn’t stop asking, offering, but her presence isn’t grating, isn’t intrusive. She isn’t Tracy looking at him with loss in her own eyes, or Michael standing awkwardly beside him in a turbolift and obviously wrestling with the right words to say.
He lets her touch him, sometimes, to remind himself that he’s still living in this body that he has to feed and let sleep.
He doesn’t want to…do himself harm, as the Starfleet counselor asks him in a too-understanding voice, but he’s also not sure he wants to exist either.
Paul wants to feel the brush of beard against his cheek, to see a brilliant white smile, to hear ‘sweetheart’ sighed beneath the covers. Would give anything to smell clean sweat after a morning run, to taste coffee from Hugh’s kiss.
Anything.
Please.
Chapter 512: Splish
Chapter Text
“Home for dinner?”
The words carry over the sounds of falling water, steam filling the shower and wreathing its two occupants in mist.
”Was planning on it,” Paul sets the shampoo back in place and starts scrubbing his own hair, “you?”
Hugh reaches around him, and Paul pivots out of the way of the spray to let him retrieve the soap.
”Should be.”
”Mmm.”
He closes his eyes, tipping his head back under their personal rainstorm. A moment later, he smiles when a pair of hands nudge his aside and rinse the suds from his hair. They linger a bit, dropping to his waist and relocating him towards the side of the cubicle for Hugh to take his own turn.
His partner’s skin is still covered in lather, and he idly traces circles through it, across Hugh’s chest and stomach. Paul smirks, hands traveling lower to perform the same service on more sensitive parts. Water drips down his forehead, and he runs a palm across his hair, slicking it back.
Thinning, he thinks, hrmph.
Once they’re both done, he waves the shower off and passes Hugh a towel. There’s a kiss pressed between his shoulderblades as he tucks the end of the towel around his waist, and he smiles again. The water left on the floor drains away quickly, vanishing to be reclaimed and recycled. That thought reminds him that yes, there is actually an entire universe outside the shower.
Work to be done.
He turns, stepping backwards out the now-open door and pausing to steal a kiss from Hugh on the way.
“Mess hall?”
Hugh glances at the chrono, and nods.
”Two minutes?”
”Mmhmm.”
One minute and fifty two seconds later, Paul tips his chin up for Hugh to fasten his collar and steps into his boots.
”Ready?”
There’s no verbal response needed, and Hugh’s right beside him as they exit their quarters.
Just where he belongs.
Notes:
I’m behind again on replying to comments :(. Please know how very much I appreciate them all!
Chapter 513: Shoo
Summary:
Nella asks Tío Hugh about being in love.
Notes:
Takes place prior to Discovery.
Chapter Text
“A good relationship isn’t about being…incomplete without someone.”
”But you and Tío Paul-“ she frowns, “you miss each other.”
”Of course we do, when we’re not together. But we’re each a whole person on our own, Nellita. We’re fine apart, but we…resonate. Being together…it’s like being complementary.”
”You say nice things about each other all the time,” Nella huffs, “that doesn’t make sense.”
”With an E,” he smiles, “I mean, some things we have in common. Spoiling my favorite niece, for example. And don’t tell your brother or cousins I said that, or Abuela will have my head.”
Nella grins at that, innocence and mischief on her face.
”Okay.”
He shakes his head fondly, leaning closer to the screen.
“Love just…is.”
”Do I have to?”
“Have to what?”
”Fall in love.”
”Just- you’ll know if you meet the right person. You’ll feel it.”
“I-“ she turns, looking over her shoulder. “Have to go, Mama says it’s time for dinner.”
”All right. I’ll see you at Christmas, then, okay?”
”Are you bringing-“
”Me and Paul,” he chuckles, “two whole weeks, I promise. Now shoo, before I get you in trouble for being late.”
”Love you, Tío!”
”Love you too, Nellita.”
Chapter 514: Squirm
Summary:
Shore leave sweetness.
Chapter Text
Contentment.
There’s enough pillows piled behind him to be quite comfortable on the chaise lounge even with two full grown men taking up the space meant for one as they doze together. Warmth blankets him, Hugh’s head a welcome weight over his heart. Sculpted (delicious) biceps are on languid display, Hugh’s arms wrapped securely around his torso and one leg hooked over Paul’s own to ensure that his perfect pillow doesn’t move.
Perfect, except for the fact that the empty pitcher of water on the table is taunting him with a reminder that his kidneys are quite done processing the liquid and he’d really, really like to empty his bladder. He’s been able to ignore it for the last ten minutes, but Hugh’s left arm has migrated down to his waist and if it goes any lower…
Sighing, he reluctantly moves his lips away from Hugh’s forehead and rubs a hand over his own face. He shifts, trying to ease out from beneath him, but a sleeping Hugh Culber weighs more than solid neutronium.
”Hugh?”
Nothing.
He tries again, a little louder this time, shaking his partner’s shoulder gently.
”Hugh, I’ll be right back.”
”…hmmmMmmm.”
The sleepy mumble he receives is accompanied by those arms tightening and Hugh’s nose burrowing deeper into his chest. Eventually, Paul succeeds in freeing his leg, which results in one eye opening with a grumpy glare.
”…s’that for?”
”I need to pee.”
The eye closes again, lips pursing in the equivalent of a shrug.
”M’kay.”
“Hugh,” he squeezes a protruding elbow, “you have to let me up.”
”Hmmmphhh,” Hugh’s huff radiates displeasure, but his arms loosen, “fine.”
He slips off the chaise, wincing when the movement makes his abdomen twinge.
”Be right back.”
Hugh snags one of the abandoned pillows, wrapping his arms around it instead as Paul dashes back inside their suite. The bathroom is just around the corner, and it’s less than a minute before he’s sighing with relief.
Crisis averted.
When he’s done with the facilities and washed his hands, he opens the door and nearly walks into Hugh.
”Umm. Hi?”
Far from the immaculate Dr. Culber, Hugh is rumpled and wearing an accusatory frown that’s seven parts adorable and three parts peeved. A hand closes around his wrist, and then he’s being tugged back outside without comment.
“All right, all right.”
Paul lays back down on the chaise and holds out his arms, waiting for Hugh to snuggle into his side. He doesn’t protest when his shirt is hiked halfway up his ribs, a warm hand petting his stomach, and obligingly bending his knee to make room for a foot between his ankles. Once he’s arranged to Hugh’s liking, he’s rewarded with a noise of satisfaction and a kiss to the underside of his jaw.
“Better?”
”Mmhmm.”
Careful not to disturb his partner, he swipes open the tricomm on the table beside him and types out a short message before closing it again. Adira and Tilly will probably be done with the museum district in the next hour, but it would hardly be the first time either of them walked in on Paul and Hugh asleep together. Smiling, he scratches the back of Hugh’s neck and closes his eyes.
[Stamets-Paul-CMDR/SCI-ENGR] No rush.
Chapter 515: Sniffing
Notes:
For Goblinofthewords, who requested a Linus POV :) I'm on my third cup of coffee after a long week, so am hoping it doesn't read too choppy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Warm-blooded species, Linus ponders, spend so much time touching.
It's not to say that he minds physical contact; indeed, their much higher core body temperatures makes them pleasant to stand beside simply for the radiating heat. Such fragile creatures though, human skin more delicate than even his own just after molting. And their blood is visible so close to the surface, no protective plating or toughened scales, nothing for defense except the vestigial remains of claws in their nails.
Fierce, for so vulnerable a species.
Not to mention their cultural practice of 'hugging'. What his people communicate with the tone of a foreshortened hiss or slow blinking, other species do with their whole bodies. He supposes that Saurian features leave their facial expressions more difficult to interpret, but still doesn't quite understand the desire to press themselves together outside of reproductive practices. Courtship behavior might also carry on after mating, although it's not universally retained, and he's come to the conclusion that it all seems rather complicated (and messy, especially mammalian births), particularly when humans don't adhere to any uniform cycles for coupling.
How inconvenient.
He chews a bamboo stalk thoughtfully, glancing across the mess hall to see Dr. Culber place his hand at the small of Commander Stamets' back, fingers splayed wide. Neither of them stop their conversations with different people, but he can see Stamets leaning into it. The hand descends an inch, and there's a sudden shift in the tone of the skin on the back of Stamets' neck.
Interesting.
He reminds himself that they are a mated pair, so an increased level of touch isn't anomalous, but these two though...
His tongue flickers out, tasting the air as he inhales.
Availability and attraction, and no one else notices, he chuckles at a subvocal volume, and targeted specifically to each other.
Other humans broadcast interest in a wide swath, combining their choice of clothing with posture and vocal cues, very little subtlety involved. By contrast, he's witnessed Culber and Stamets on opposite ends of a room, seemingly engrossed in different tasks, that same chemical scent of attraction released when the other laughed. It’s a shame, really, that the majority of his shipmates - Captain Saru being one of the exceptions- have nasal organs that aren’t capable of discerning the multitude of cues provided by simply breathing. Might save them all large amounts of time dealing with cumbersome verbal communication.
Humans.
Beneath the table, he sees Stamets rest a hand on Culber's thigh, high above the knee as he squeezes. He sniffs again, but unlike other humans he's seen performing that particular gesture, their scents don't change to suggest initiation of mating behavior. Rather, he picks up a mellow flavor associated with contentment and calm. It would be rude to outright ask them about it, but there's nothing stopping him from doing some research of his own. Linus selects a large gingko leaf, dipping it into a bit of tree sap - something called 'maple syrup' - and keeps observing.
Notes:
Anyone else think Linus and T'Vala would compare notes on Paul and Hugh?
Chapter 516: Smooch
Chapter Text
Paul’s gotten more comfortable kissing Hugh in front of people who aren’t Tracy or Tilly or Adira (even if they make the universal teenage ewww face), little pecks and smiling moments of brushing their lips together. It’s not that he’s embarrassed - absolutely not, after everything - or even worried about being professional per se. After all, they do occasionally walk hand in hand in the corridors, share meals with Hugh’s hand on Paul’s knee, things any other couple might do. (Hugh also has less than no shame about anyone seeing exactly what his feelings are for his partner, but he does keep the bedroom eyes to a minimum when there’s witnesses.)
Still, Hugh thinks there might be lingering unease from Lorca’s menacing presence, when neither of them were willing to do anything even the slightest bit out of line lest he have another reason to criticize Paul’s work.
In private, Paul kisses like he hugs: with his entire body. The tipped up chin and lean forward he does in public transforms into a sway towards Hugh, head tilted just enough to keep their noses from colliding. They share the same breath, both exhaling pleased noises as Paul licks at Hugh’s lower lip and caresses his cheek before bearing him down onto the bed for serious snuggling.
No, Hugh’s quite happy to keep this Paul - his pliant, vulnerable, filthy-minded, passionate sweetheart - all to himself.
Chapter 517: Scholastic
Chapter Text
Hugh’s brushing his teeth when the barely-perceptible hum and microsecond of charged air herald the transporter. He’s already smiling around the toothbrush as he turns, discarding it in the sink a moment later and opening his arms.
”You’re early.”
He takes a half-step forward, but Paul is quicker and they meet in the middle of the bathroom.
”Hi- whoa!”
Laughing, Hugh hugs him tightly and uses the rest of his forward momentum to pivot and swing Paul up to sit on the edge of the counter. He sways a moment, catching himself on the faucet and squeezing his knees at Hugh’s waist.
”Mmm,” Hugh cradles his cheek and kisses him soundly, “I’m so proud of you.”
”Yeah?”
Paul opens his collar, unzips his jacket to let Hugh bury his nose against his throat and tugs him even closer with his ankles. Hugh settles into the V between his knees, sighing as Paul nuzzles his temple.
“Babe,” he chuckles against the delicate skin over Paul’s pulse, “how many people are invited to guest lecture at the Ni’Var Science Academy for two weeks? I’m guessing the requirements haven’t gotten any easier since it was Vulcan.”
“Mmmm.”
Hugh’s a bit surprised that Paul isn’t already regaling him with a recounting of it, a debate about the nature of particles in the mycelial plane or a comment on the hospitality. Instead, he slumps a bit further into Hugh, seemingly content with silence. Ignoring the quiet noise of protest, he leans back enough to take a proper look at his partner.
”Sweetheart?”
Paul’s hair is mussed, and his eyes take just a moment too long to focus.
“Hmmm.”
Hugh mentally kicks himself for not noticing as the pieces fall into place.
”You weren’t supposed to be home till tomorrow morning.”
”I missed my mushrooms.”
He’s not too tired for teasing, and Hugh kisses the tip of his nose in gentle comment.
”I missed you too. How-?”
”Barzan freighter,” Paul pauses, clearly suppressing a yawn, “warp drive, but terrible internal dampeners.”
”That bad?”
Paul gives him a lopsided smile.
”There were a couple of Ni’Var families with kids. Spent the last three hours talking to a ten year-old about astrophysics.”
That would explain it.
“Professor Stamets, mmm?”
He brushes aside Paul’s fingers clumsily fumbling with the zipper, easing him out of the jacket and lifting him off the counter and back to his feet.
”I’m tired, but my legs still work.”
”I like doing that.”
Paul reels him back in for a kiss, and Hugh smooths a hand through his hair, the strands catching on his fingers.
“I like when you do it.”
That earns him another kiss, and another, until he feels Paul swaying on his feet.
”Sleep?”
”Mmmhmm.”
Retrieving his toothbrush from the sink, Hugh smiles into the mirror as they get ready for bed. He shoos Paul into the shower for a two minute quick sonic clean, dropping off pajamas on the counter and going to turn the bed down. Hugh’s just reaching for the sheet when arms circle his waist and a nose bumps into the nape of his neck.
”You smell good.”
”I try.”
“Yeah?”
Instead of replying out loud, he tugs Paul onto their bed, cuddling him against his side. The covers are next, and he orders the lights off as they settle in. Paul has one knee hitched up over his thigh, hand under Hugh’s pajama top and fingers tracing aimless patterns on the bare skin of his stomach. He ruffles Paul’s hair, scooting a little further down the mattress until he can comfortably hold him with both arms.
The bed’s been far too empty for the last two weeks, and he drops a contented kiss on the crown of Paul’s head.
”I’m glad you’re home.”
An answering kiss lands on the underside of his chin.
”Me too.”
Notes:
This all grew from a mental image of Hugh sweeping Paul into his arms and onto the bathroom sink. I regret nothing.
Chapter 518: Spirit, Part One
Summary:
There’s something T’Rina can help Hugh with.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Doctor Culber.”
Hugh turns away from the spectacular vista, empty tea cup cradled in his palm.
”President T’Rina.”
She glides up to him, posture straight yet relaxed. There's silence for several moments after as she observes the crowd of healers, scientists, and scholars before them. Eventually, she faces him and speaks.
”May I make an inquiry of a personal nature?”
Something stings in his chest, a memory of a very different Vulcan whose eyes and tone were very much the same, albeit dressed in crisp white and not flowing robes of state.
”Of course.”
”I understand Commander Stamets is your mate.”
The shadow recedes as, unbidden, his eyes seek out Paul’s golden hair amidst a sea of dark and muted colors. His partner is seated beside a scientist, their heads bent over a floating simulation and identical expressions of curiosity on their faces that make him smile.
“Yes.”
”I offer my apologies in advance if this causes offense,” T’Rina inclines her head slightly, “but there is a sadness about him when we speak that I do not perceive elsewise.”
Ahh.
He weighs the options of a polite deferral versus some degree of truth, and decides that he's always been best served with honesty when speaking with Vulcans in any time period.
”It’s…you remind him - us - of a close friend and colleague of mine.”
Understanding darkens her eyes, and he marvels at the subtle differences in a Vulcan more open to speaking about emotion.
”This person has passed away?”
”In the Klingon war. But we knew her for a long time. She was Vulcan, and we met at Starfleet Medical, and…” Hugh feels a sad smile tugging at his lips, “well.”
A group of ministers passes by, and T'Rina inclines her head to them before extending her arm to gesture towards an alcove away from the general flow of traffic. Hugh follows her there, stepping into the shadow of a tall pillar carved of red stone that casts a long shadow. It's quieter there, shielded from some of the noise of many voices, and he stops a polite distance away from her. Hugh is only slightly surprised when she takes a half step closer.
”Would you speak more of your friend?”
Hugh gathers his thoughts, answers the question that he thinks T'Rina is actually asking.
“She was fascinated by human behavior. We were posted together for several years on Earth, and she knew me when I first met Paul. I used to tell her that human behavior was inherently illogical when it came to feelings, but she never stopped trying to reason out our relationship. Paul and I were...” he closes his eyes against a sting of tears, "she was a dear friend."
"I see. My presence is a reminder of what you have both lost."
It's spoken without the self-deprecation or accusation he might have expected from others, but he ought not let that linger.
"I apologize if it's disconcerted you."
"Indeed," T'Rina shakes her head, "it has not. It does, however, offer context which I before was lacking."
Taking a deep breath, he sets down the earthenware cup on a table and folds his hands together.
“I had been meaning to ask, Madam President, if I might…pay my respects, if there’s a place on Ni’Var that permits it now.”
Her eyebrow rises.
“The Halls of Ancient Thought provide places for reflection and remembrance of those who are gone. They have not changed their location since the time in which you departed.”
”I wasn’t sure I would be allowed.”
T’Rina straightens, regarding him solemnly.
”Would she have deemed you a friend?”
”Yes.”
”Then of course you are welcome. There may be those who are…less understanding of species other than our own, but they do not hold sway there."
He bows his head respectfully.
"Thank you."
"I would be honored to escort you there, Doctor. And,” her gaze shifts back to Paul across the room, “your mate, if he wishes to join you."
Notes:
To be continued :)
I wrote most of this almost a year ago as Season Four was airing, but got stuck wrapping up the ending. So, it’s been split into two parts because I need to start clearing out the 40 or so drafts at some point…
Chapter 519: Scratched
Notes:
Takes place early in Season Three. Mentions of past trauma sandwiched between sensuality and comfort.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh’s been back in their quarters for two weeks, back in their bed with love nestled safely in Paul’s heart the same way Hugh curls up in his arms before they fall asleep. They’ve taken it slow, relearning each other’s bodies and the men they’ve become in their time apart. It’s not without occasional missteps, but given that he never expected to have the opportunity…
It’s perfect.
Right now, Hugh is cradled between his thighs, hands in Paul’s hair as they kiss each other senseless. He eventually tears his mouth away and nibbles his way across Paul’s jaw, down the side of his neck while Paul’s hands work their way beneath his shirt to clutch at the flex of muscle in his shoulders. They shift against the pillows, bodies realigning so that they’re touching in every possible way as Hugh continues leisurely licking and kissing and the sheets tangle around their feet.
At the first touch of teeth, Paul trembles, and Hugh pauses.
”Okay?”
Their lovemaking thus far has been tender, sweet and profound and intense and playful. They’ve petted and teased, drawn it out over hours and reveled in every sweaty second. The toys - back in their proper places in each nightstand - go untouched, the intimacy of hands and mouths and bodies all they need, an unspoken consensus to keep rougher play for later.
Today feels different somehow, the air charged between them with something sharp and focused. Wanting. Paul’s far from objecting to letting loose a few more of their baser instincts, and he suspects Hugh’s ready for the same.
“Please.”
He can feel Hugh’s beard catching on the stubble at his throat, knows his love is smiling. The next breath turns into a gasp as Hugh fastens his mouth over the knob of his collarbone, sets his teeth against the skin and sucks. It’s barely a bite in comparison to some of their more enthusiastic moments of years past - of before - but the sensation sets his nerves alight.
”…yessss,” he murmurs, one hand coming up to hold Hugh’s head in place, “please. More.”
The noise Hugh makes in response is darkly possessive even as his palm still cradles Paul’s cheek, working the love bite deeper into freckled skin with lips and tongue. Paul hooks his right foot around Hugh’s still-clothed calf, using it for leverage to rock his hips up as he gives himself over to the growing need settled low in his stomach.
Perfect.
Hugh hums against his shoulder, free hand stealing between them to flick and pinch Paul’s nipple.
Hard.
Arousal rockets through him like touching a live circuit and Paul arches up, fingers spasming and nails raking over Hugh’s ribs. He ruts into Hugh’s thigh, mindless and moaning.
Later, he’ll realize that he shouldn’t feel guilty over the fact that Hugh makes him stupid with lust, that he shouldn’t be upset with himself when it takes several seconds too long for him to notice that Hugh going still and rigid against him isn’t meant as a tease or prelude to more.
…something’s wrong.
Now, he tries to pull away enough to turn his head, but Hugh’s weight pins him into place. The hand previously at his jaw is clamped around his other shoulder hard enough that there might be a bruise later, and he can feel Hugh’s heart hammering furiously against his own chest even through a layer of fabric. The breaths puffing over his skin are shallow and rapid, out of place for anything short of vigorous effort and far too fast for what they’ve been doing.
Worry gives him the strength to push upwards and sideways, rolling Hugh off of him onto the sheets.
Fuck.
Hugh’s eyes are open but unseeing, nostrils flared.
”Hugh?”
His skin is clammy beneath Paul’s careful touch, knees coming up and elbows drawing close to his body in such a clear gesture of defense that it claws at his heart. They’ve both woken each other with nightmares, but this is something else. (He should probably call the medbay, but he’s not sure he even wants Tracy to know that Discovery's CMO is having some sort of panic attack.)
”Hugh-“
In between one blink and the next, he’s suddenly alone on the bed. The sheet hasn’t even had time to flutter to the floor when he hears Hugh retching in the bathroom. Paul’s on his feet before his brain has caught up, stumbling over the pajama pants still tangled around his ankles and nearly face-planting onto the dining table before catching himself on a chair and kicking the garment off. When he finally crosses the bathroom threshold, it’s to find Hugh slumped on the floor, back against the shower door.
”Hugh?”
The facilities flush themselves as he drops to the floor, wincing at the cold tile hitting his bare shins.
”…hi.”
Relief floods him even as the worry redoubles. Hugh’s got his knees tucked up to his chest again, shivering, but he leans hard into Paul‘s tentative hand on his shoulder.
Asking ‘are you okay?’ would be laughable, so he settles for, “what do you need?”
The strained laugh he receives is humorless as Hugh opens his eyes.
”I don’t know.”
Paul’s not sure what to say to that, helplessness mingling with the knot of fear twisting in his stomach. He gets a twitch of Hugh’s lips that tries to be a smile when he pulls a towel off the rack, draping it over Hugh’s shaking shoulders.
“I-“
”Sorry.”
Hugh’s expression is raw, exhausted and more than a little bleak. Shaking his head, he takes Hugh’s hands in his, squeezing.
”It’s okay.”
”It’s not.”
”Hugh…”
“Paul,” he sighs, “I always loved that. Before.”
It’s not cold in their quarters, so the chill he feels is probably psychosomatic. Still, it catches Hugh’s attention, gaze sharpening, and Paul’s not above leaning into his caregiving instincts to get them somewhere where he isn’t stark naked on the bathroom floor.
”Come back to bed?”
A sigh, and a nod. He stands slowly, letting Hugh use his hands for leverage to pull himself to his feet, towel sliding off his shoulders. Paul pauses just long enough for Hugh to rinse his mouth at the sink, retrieving a fresh glass of water from the synthesizer before leading them to the disheveled pile of sheets and scattered pillows.
Hugh lets him settle them back against the headboard, slowly draining the glass. When Paul sets it empty onto the nightstand, the click seems louder than it should be, senses still coming down from the adrenaline rush.
”Okay?”
”Sure.”
It’s blatantly not the case, but he lets it pass, tugging the duvet up and turning to sit cross-legged with his knees pressed to Hugh’s outstretched legs.
”What did I do?”
He’s careful to keep any implication of skepticism out of his voice.
“It’s not your fault.”
”I don’t want to do it again.”
His hands twitch under Paul’s fingers, and he rubs his thumbs in soothing circles over Hugh’s knuckles.
”I’m not supposed to freak out when the man I love scratches my back.”
The affectionate, lazy scratches and petting when they cuddle haven’t been a problem in that context, and he bites the inside of his cheek before replying.
”Did I hurt you?”
That earns a sharp glance, one so utterly normal that it makes his eyes burn.
”Of course not.”
“Hugh…”
His partner pulls one hand free, but it’s only to scrub across his face before returning to lace their fingers together.
”When you scratched me. That side, it-“ he swallows, “reminded me. The jahSepp.”
(Hugh’s ragged uniform is filthy, exposing open wounds all down his left side.
”It burns,” Hugh whimpers against Paul’s arm, “everywhere they land on me, it burns.”)
”Shit.”
”Yeah.”
Without letting go, he unfolds his legs and shifts until he’s kneeling at Hugh’s side.
”I’m sorry.”
Hugh laughs again, but it’s lost the bitter edge.
”We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
Instead of answering out loud, he leans forward until he can rest their foreheads together, noses touching.
”We are.”
They stay like that, breathing each other in, until Paul’s feet start to prickle. He tries not to squirm, but Hugh’s not so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice, tapping Paul’s hip in a way that says I saw that and let’s lie down.
Hugh curls against his side once they do, cheek resting on the spectacular scarlet love bite darkening his shoulder.
“I thought I was past it.”
He knows that Hugh spent time talking through it with Admiral Cornwell, self-medicating by rigorously reading up on trauma and PTSD. Still, Paul also knows better than most that Dr. Culber’s calm front is capable of hiding a great deal of turmoil.
Kissing Hugh’s forehead, he twines their ankles together and nods.
”I’ll be more careful.”
”You shouldn’t have to be.”
”You shouldn’t have had to go through that either.”
They fall silent after that, just the sound of their breathing filling the darkness. Hugh’s arm is tight around his waist, grounding rather than restrictive. Paul concentrates on rubbing the tension from Hugh’s shoulders, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against his own ribs.
”Thank you,” Hugh whispers sometime after the sweat on his brow has long since dried, “sweetheart.”
He doesn’t say whether it’s for Paul’s acknowledgement of their mutual struggles, or his understanding, or even the back rub. There’s a lot of things Paul could say in response, words to fill the space and minutes between them, but he chooses the ones that are most honest.
“Always,” Paul murmurs, “always.”
Notes:
I’m currently re-reading all of your comments, chapter by chapter, and am so very grateful for your generosity and kindness. With luck, I’ll be able to post a new chapter of When Sorrow Turns to Joy or even Survival if I can get myself back into the right headspace after a Disco re-watch.
Chapter 520: Spark
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Other people don’t look at Paul Stamets’ mouth and think of kissing him.
(It’s not that Hugh would mind if they thought about it, if they realized how sexy his adorable frowns could be or how the tiniest smirk sends a spark of anticipation down to Hugh’s stomach, but he’s more than happy to keep that for himself, a secret in the overflowing vault in his heart marked ‘Paul’.)
The delicate pink of his lips is hidden most of the time, turned inwards until he bites the bottom one in thought or wets them with a swipe of his tongue.
(Hugh has an entire host of memories and fantasies dedicated to Paul’s tongue.)
Paul’s kisses are focused, precise until he relinquishes enough self-control that they turn messy and even more perfect. When their lips meet, they’re sharing breath, sharing moments. They’re kisses goodnight, quick pecks in greeting, filthy deep when making love, moments of laughter and tears and life.
Above all else, they’re right.
Notes:
Random, brought on by looking through photos where Wilson’s smiles show off his teeth, but Anthony manages to be just as expressive while close-mouthed.
Chapter 521: Spew, Prologue
Summary:
Still not sex pollen.
Notes:
Ridiculous? Most certainly.
Trek-possible levels of camp combined with science-based concepts? Also yes.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
”So…” Tilly’s voice wavers a little, “is it like, anti-sex pollen?”
Someone in Engineering lets out a hastily-stifled snicker.
“Unfortunately,” Hugh sighs, “yes.”
”Anti-sex pollen.”
Michael sounds more than a little disbelieving, and he really can’t blame her.
”Essentially, it acts as both a stimulant for the release of oxytocin and once that happens, the results are…going to be unpleasant.”
”Unpleasant?”
Any other day, the repetition would be humorous, and he sighs again.
”It’s an emetic.”
Silence.
”It seems to be a defense mechanism of sorts,” he continues when everyone else just stares, “the organisms release it and as long as their target has compatible biochemistry-“
“Wait a sec, Doc,” Reno drawls, propping an elbow on Tilly’s console, “whatever buggers that bypassed the biofilters and infested my warp core, got royally pissed off when they smelled the Mushroom Lord’s farm, and instead of spewing poisonous gases, they’re going to make everyone hornier than a Risan orgy and then you throw up?”
Hugh flicks the data from his tricomm up, expanding it so that everyone can see. He glances over at Paul, takes in his frown and the way he hasn’t bothered to reply to Reno’s verbal jab, and offers a quirk of his lips by way of commiseration.
”Essentially, yes. And since we don’t know how it escaped detection, we have to assume the entire ship has been exposed.”
Michael takes a step back, looking at response-rate curves and molecular diagrams.
”You’re sure?”
”Unfortunately, yes.”
”It can’t be that ba-“
She stops when Paul clears his throat.
”It really, really is.”
”How-“ Michael pauses, taking in Paul and Hugh both in off-duty shirts over their uniform pants, and Hugh can almost hear the wheels turning in her head, “ahhh. I see.”
“Yeah.”
Tilly raises her hand in the awkward silence that follows, looking more like a cadet than he’s seen her in a long time.
”Can we just think desperately un-sexy thoughts? I mean, oxytocin production increases for like, hugging someone and being happy. It’s not like we can tell the entire ship to be miserable until we figure it out. Right?”
He shakes his head.
”At the least, we need to have everyone refrain from intimate activities. Unless they want to find out what happens.”
Michael unfolds her arms, attention moving from the readouts back to him.
”Is it life-threatening in any way?”
“Repeated emesis can lead to dehydration, but on the whole, at present I would say no.”
Her shoulders relax almost imperceptibly.
”Can I leave it to you and Doctor Pollard to…notify the crew?”
”Yes, Captain.”
”Keep me updated.”
”No sex,” Reno spins a spanner deftly between her fingers once the doors swish shut after Michael leaves, “Stamets, you and the doc might have a problem with that.”
Paul huffs.
”You-“
”Okaaaay,” Adira pipes in for the first time from the other side of the spore cube, “can I just pretend none of this conversation ever happened?”
Notes:
To be continued…
We’ve passed 60,000 views, and I cannot describe how much your comments and support to get this far have meant. May the Great Bird of the Galaxy smile on you and all that you do - THANK YOU.
Chapter 522: Spew, Part One
Notes:
Continuation of previous chapter with flashbacks for context.
Takes place between Seasons Three and Four.
Contains non-graphic mention of losing one’s lunch.
Chapter Text
For the first time in fifteen years, Hugh can’t stomach the thought of sex with Paul.
Literally.
They hadn’t been aware of any issues after beaming back from the rather nondescript M-class planet the ship is still orbiting. It isn’t until after dinner, when Hugh’s skin starts to feel deliciously tight and he bodily pulls Paul’s chair back from the table to straddle his lap, when they’re kissing and grinding and Hugh has his hand down Paul’s pants and Paul is kneading his ass with both hands, that a wave of nausea sweeps over him.
He briefly wonders if something is wrong with the replicators and pulls back with a hand on Paul’s chest to pause proceedings. Hugh’s just opened his mouth to ask if his partner feels okay when he’s dumped unceremoniously on the floor and Paul rushes into the bathroom. Stunned, he has approximately three seconds to register landing on the deck before he’s scrambling to his feet and desperately waving open the trash receptacle on the wall.
It isn’t pretty.
Once he’s done heaving up what feels like the entire contents of his stomach from the last week, he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and sits on the deck with his back to the bulkhead. The cool metal soothes the ache in his head, and it takes several deep breaths before he realizes he’s still alone.
”…Paul?”
His voice comes out as a croak, but he gets an answering groan swiftly followed by the sound of the facilities flushing. His stomach roils again when he tries to stand, and it takes all of his willpower to force the nausea down.
Oh hell.
He’s already mentally reviewing and discarding potential causes - space sickness, failure of the artificial gravity and subsequent inner ear disorientation, sudden onset Andorian flu - as he crawls towards the bathroom.
“I don’t feel so great,” Paul mumbles from the floor next to the shower.
Based on the way he’s white-knuckling the edge, face drained of color into a sickly pallor, Paul definitely isn’t exaggerating.
“Yeah,” he rasps out, “makes two of us.”
Normally after a stressful day they’d seek comfort in each other’s arms, but after snuggling for a few minutes made Paul turn a disturbingly extra-pale shade and Hugh clapped a hand over his own mouth to force his stomach back down, they’ve retreated to opposite sides of the bed.
”I hate this,” Paul’s voice drifts over.
“Ugh,” Hugh addresses the deck below his bare feet, head still between his knees, “me too.”
“We know what’s causing it and why, we beamed the…whatever back down to their planet, but if the air filters can’t catch it, how do we get rid of it?”
He sits up slowly, reaching for his pillow.
”Without testing if we’re still affected by hugging.”
Paul’s massaging his temples, but looks up when Hugh stands.
”Hugh?”
”I,” he picks up Adira’s quilt from the end of the bed, “am going to sleep on the couch.”
Much as he hates the thought of not sharing the bed, there’s no way to stop them drifting closer once they’re asleep. They both know it, but Paul still scowls as he sets his pillow on the couch and lies down before ordering the lights off. There’s the rustling of covers, and Hugh sighs as the Paul-shaped mound of duvet migrates to his side of the bed.
“I hate this even more.”
He doesn’t bother pretending he doesn’t agree.
Chapter 523: Scrub
Notes:
Interlude between chapters of the anti-sex pollen saga :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“The ship cleans for us.”
On the whole, Paul is grateful that Discovery herself - her DOTs - will clean, tidy, and generally take care of all of the things her crew are too busy focusing on the DMA to deal with.
They try the new feature, programming the little constructs together and showing them what to do and where, what to touch and what to leave. It's definitely nice to not have to dust and put away laundry or fluff the throw pillows, but something is...off. Putting away their clothes, for example, was a chore that neither of them particularly liked, but standing over the bed while folding undershirts and underwear is so mundanely domestic that it feels like part of their routine is missing. The same with the DOTs washing toys left in the bathroom sink, actually, usually something they did the next morning while brushing their teeth and sharing sleepy but sly smiles remembering how they were used.
(Also, Paul can't shake the thought that Zora, by way of her systems, knows exactly when he and Hugh are having sex.)
While Hugh's stuck in surgery one night, he wakes up the DOT and scrolls through the list of tasks. Frowning thoughtfully, he deletes a few - although not the one where Hugh's wet towels miraculously vanish from the middle of the bathroom floor - and sends the construct buzzing off to continue its routine.
”Babe?” Hugh asks when the DOTs don’t make the bed the next morning, "did you change the cleaning settings?"
”…I want it to feel like we actually live here,” Paul gives him a lopsided smile over his café au lait, "and I kind of miss it."
Hugh returns the smile, setting down the pillow and stepping closer.
“I thought you’d be happy to not have to tuck in the sheets every day.”
"You'll kick them out again anyway. I just...I don't know."
He plucks the mug out of Paul's hands and sets it on the nightstand before circling Paul's waist with his arms, not hugging but simply holding. His head is tipped to the side, gaze searching his face for something that he must find, because Hugh straightens again and kisses Paul's temple.
"I get it."
"Yeah?"
"Reminds us that there's some normal, boring things we always complain about, something to hold onto in the face of the unknown."
Paul allows that thought to settle, turning over the words in his mind and feeling their weight. Hugh lets him, still with that gentle smile on his face.
Yes.
His hands migrate upwards, index fingers resting lightly on his jaw while his thumbs stroke Hugh's beard.
"Have I mentioned how much I love you?"
"A few times," Hugh murmurs, "but I'm always happy to hear it again."
Notes:
Can be read as a companion piece to Chapter 426 (“Spiral”).
The scene where Hugh is stress-cleaning feels so honest and visceral. It's the little things, the way Paul leans back a little when Hugh raises his voice, the tension in Hugh's hands while he's self-blaming over Book.
Chapter 524: Soiled
Notes:
References Tilly helping Hugh make the decision to stay onboard Discovery as part of When Sorrow Turns to Joy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When Zareh calls her ‘sweetheart’, Tilly’s second impulse (the first is to cringe away from his unwelcome touch) is a surprising sense of anger that she can’t quite place.
It’s more than his slimy used-shuttlecraft seller’s demeanor, or the fact that his breath smells like a waste reclamation unit. She’s used to being inexperienced and young, but she hasn’t been…condescended to like this in a while. Still, that doesn’t account for the flare of heat in her stomach. It’s not until Georgiou and Saru have managed to disable (she tries not to think about the bodies around as dead) Zareh’s minions that the pieces come together and she understands exactly why there’s a very unfamiliar urge to punch him.
Dr. Culber - Hugh - used to call Stamets sweetheart in softer moments, and the sound of it always made Tilly’s stomach feel a little funny. Even when spoken quietly, there was no mistaking the affection in his tone, and the love.
While he was gone, when Stamets was so broken and hiding from everyone except her, the saved comms he’d play all ended with Hugh using that endearment. Seeing his brief smile, always immediately followed by bleak loss, made her own eyes burn. She misses those times, just a little, because his pain was clean and simple despite the depth of it. With Hugh back, it twisted into something even worse.
Zareh has cheapened, soiled the word, and Stamets and Dr. Culber deserve so much better than the universe has given them. She knows now that Hugh stayed - whether her own part had any bearing to convince him, Tilly isn’t sure - but doesn’t know what’s next for them. Still, if there’s even a chance, she couldn’t stand by and let them both break themselves further.
When the tables have literally turned, she doesn’t hesitate. It’s been a hell of a day, between slingshotting almost a millennium into the future, crash landing, being held at phaser-point, being held hostage, and facing the prospect of being killed by parasitic ice. So she thinks she can probably be forgiven for losing the control the Command Training Program demands, channeling her fear into anger.
”Sorry, sweetheart,” she says with as much venom as she can muster.
Notes:
Doing a Season Three rewatch, and I’m not sure why I didn’t write about it the first time I watched.
…actually, I know I was far too distracted by the solid amount of Culmets reunion to do much else.
Chapter 525: Square
Summary:
What happens when Game Night turns a little tipsy?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The new crew lounge on Discovery is wonderful, but consensus is that Game Night still needs to happen in Lounge H. Given that it's since been transformed into a holosuite, there's some irony that they've programmed it to recreate its former environment, complete with the terrible view of the ship's exhaust manifolds. Still, there’s something very comforting in its familiarity that even the 32nd century can’t match.
It's also past 2300 and therefore not terribly advisable to consume real alcohol, but Linus' stash of Saurian brandy is as high quality as ever. The kadis kot board and cards have long since been abandoned, snacks spread over every available surface. Adira’s snoring quietly on one of the couches, and Paul really can’t find anything to complain about.
Family.
"This," Joann taps her small glass, "is amazing, Linus."
"Seriously," Keyla adds from where she's slouched in a corner of the same couch, "how did you manage...?"
Reno waves an amazingly still-steady hand from the other side of the coffee table.
"Don't ask the person who brought the bottle where it came from."
The low-toned chuckle they receive in response doesn't need the universal translator to render the humor.
"But-"
"Shhh!"
"Did the Mushroom Lord just shush you?"
The brandy has left him feeling pleasantly warm, but Paul's retained enough coordination to level a glare in Reno's direction.
"Adira's asleep."
"Kid'll sleep through just fine, tell him Doc."
Hugh's a welcome weight against his shoulder, perched on the arm of the couch, and Paul regrets turning his head so fast to look up at him. When the room stops swimming, he's treated to one of Hugh's brilliant smiles with more than a hint of indulgent affection.
"What?"
"You're adorable when you're drunk, babe."
It's impossible to stay annoyed at Reno when Hugh slides down onto his lap. Paul's just tipsy enough that it doesn't immediately register until a slightly off-target kiss lands on the side of his mouth. He fumbles to set down the mostly-empty glass on the table beside them, wrapping both arms around Hugh's waist.
"Aww," Keyla's whisper probably isn't meant to be that loud, "that's so cute!"
Hugh's wink in response makes her blush.
Sometime later, Rhys' hand appears above the coffee table.
"We should play a game."
Paul isn't sure when he ended up on the floor, but Rhys seems fairly comfortable where he's slouched against Linus' shoulder. Then again, he's been preoccupied by the way Hugh's hands have migrated inside his unzipped jacket and are busy tracing distracting circles over his ribs.
"Could play 'Never Have I Ever'," Keyla offers, nudging a dozing Joann with her foot.
"...what? Not fair, Keyla."
”Why?”
”You know why.”
Reno snickers.
"Ehh, I wouldn't worry about it. Stamets is probably the biggest square here."
"I don't like you."
"Feeling's mutual, Crankypants. Not denying that, though."
"You-"
"Human metaphors," Linus interjects, "are...odd."
Hugh's roaming fingers stop, and Paul pouts at him even as he tries to continue frowning at Reno.
"He's less of one than you think, Jett."
"Oh yeah?"
"Mmm, definitely."
Keyla blinks, going to set her own glass down and accidentally elbowing the bowl of pretzels off her lap, landing with a resounding thud on the holographic deck.
"What?"
It's difficult to be annoyed at being discussed as if he isn't there when he has Hugh draped over him like a muscular blanket, particularly when he keeps nuzzling Paul's neck.
”He’s not boring,” Hugh adds, breath tickling his skin, “not at all.”
"I told you," Rhys tries to point, finger directed more over Keyla’s shoulder than at her, "Stamets gets laaaaaaiddd."
Paul doesn’t get farther than opening his mouth, because there’s a flurry of motion to his right.
"Ewwwwwwwww!"
Beside him, Adira pushes themself up on an elbow, a look of sleepy affront on their face.
"I," they inform everyone as they get to their feet, "am so going to pretend I didn't hear that."
”Sorry.”
Rhys does look genuinely apologetic, and Adira waves their hand vaguely as they head for the door.
”Night guys.”
A chorus of replies follows them across the room, then the door swishes shut behind them.
Paul levels an accusatory stare across the room
”See? You woke them up.”
Notes:
A new installment of cat!Paul should be next.
Chapter 526: Shapeshift, Part Twenty-Eight
Summary:
Pure Culmets fluff and a tiny side order of angst, but with paws, big ears, and a tail.
Chapter Text
Modern medicine may have taken care of his broken bones and bruises, made sure that his concussion was reduced to a slight headache, but today was more than exhausting on its own so it’s no surprise when they doze off.
He wakes an hour or so later, skin crawling with the desire to be clean. Hugh had peeled himself out of his uniform as soon as they’d returned to their quarters, nose wrinkling at the amount of soot and smell of sweat in the jacket and shaking his head at the shredded, scorched lower right leg of his pants. Although he’d given them both a quick wipe with a towel before Paul demanded he lie down, he’s more than ready for a shower.
Speaking of…
Paul’s currently curled up across his upper chest, head on his left shoulder and front paws under Hugh’s ear. He sniffs, confirming that the snoring bundle of fur could use a good scrub as well, and gently shakes him awake.
”…mmmeeewwoow?”
”I need a shower.”
A yawn that shows off a very pink tongue, then a nod. The luxurious feline stretch that follows makes him smile, and he scratches Paul under the chin before slowly sitting up and climbing off the bed.
Hugh makes a face at the grimy smudges they’ve left on the sheets, sending one of the cleaning DOTs to change the bed linens as they head into the bathroom. Changing the sheets together is an end-of-the-week chore that he already misses despite the efficiency of the bots, and he makes a mental note to ask Paul about it when he gets his human hands back. He stops to brush his teeth, setting Paul on the counter, and considers whether he can get his partner clean enough in the shower. By the time he rinses his mouth, a much better idea has come to mind.
He makes a quick trip to the replicator for cat-friendly shampoo, then fills the sink with warm water while Paul’s busy with the facilities. Hugh pours some shampoo in and swishes his hand back and forth, stirring up the water and making it foam. Paul hops back up onto the counter, giving the sink a questioning look as Hugh unbuckles his harness.
“Easier than trying to scrub us both in the shower.”
He wiggles his fingers in the water invitingly, waiting as Paul dips a paw in before pulling it out again.
”Not hot enough?”
Paul shakes his head, reaching for the tricomm.
Are you going to shower now?
He’d thought that Paul would appreciate a soak, or at least stay in the sink long enough for Hugh to get himself clean.
Maybe not.
“Do you want me to wash you?”
Another head shake.
Can we take a bath?
Together, in the tub.
Oh.
The programmable matter tub is an upgrade to Discovery that Hugh loves, and he’s going to blame overall fatigue for not thinking of that himself. Paul seems to have misinterpreted his brain slowly catching up as trepidation because he sighs, typing with quick taps.
I’m not going to drown, Hugh.
“Sorry. I know, just…tired. It’s a good idea.”
Mollified, Paul rubs his cheek on Hugh’s wrist before jumping off the counter and waiting expectantly. He gathers his wandering thoughts and opens the sink drain, picks up the shampoo, then turns and taps the control panel on the opposite wall. The floor in front of them shimmers before reforming into a sunken tub that starts filling immediately.
It’s set to go only halfway so that Paul can still stand, and he doesn’t wait for it to finish before climbing in. The warmth seeps into him as the water rises, and he leans his head back on the curved edge to try and exhale the day’s tension out, eyes closed. Claws click against the tile, and he feels a rough tongue lap at his cheek. They've left the tricomm on the counter, but the concerned trill doesn’t need words to accompany it.
”I’m fine,” he sighs, “today was something else.”
”Mrrrooww.”
The faucet shuts off, melting back into the wall. Paul steps over the edge of the tub, paws on Hugh’s shoulder before sliding down his torso and into the water with a small splash. He’s gone with regular water rather than their usual mineral soak, reasoning that it’s both better for cleaning and less likely to do anything strange to Paul’s fur.
And isn’t that a thought you never expected to have?
Bathing Paul in this body is different, but no less pleasant than his human form (although decidedly smaller). He lathers up his hands with the shampoo, then works it through from the neck down, careful to untangle any knots along the way. It rinses off slightly murky, and Paul makes a noise of distaste before dipping his head briefly under the water.
”I know,” Hugh murmurs, using his thumbs to scrub at Paul’s cheeks and pouring a careful palmful over his ears, “glad you’re not actually a cat. I’d be worried about you licking this.”
That earns him a huff that Hugh chooses to interpret as agreement. He takes his time to give Paul a second wash, then uses the same shampoo and a washcloth to give himself a thorough scrub before ducking his own head under to rinse his hair. The water is more than a little grey when he’s done, and he reaches for the wall panel again to drain and refill the tub.
Paul reclaims Hugh’s lap when the faucet stops again, half submerged and purring contentedly against his stomach. His whiskers tickle Hugh’s open palm, tail lazily swishing eddies into existence.
“Watch the claws,” he cautions when a paw gently nudges his groin.
”Mrrowww.”
For a moment, he misses his partner’s human form so much that it makes his chest ache, misses him on the other side of the tub with his legs draped over Hugh’s own and the pale expanse of his chest flushed pink with heat. Misses his voice saying Hugh’s name and sleepy goodnight kisses, and-
Don’t think about that now.
He forces the thoughts away, relieved that Paul doesn’t seem to have noticed. It takes effort, but he deliberately focuses on petting him now, so much smaller with his fur slicked down. The sight of it brings a genuine smile to his lips, and Paul raises his head with an inquisitive look.
”Sorry love, you just…” he chuckles, “look like a wet ca- hey!”
He splutters as Paul growls and gives himself a shake, water droplets flying everywhere. Holding up his hands in surrender, Hugh wipes his face and concedes.
”All right, all right. Point taken.”
They linger until the water cools, then Hugh hauls them both out for a towel dry. Paul looks much more his cat self once he’s done, leaving damp paw prints on the counter before Hugh buckles the harness back on and picks him up again.
“You’ve got four perfectly good feet, you know.”
You like carrying me.
”True.”
His stomach picks that moment to rumble, reminding him that it’s been hours since the sandwich he ate between staring at datasets.
“Hungry?”
As long as it’s not cat food.
Paul’s upper lip curls back.
That seriously looked disgusting.
“Sorry.”
”Mmrrroorrrrr.”
Hugh picks something simple from the replicator, settling them on the couch with a tray balanced on his knees. He doesn’t pay much attention to the meal while eating it himself - other than the sense of not-empty in his stomach being a relief - but thoroughly enjoys Paul carefully picking flaked salmon from between his fingers and licking stray rice grains off his palm. It reminds him of how much he loves feeding his partner when they’re both human, something equally intimate in sharing a mug of coffee and bites from the same slice of toast as in sucking melted chocolate from each other’s fingertips.
He steers his thoughts away before they spiral downwards, distracting himself with the face Paul makes when spinach gets stuck in his teeth. Paul’s eyelids are drooping when he finally refuses the last few blueberries.
“Hey, don’t fall asleep here.”
He heaves a sigh, blinking sleepily as Hugh gently rubs his full tummy.
”Go on, let me get cleaned up.”
Grumbling, Paul hops off the couch.
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
Hugh goes to recycle the tray, stops to brush his teeth, and pulls on a pair of pajama pants. With the lights off, he crawls under the crisp sheets and shoos Paul off his pillow before setting his harness on the nightstand.
He raises his right arm for Paul to burrow into his side, tail draped over Hugh’s stomach and chin on his shoulder. Hugh lifts Paul’s paw off his chest, kissing the little toes one at a time and giving his head and ears the same gentle scratches as the last fifteen years. In return, Paul nuzzles the underside of his jaw, whiskers catching in Hugh’s beard. The throaty, satisfied noises are surprisingly close to a human Paul’s sleepy sighs, soothing and familiar.
”Love you,” he whispers against Paul’s forehead.
”Mroowwwowwaaahhh.”
Paul drifts off under Hugh’s petting hands, long sleepy blinks and content purrs turning into quiet feline snores. With his nose pressed into Hugh’s armpit and expressive eyes closed, he looks like any other cat. Hugh watches with a gentle smile, twisting at the hips to bring his bent knees to the side, body curved in a protective arc.
“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, kissing Paul’s forehead, “kitten.”
He pauses, waits for Paul’s eyes to open or a protesting yowl. One ear quivers briefly and the very tip of Paul’s tail bounces once, but he receives no other response.
The steady rise and fall of each breath beneath his palm is calming, even if it’s not Paul’s human heartbeat under his ear. He pulls up Adira’s quilt, carefully standing up a pillow and draping the fabric over it to create a cat-friendly canopy. Tucking another pillow between his knees to keep him from rolling over, he cuddles Paul a little closer and closes his eyes.
Notes:
Inspiration for sleepy Paul: https://www.instagram.com/reel/CjLDzPPKXBc/
Finally passed 400k words!
Chapter 527: Spirit, Part Two
Summary:
There's something T'Rina can help Hugh (and Paul) with.
Chapter Text
The area they arrive in is at the foot of a steep staircase, seeming to rise out of sight. Around them, the ruddy windswept plains are broken by jagged mountains and imposing statues stretching into the distance.
“That’s…wow,” Hugh murmurs.
T’Rina pauses on the threshold, brow creasing.
”Forgive me for not asking. Our atmosphere contains a lower concentration of oxygen than your ship, and may cause discomfort following any sort of exertion.”
Hugh glances at Paul, his quirked lips conveying a lack of serious worry.
”Thank you for your concern,” he replies, “I have tri-ox if we need, but I think we’ll be okay.”
Nodding, she gestures for them to follow.
”Please do not hesitate to ask for a rest. The pathway is considered long even for my people.”
Dust swirls around their ankles as they ascend, hints of sulfur in the air.
”I’ve read that the climb can be a sort of meditation.”
The steps are wide, polished smooth by what Hugh pictures as millennia of respectful footsteps, and the austere beauty isn’t lost on him.
”Indeed. In the ancient past, this site was a fortress and the stairs a defensive necessity. It has been traditionally used in times of peace to reflect upon the importance of maintaining discipline upon the impulses which may lead to harm.”
Beside him, Paul hums thoughtfully. He seems to be studying the rust and oxblood striations in the dark stone beneath their feet. T’Rina stops on a landing a dozen or so steps later, shaking a cloud of fine particles from her robes.
”There is a species of lichen which thrives on sulfur and copper that may be of interest to you, Commander,” she indicates the shadows beneath a carved pillar. “It is not native, but developed from a cyanobacteria carried by Romulan soil when it mixed with a species of volcanic fungus. The symbiosis is unique.”
Paul’s fingers twitch.
”Was it a wild type, or already adapted to-“
He shakes his head, holding up a hand rather than immediately swiping open his tricomm to start scanning as Hugh would have expected.
“I’d like to take a sample on the way back down, if that’s allowed?”
“Of course. I regret that I cannot relay a greater depth of knowledge, but our scientists have documented its development. I would be pleased to refer you to their archives, for this or any other matters.”
“Thank you, Madam President.”
Folding her hands within the draped sleeves of her robe, the edges of her mouth soften for a moment before they resume the climb. Paul makes a quiet noise of inquiry, brushing the backs of their hands together. Hugh smiles, gives him an I’ll tell you later look. He’ll probably be teased about it, but something catches in his chest at Paul’s willingness to put off scientific inquiry for the sake of their visit.
”Commander Stamets,” T’Rina adds a few minutes later, “I hope that you may reconsider the offer extended to you by the Vulcan Science Academy, if only on a temporary basis.”
Surprise widens Paul’s eyes and stops him in his tracks, followed closely by restrained delight. The reddish hue of the planet hides any flush to his cheeks, but Hugh can read excitement in the way his ever-mobile fingers still. Pride makes his own smile impossible to control as she continues.
“Ni’Var owes you and your shipmates a debt of gratitude which cannot be overstated. Apart from that, your scientific expertise rises on its own merit.”
”I…”
Rendering Paul Stamets speechless is something that reminds him fiercely of another Vulcan.
“Please do not feel you need answer to me, nor respond with immediacy. The offer will remain.”
They continue upwards.
It takes the better part of twenty minutes to reach the top of the stairs, and while he’s not winded, Hugh’s grateful for the temperature-regulating uniform fabric. Before them, a pair of wrought metal gates curve gracefully upwards for three meters. As they approach, a white-clad priestess rises from a meditation pose and steps in front of the gate, lifting her hand in a ta’al that T’Rina reciprocates.
“Live long and prosper, T’Rina, daughter of T’Shena. How may I serve?”
”We seek entrance to the Hall of Ancient Thought. Healer Culber and Commander Stamets have come in remembrance of one of our kin.”
Paul’s side eye when T’Rina gives him the honorific title is warm and approving. The priestess turns her gaze on them, a stillness about her that seems solid as the ground beneath their feet. At last, she nods and moves aside, touching a control.
The gate swings open, and T'Rina precedes them into an antechamber. Paul’s fingers twine with his as she leads them past several high archways to a small terminal incongruously placed before a stone obelisk marked with ancient Vulcan script. He recognizes it as something even older than the time they left, and can't contain a surprised hum.
"You are wondering at the logic of utilizing technology which is several centuries out of date."
T'Rina seems amused.
"Yes."
Beside him, Paul's head is tipped nearly all the way back, staring up at the lattice of arches soaring gracefully overhead with mathematical precision.
"It is not illogical to preserve tradition, either by Vulcans or Romulans prior to our reunification. This holds millennia of records of births and deaths, and as it has not ceased to function, there has not been a need to replace it, only the addition of auxiliary storage capacity.”
She places her palm flat on the reader, and the database activates, scrolling green text on the smooth screen.
“What is the name of your friend?”
”Healer S’dar T’lhai T’Vala. She would have been born around twenty-two hundred.”
He can't read the script as T'Rina navigates through with a flick of her fingers, sideways and scrolling vertically. At last, she stops on an entry that expands into a family tree with portraits beside names, and taps on a familiar face.
T'Vala's eyes peer serenely out at him from nine hundred and thirty years in the past.
("She stayed, Hugh," Tracy's fingers tighten around the mug of tea, "the pediatric ward was still being evacuated when the Klingons boarded. Security said she fought them with her bare hands all the way to the airlock.”
She blinks, tears welling in her eyes as she continues.
”She went straight into surgeries once the ship went to warp, kept working even though…everyone was in bad shape, and no one knew until she collapsed.”
Tracy doesn’t have to go into detail, not when he’s just read T’Vala’s record, the dispassionate statements of his friend’s life and death. He can’t imagine the mental discipline needed to continue providing care to others while hiding massive internal bleeding, to perform the calculus and determine that her own wounds would be fatal, that the needs of the many - the care she could provide to her patients - outweighed the cost of her own life.
Hugh scoots closer, rests their foreheads together and swallows past the lump on his throat.
"Did they make it?"
His voice catches on the last word. He knows Tracy understands the question, because her lips curve into a tight smile despite the tears dripping off her chin.
"All of the kids survived.” )
A fresh wave of grief threatens to break past his calm, the skin of his face gone hot and tight. Paul squeezes his hand wordlessly and Hugh takes a deep breath, forcing it back. If T’Rina notices the hitch in his breathing, she doesn’t draw attention to it.
"This way."
Dismissing the interface, she leads them deeper into the silent halls. They turn down a long corridor, then into a cavernous alcove. Hugh expected a memorial site, or a meditative focus. Instead, an orb sits on a simple pillar at the center of the space, a soft orange glow emanating from it.
“This is an ark, for the katras of those who have died. We do not often speak of them, Doctor, although perhaps you may know?”
He shakes his head, eyes drawn back to the swirling almost-colors on the orb. At his shoulder, Paul is silent and steady.
“A katra carries the mind and will of its owner, and those of our people who are able will place them in keeping when they are near the point of death so that family members and friends may...commune, if you will, to receive enlightenment or comfort."
"Forgive me, but is comfort not an emotion?"
The barest smile graces T'Rina's face.
"It is, but loss evokes many emotions which are otherwise mastered. A chance to commune may offer the peace needed to regain mastery."
"T'Vala's katra, is here?"
“They may endure for millennia, although that requires a supremely disciplined mind of strong will.”
A quiet laugh, barely more than a breath passes his lips.
”That sounds like her.”
”It may be that her katra has waned, we can only ask and wait if the request is answered.”
Paul clears his throat.
”How do you…find someone in particular?”
“If Doctor Culber consents to a mind meld, I will act as his voice. He would then need to recall the memories which defined Healer T’Vala, and by which he could be recognized.”
”I’m psi-null, will that still work?”
”For a non-telepath, it is not…easy, and emotion may be stirred. But you may be assured of my discretion, Doctor. And,” she tips her head to the side, “you may aid us, Commander.”
“I’m not telepathic either.”
”You would not be an active participant. The process may be taxing, and Doctor Culber may need to draw from the strength of your bond.”
Hugh blinks.
”Do you- you can sense that?”
“Forgive me,” T’Rina frowns, “you were not aware?”
”T’Vala said so too, but-“ he glances sidewise at Paul, who looks as confused as he feels, “we aren’t telepathic at all. We’re just…human.”
She turns to face him fully, studying them. Hugh’s not sure what she’s looking for, but the gaze doesn’t feel intrusive as she seems to be examining their joined hands. Understanding lights her eyes, and T’Rina’s frown vanishes.
”Perhaps it is not something which is common among your people, as it has become less so for ours since the time you came from. It may not be conscious, or active in the manner of a mating bond, but you are most definitely connected. As a healer, T’Vala would have recognized the signs.”
He thinks about describing love, about T’Vala’s insistence on the presence of a bond between them.
Maybe it doesn’t need explaining.
”Okay.”
”Doctor?”
”Go ahead. Please.”
She fits her fingertips to the psi-touch points on his face. Paul squeezes his hand again, but stays silent.
”You may experience some discomfort, but it should pass. It may help to envision your thoughts as many rooms, which you have full control to choose to share.”
”Okay.”
T’Rina sets her other hand on the orb, and closes her eyes.
“My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts…”
There’s an odd tugging sensation inside his head, pressure that doesn’t hurt but isn’t something he’s experienced before as his awareness of the physical world seems to recede. It reminds him of standing in a swiftly-moving stream, the water flowing past his ankles, or being caught on a windy day. He stumbles in his mind, feels himself being dragged into the cold until he meets something solid and warm and familiar that he clings to. It cradles him, holds him until the chill falls away.
Paul.
Steadied, he pulls himself upright. A second presence appears, something he can feel even though he has no sight here. It emanates calm, and seems to be waiting.
T’Rina.
Hugh imagines reaching out with his hand, senses a spark as the nothingness in his head is illuminated. It feels like Paul is standing at his shoulder, but when he looks back all he can see is a warm glow like a sunrise.
T’Rina’s voice echoes oddly, but remains clear.
”I am ready. Please, Doctor, you may begin.”
Notes:
To be continued.
Given that much of Vulcan history (and telepathic power) is nebulous, I've taken some license and hope that it stays canon-plausible.
I didn’t intend for the story to stretch so long, but details kept adding themselves.
Edit (April 2024): Read the conclusion in Chapter 700.
Chapter 528: Shapeshift, Part Twenty-Nine
Summary:
A brief interlude.
Chapter Text
"…Captain, while I understand Commander Stamets'..." Vance sighs, "dislike of Aurellio, I would have thought he could put that aside to work on a larger problem instead of replying that he’s indisposed."
"Admiral,” Michael leans on the desk, “that's not...the problem."
This is so not what he expected when he left Paul sleeping on his pillow to put on his uniform and meet Michael in her ready room for a call with ‘Fleet HQ at 0820.
"Then what is?"
"Commander Stamets isn't himself at the moment."
Vance's hologram eyes Hugh, brow creasing.
"Has he been injured?"
The genuine concern is touching. He exchanges a look with Michael, who replies.
"No, he's in good health. Umm. I suppose- well, Admiral. He's not exactly human at the moment."
“Say that again, Captain?”
”Sir?”
”I could have sworn you said Commander Stamets isn’t replying to Aurellio because he’s currently not human.”
“Yes, Admiral. It’s…we’re still figuring out exactly what caused it, but…”
”Doctor,” the frown knitting Vance’s eyebrows together makes Hugh’s own forehead ache in sympathy, “believe me, I appreciate humor, but please tell me this is some sort of joke.”
”I wish it was,” he sighs, “transmitting the data now, including scans. We can tell it’s horizontal gene transfer from his hybrid tardigrade DNA, but nothing we’ve found yet explains the speed at which it occurred, what triggered it, or, honestly, why it turned him into a c-”
"Captain Burnham to the Bridge."
Sighing, Michael squeezes his arm, giving him a sympathetic look, then faces Vance again.
"Admiral, I apologize. Discovery is still undergoing repairs and-"
"Go on," he smiles, "your ship needs you."
Swish.
Hugh tucks his hands behind his back, squaring his shoulders. The fact that Starfleet’s C-in-C looks like he’s suffering from extreme dyspepsia isn’t anything he can help, unfortunately.
”Forgive me, Doctor Culber, but you seem quite calm for someone whose partner is now…” Vance glances to the side, likely reading the file Hugh sent, “a cat.”
His eyebrows raise, as if hoping Hugh will admit to an elaborate setup now that they’re alone. Hugh exhales slowly through his nose.
”Believe me, Admiral, this isn't even the strangest thing that’s happened on this ship.”
”If it was any ship but Discovery- well. I do believe you. Are you certain that the conditions that caused this…transformation aren’t going to affect anyone else?”
Hugh shakes his head.
”As far as we can tell, everyone else on the ship is safe. Pau- Commander Stamets’ unique physiology is what allowed it to happen in the first place. Our run-in with that cosmic string yesterday destroyed our remaining sample of the spores though, so we’ll have to collect another.”
”I’m sure I don’t need to say, please be careful.”
”Yes, sir.”
Holding up a hand, Vance looks back over his shoulder and seems to be nodding at someone.
”I’ll have to cut this short. Please keep me informed of your progress. And Doctor,” his lips quirk in a half smile, “good luck.”
”Thank you, Admiral.”
Vance’s hologram vanishes, and Hugh drops down to sit on one of the chairs in front of the desk. He hadn’t been aware that Aurellio was trying to reach Paul, but he can imagine his partner not wanting to discuss it. That, or the fact that they’ve run themselves off their feet the last few days, probably accounts for it.
Has it really only been a few days?
Absently brushing a few ginger hairs off his sleeve, Hugh considers whether he has time to stop by the medbay for a chat with Tracy before heading back home. It’s still early, and-
Beep.
He swipes his tricomm open to find a text message waiting.
[Stamets-Paul-CMDR/SCI-ENGR] Where did you go?
It’s a rhetorical question, and Paul’s probably already checked the computer for his location. Some people complained about the impossibility of reading tone, but he can tell it’s not accusatory.
[Culber-Hugh-CMDR/MED] Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be awake yet. I’m on my way back.
[Culber-Hugh-CMDR/MED] Keep my pillow warm?
[Stamets-Paul-CMDR/SCI-ENGR] :x
Notes:
Just a couple more chapters of the cat!Paul saga left!
Who’s in the mood for some romantic fluff next?
Chapter 529: Sprinkles
Notes:
Takes place sometime after Season Two.
You know how sometimes a story just comes to life on its own, all the details and expressions? This is one of those for me.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The simulated sunrise, lights coming up partway, wakes him from the first peaceful sleep in almost a week. As a physician, Hugh knows it’s wise to let his body rest a day or two longer despite his relief at feeling up to try his usual morning run after a nasty bout of Saurian pneumonia (Linus was horribly apologetic). The fact that he’d taken the correct antibiotics as early as possible hadn’t assuaged Paul’s concern, and only Adira dragging him into the lab made him stop fussing. His partner’s spent the last six days curled protectively around Hugh in bed, clear relief on his face when the symptoms abated yesterday morning.
He carefully detaches Paul from his side, brushes his teeth and uses the facilities, then returns to bed with a steaming café con leche. He settles against the headboard, toes tucked under the duvet as he slowly caffeinates. Paul’s snoring softly into the pillow beside him, sighing when Hugh’s hand drifts over to rub his shoulder. It’s easy to drop into a rhythm, eyes closed and mug warm in one hand while the other idly pets Paul’s hair.
He’s brought out of the meditative calm sometime later by a sleepy voice.
”Time s’it?”
”Early,” he murmurs, fingers scratching gently through the short hairs at the base of his neck, “go back to sleep.”
Somewhat surprisingly, Paul pushes up on an elbow, pulling his face out of the pillow and peeling one eye open enough to peer at the chrono on the nightstand.
“Why’re you still here?”
Chuckling, he sets down the coffee mug and gives his partner his full attention.
”I’m going to take that as question and not a complaint.”
”Mmmph.”
He doesn’t bother trying to keep the affectionate smile off his face at the sight of Paul’s hair sticking straight up on the side he was sleeping on and the pillow creases on his cheek.
“Figured I ought to give my lungs another day,” he admits, thumb stroking Paul’s temple, “so I could be here when you wake up.”
That makes both eyes open halfway, and earns him a happy smile. Paul untangles a hand from the covers, wrapping it around Hugh’s thigh (the fumble past his groin seems to be unintentional for once) and scooting closer. He noses the hem of his pajama top out of the way, making a satisfied noise and resting his cheek on the exposed strip of skin where the waistband of Hugh’s sleep pants rides low on his hips.
“Okay.”
He traces the shell of Paul’s right ear with a fingertip, enjoying the rasp of stubble as Paul kisses his hip.
”Going back to sleep?”
Paul’s eyes are closed again, snuffling into the V-cut of Hugh’s right oblique.
“Maybe.”
“Well then…”
Hugh ignores the protesting huff, tugging Paul’s hand free and sliding back down until he can pull Paul into his arms properly.
”Hmph.”
He kisses the tip of Paul’s nose.
”Isn’t this more comfortable?”
Sleep-rumpled he might be, but that’s definitely a Stamets mock pout.
”I was comfortable before you moved.”
Paul sounds slightly more awake, body belying the complaint as he snuggles closer and turns into an octopus, all sharp elbows and knees as he winds his limbs around Hugh’s body.
”I see. Do I need to apologize?”
”Not this time,” Paul sighs into his armpit.
“Okay.”
He kisses Paul’s forehead, ruffled up hair tickling his nose as he does. Paul’s hands work their way under his shirt, warm and broad and so familiar that Hugh really couldn’t resist smiling even if he wanted to.
Time was always running against us, before, so focused on making the most of those too-short visits to always stop and savor the tiny things as much as we should.
Hugh’s making up for lost time now - they both are, really - being fully present for the most mundane everyday things rather than trying to commit each to perfect memory to store in his heart for the weeks and months spent apart.
It’s the easiest thing in the world to start quietly humming the lullaby Aida used to rock him to as a child, soothing him to sleep. Easy to rest his cheek on Paul’s hair, slightly damp with sweat from slumber. Easy to breathe him in and notice the way his ankle bone is poking Hugh’s shin, and how he ought to tell Paul that the nail on his big toe is a bit too long and keeps catching in the fabric of Hugh’s pajama pants.
Time flows by, buoyed with the hypnotic way Paul’s thumb strokes back and forth over the patch of hair in the center of his chest. He drifts, content with Paul in his arms and with Paul’s arms around him.
Eventually, Paul stirs again.
“…mmmmrrrrppphh.”
“Thought you were going back to sleep,” he murmurs.
Paul’s nose burrows deeper into his armpit, and Hugh spares a thought to be grateful he showered before bed last night.
“Hmmm.”
He presses a kiss to the crown of Paul’s head, surprised when he squirms in response.
”Mmmphh hmmmuuuh -you.”
He’s also glad he isn’t ticklish.
“Sorry?”
A wordless mumble, then Paul retrieves his arms and pushes himself upright, swinging his legs off the bed.
”Babe?”
The grumbling continues as Paul stands and trudges towards the bathroom, static-filled top riding up to display the small of his back. He crosses the threshold and the sink goes on, the clatter of the toothbrush cup just audible over the sound of running water.
Ahh.
He looks marginally more awake when Hugh lifts the covers for him to climb back into bed. Once they’re settled again, face to face on Hugh’s pillow, Paul kisses him soundly.
“Hi.”
”Mmm,” he nuzzles Paul’s cheek, “hi yourself.”
”You had coffee,” Paul murmurs into his hair, rolling onto his back and pulling Hugh along with him. Friction twists his pant legs around his calves, pulls his shirt askew, and it’s wonderful.
”I did.”
He wiggles his shoulder into place pressed against Paul’s armpit, settling his cheek on Paul’s shoulder.
”Was it good?”
Chuckling, he slips a hand under Paul’s shirt to rub his stomach.
”Is this your way of asking me to bring you coffee in bed?”
From this position, Paul’s face is in perfect profile. He watches his eyes flutter shut briefly and a smile curve his lips at Hugh’s question.
”Mmm. Depends. If I do, are you going to bring me some?”
The side-eye he receives is full of teasing mischief.
”Depends,” he dips his thumb into Paul’s navel, grins at the yelp he receives, and quickly retreats before Paul can catch his hand, “I could possibly be convinced.”
“Oh really.”
Paul starts playing with the hair at the crown of his head, winding the curls around his fingertips.
”Yes.”
“Hmm. How about I offer you my undying gratitude?”
Pursing his lips, he pretends to ponder.
”I don’t know. What does that entail?”
”More cuddles. We can take a bath and I’ll rub your feet in the tub later, if you want.”
The sheet is somehow tangled around their ankles despite the duvet still being in place. Hugh takes a moment to kick it down, ignoring Paul’s long-suffering sigh.
”Tempting.”
“You can listen to opera while we’re in the tub.”
“Wow. All that for a cup of coffee?”
Paul’s other arm shifts, free hand coming up to trace circles over his bicep.
”Is that a yes?”
He rubs the side of his foot against an exposed shin, hair tickling his instep.
”Maybe.”
A dramatic sigh.
”I’ll suck on your toes.”
“Deal.”
He pauses halfway in his climb over Paul to collect a kiss, then heads for the replicator.
”Any requests?”
”Café au lait, not too hot, with cinnamon and chocolate sprinkles. Please.”
”The things I do for you.”
The replicator buzzes, and he strips off his shirt before carrying the steaming beverage back to bed. Paul squirms his way up until he’s leaning on the headboard, wrapping both hands around the mug and taking a long drink.
”Perfect.”
Hugh settles at his side again, smoothing the wayward blond hair down.
”I’d hope so, since you programmed it.”
Paul hums into his coffee, then sets it on the nightstand and wipes his lips with his thumb. He leans into Hugh’s hand, and traces his own fingers down Hugh’s jaw.
”I wasn’t talking about the coffee.”
Paul’s lips are soft and taste like cinnamon, and Hugh’s heart is so full.
These are our moments.
Notes:
Not an intentional echo of “moments” from the Dead Endless novel, but I’m not displeased at the parallel.
I hope folks enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
Merry Christmas Eve to those who celebrate. Am thinking of a Nella / holiday snippet next :)
Chapter 530: Stew
Summary:
Hugh, Paul, Tracy, and T’Vala arrive on Aida’s doorstep for the holidays.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Abuela!”
Aida smiles, opening her arms as Hugh steps over the threshold and into an embrace. Behind him, Paul waits patiently for his own no less welcoming hug, feeling his cheeks heat as Aida steps back but doesn’t release him entirely, hands framing his face.
”You,” she gives him a stern look, “need to take better care of yourself! They must have synthesizers on Deneva, surely?”
”He’d have to remember to eat,” Hugh chuckles, “you’ve got two weeks to feed him, Abuela.”
She shakes her head, patting his shoulder affectionately, then turns to the other occupants of her entryway.
“Hello Aida,” Tracy laughs as they hug, “I, for one, always remember to eat when I’m here.”
”As you should.”
The last person over the threshold inclines her head and holds up her hand as Aida does the same.
”Live long and prosper, honored Professor.”
”Live long and prosper, T’Vala. How many times do I have to tell you to use my name?”
”An uncertain number more,” T’Vala replies. “I remain appreciative of your generous hospitality, and offer a small token of regard.”
It sounds like an old quasi-argument, one that Paul wasn’t expecting to hear. He’s distracted from that thought by the sight of T’Vala holding out a small box. Bemused, he watches as Aida accepts it just as graciously, none of the insistence that nothing was necessary that she’s always heaped on Hugh and Paul for bringing her things. His side-eye to Hugh doesn’t go unnoticed, because T’Vala merely arches a brow.
“It is a custom of my people to provide a gift in gratitude for hospitality which has been provided.”
“And it would be impolite to refuse,” Aida gestures them further into the house, “come inside, set your things down.”
As he bends to unzip his boots and Hugh and Tracy start a low-voiced conversation about arthritis medications, Aida turns her attention back to T’Vala’s gift. The small box is decorated with intricate, mathematically precise fractal designs. It appears seamless, until she twists the top off and the scent of spices fills the air. It’s not something Paul is familiar with, distinctly piquant but pleasant. Whatever is inside, Aida’s smile widens.
“They are from the region in which my mother’s parents reside,” T’Vala explains, “and are used in the preparation of a particular vegetable stew.”
”Is that so?” Aida raises the box for a closer look, inhaling appreciatively. “I hope you’ll consider sharing the family recipe.”
”Indeed. It is not - as Hugh often says - a ‘family secret’. I would be pleased to prepare it for you, if you desire.”
”The farmer’s market will be open on Thursday. I was planning to borrow Hugh for the afternoon,” she winks at Paul, “but…”
He sways a little on his feet as he straightens, but Hugh’s hand is there to steady him, warm on the small of his back as it steals under the hem of his jacket to rub bare skin.
”We can all go, Abuelita. Trace, there’s a crafter’s fair across from the market too.”
“It’s settled then. Although,” Aida frowns slightly, “we may have to visit San Francisco for Vulcan ingredients.”
He’s not completely sure - mostly because he’s trying not to melt into Hugh’s fingers secretly massaging the dimples at the base of his spine - but he thinks he sees the corners of T’Vala’s eyes soften in the Vulcan equivalent of a smile.
“While not all its components have analogues amongst Earth flora, I believe I can find reasonable substitutions.”
Aida closes the box carefully, tucking it into an apron pocket.
”I look forward to it.”
Notes:
To be continued?
Chapter 531: Stew, Part Two
Chapter Text
They follow Aida into the living room, where the mantel is already draped with tinsel and a cheerful fire crackling away beneath it. A few toys are scattered in front of the coffee table, patterned throws folded and stacked beside an armchair, and the whole house exudes welcome in a way that the Stamets home never did.
“Where’s everyone?” Hugh asks, toeing off his shoes before stepping onto the carpet.
His grandmother laughs quietly, continuing into the kitchen as they trail behind her. The early afternoon sun casts short shadows outside on the deck, and the thought of basking in it while rocking on the swing with Hugh makes him smile.
”Your Tío David surprised the children with a visit to Times Square. Meera and your parents are shopping, and everyone should be back for dinner.”
Dinner in the Culber family is at least four hours away, and he wonders if asking for coffee is a good idea. After five hours spent waiting impatiently on his delayed shuttle, he’s both grateful to be reunited with Hugh for the first time in three months and annoyed at his exhaustion.
Just stay awake.
Paul grips the back of a chair as unobtrusively as possible, moving out of the way as Hugh deftly steps in front of Aida, shooing her towards the table and picking up the old-fashioned kettle.
”I’ll make the tea. T’Vala?”
Nodding, T’Vala joins him, moving with familiarity towards the wooden cabinets beside the pantry.
“I shall assist you.”
“You’re guests-“
“Professor,” T’Vala eyes the covered dishes under stasis fields on the counter, “clearly you have spent much time preparing this evening’s meal. Therefore, it is only logical that you should rest and allow others to perform smaller tasks.”
It’s the first time he’s witnessed Aida’s ironclad hospitality run up against the Vulcan adherence to the principles of guest-right. Paul privately considers all three women in the room an immovable force, and decides it’s far safer to observe than interfere.
T’Vala’s been here before…
Beside him, Tracy shares an amused look with Hugh, who grins and turns away to fill the kettle. At the sound of the faucet going on, Aida abruptly laughs, warm and fond.
”Quite logical.”
Collecting napkins from the server, she waves Tracy and Paul to sit. The kitchen smells like cinnamon and garlic, and Paul does his best to seem alert, hiding his shaking hands in his lap while Tracy starts in discussing a new paper on gene editing with Aida.
A mug of green tea appears in front of him shortly, followed by the warmth of Hugh sliding onto the chair beside him and wrapping his arm around Paul’s waist. The tea is earthy and nutty, slight bitterness offset by a blend of spices he can’t remember tasting before. His appreciative noise earns a kiss on the cheek, and Hugh nods across the table.
”T’Vala added lavender, nutmeg, and…?”
”Orange peel. Your grandmother’s kitchen has quite a comprehensive variety of ingredients.”
Her tone is even as ever, but clearly Aida takes it for the compliment it is.
”Cooking is love,” Aida sips her own tea, nudging Tracy with her elbow, “and medicine.”
”Better than a hypospray.”
”Indeed,” T’Vala selects a cookie from the plate on the table, “I have observed that many different species consider the same. I am curious if…”
Paul suppresses a yawn, leaning against Hugh‘s shoulder and willing his eyes to stay open. Focusing on the fragrant liquid in his mug, he decides that it’s more important to keep from spilling it than following the conversation everyone else is having. Its warmth is welcome in his stomach, relieving the residual knots of tension just as much as Hugh’s presence does.
There’s always an easy camaraderie with Hugh and Tracy and T’Vala, but now he’s imagining past holidays with all three of them in the kitchen cooking with Hugh’s family. It’s easy to picture T’Vala chopping vegetables with mathematical precision while Tracy and Aida review recipes, Hugh and his brothers keeping an eye on his nieces and nephews as they clamber onto stools to watch from the other side of the counter. He’s not envious of their time, not when he’s been folded into the Culber clan so seamlessly, but there’s something that tugs at his chest nonetheless.
Family, maybe?
The mug clatters noisily against the table as his clumsy hands fumble with it, and Aida stops mid-sentence to give him a mildly concerned look.
“Paul,” she squeezes his wrist, “are you well?”
“M’fine,” he tries to sound more awake than he feels, less than successfully judging by the expressions on three of the four faces.
Aida’s eyes narrow, probably taking in all the myriad signs that he can’t hide now. He’s sure his rumpled uniform stands out against everyone else’s civilian clothes, and the only reason she didn’t notice earlier was the bustle of their arrival.
”Hugh,” she directs a chiding look at his partner, “how long was he traveling?”
“Fourteen hours?”
”Seventeen,” Paul mumbles, “m’sorry.”
Tsking, Aida takes the mug from him, and sets it aside.
”No apologies, I should have asked. Why don’t you settle into Hugh’s room and rest?”
It’s phrased as a suggestion, but he can’t imagine having the audacity to object even if he wasn’t this tired.
“Okay.”
Hugh stands, waiting for Paul to push himself out of his chair before tucking him against his side.
”I’ll be back in a few, Abuela.”
“Stay and make sure he sleeps. I’ll send Nella to get you when it’s time for dinner. So,” she shakes her head, smiling, “try to be decent, yes?”
Tracy snickers into her napkin, turning it into a patently fake cough as Hugh guides him out of the kitchen. He keeps an arm around him as they pass through the entryway and pause at the foot of the stairs.
”I c’n walk,” he mumbles, reaching for the railing.
”Sure,” Hugh kisses his cheek, bending to lift their bags, “but if you fall and sprain your ankle on the stairs, Abuela will have my head.”
They make it upstairs with only one close call, and Paul doesn’t even bother to take off his jacket or unbutton his pants before falling onto Hugh’s bed. The crisp sheets smell freshly-washed, and he’s vaguely aware of Hugh closing the door before familiar hands undress him down to his undershirt and briefs. He hears water running in the sink, then a damp washcloth is pressed into his hands. Paul wipes his face haphazardly, the cloth vanishes, and the mattress dips as he’s crowded against the wall, Hugh solid and warm spooned up behind him.
”Love you,” he manages, sighing as he’s wrapped in Hugh’s arms and the covers.
”I love you too, sweetheart.”
”M’sorry.”
Hugh nuzzles the back of his neck, kissing the delicate skin behind his ear.
”For what?”
His eyelids are heavy, the colorful quilt a blur of blues and greens.
”Tired. Missed you.”
”Shhh. Sleep, love. I’ll be here, and we’ve got two weeks to catch up.”
“M’kay.”
Cozy and happy, he sleeps.
Notes:
I swear the multi-chapter stories are unintentional…
Chapter 532: Syllables
Notes:
We interrupt the Christmas shenanigans for this brief message:
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Waking up in Paul’s arms surrounded by the scent of woodsy citrus and musk and a heartbeat beneath his cheek is wonderful in a way he couldn’t have appreciated a year ago, before his death and return to life and the painful crucible they passed through before jumping into the future.
It’s cozy here, warm and dark and safe. Familiar fingers card through his hair, scratching gently. He sighs in contentment, feels the scratch of stubble and a kiss on his forehead that’s so very perfect.
”Good morning.”
Paul’s voice is a low rumble, the smile apparent in three syllables.
“…morning,” he yawns, “you’re awake early.”
An amused hum.
”Well, I figured I could manage one day out of the year.”
Hugh slips his hand under Paul’s shirt, delving beneath the waistband of his pajama pants to squeeze a prominent hipbone.
”Yeah?”
”Had to be the one to bring you coffee for once.”
He sniffs, picking up hints of espresso, but mostly more Paul.
“Mmm. Have I mentioned that I love you?”
The hand in his hair stills, moves down to caress his cheek with a thumb.
”Every day.”
”It bears repeating.”
A quiet chuckle.
”Happy birthday, Hugh.”
Paul’s arms tighten around him for a moment, then relax as he stretches. Opening his eyes, he eases the covers down and leans back until he can see Paul’s face. There’s a tiny smile curving his lips, pillow creases still visible and hair a mess. He’s absolutely beautiful.
“Yes,” he snuggles closer, pressing his nose into the space between Paul’s neck and shoulder, “very happy.”
Notes:
In honor of Wilson’s birthday. So many thanks to that wonderful, kind soul for not only bringing Hugh to life, but being a genuinely *good* person.
Chapter 533: Stew, Part Three
Notes:
Brief dirty talk and some sexy times at the end, because Culmets ;)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They’re awakened by crisp knocking.
”You two better not be doing anything,” a familiar voice - albeit not the one he expected - comes through the door.
Paul groans, failing to grab Hugh in time before his partner climbs out of bed and opens his door. When he rubs the sleep from his eyes, Tracy’s lounging against the doorframe. It’s much later in the afternoon, judging by the light coming down the hall, and she’s found the time to change into a comfortable looking dress that he recognizes as one Hugh picked up for her on shore leave a few months ago.
”Does Abuela-“
A head shake.
“T’Vala’s helping her, and your parents got here about ten minutes ago. Your uncle’s running late,” she answers the unspoken question, “power outage at the transport station, so Meera took the car to get him and the kids. Dinner’s in thirty.”
“Mmm. Have a good chat while we were asleep?”
Tracy prods Hugh’s knee with her bare foot, seemingly unfazed by him standing there in only a pair of boxers.
“We drafted three charters for galactic peace, started a batch of mulled cider, suggested a new round of anti-inflammatories for Aida’s arthritis, and spent an hour watching T’Vala make seed bread. Also,” she smirks, “our Vulcan friend commented on your tendency towards mating behavior, and had a completely serious conversation with your grandmother about her philosophy on the importance of sex in good relationships. I’m surprised T’Vala didn’t pull out a PADD to take notes.”
Paul groans again, but this time it’s accompanied by shoving his head under the pillow. Rolling onto his stomach to do so makes him aware of other needs, and he sighs before sitting up and making a beeline for the facilities.
Hugh thoughtfully deposited his toothbrush on the shelf above the sink before coming to bed for their nap, so it’s only a couple of minutes until he emerges again. Paul’s halfway across the room before realizing that he’s still in his underclothes, but Tracy’s seen worse and doesn’t comment on him sheepishly diving for his bag to retrieve pants and a sweater. She’s gone from the doorway by the time he’s fully dressed, and he passes fresh clothes to Hugh as well, sitting on the bed to pull on socks.
He waits impatiently for Hugh to brush his own teeth before collecting a minty kiss, cuddling into Hugh’s side with a contented sigh.
”Sleepyhead,” Hugh’s gentle tease is followed by lips nibbling his earlobe, “mmm. You taste good.”
”Like plasma manifold exhaust?”
Hugh’s shoulders flex beneath his arm, laugh tickling Paul’s neck as he licks a wet swathe over his pulse.
”Tasty.”
He hooks a hand beneath Paul’s knee, pulling him to straddle his lap for more kisses. The other hand playfully gropes Paul’s backside, kneading one cheek as their tongues flirt.
”Missed you,” his voice comes out breathy, “missed this.”
”We have to- mmm. Catch up after. Dinner. Later,” Hugh murmurs into the edge of his mouth, “going to eat you up, sweetheart.”
“Yeah?”
Hugh holds on tighter as Paul squirms on his lap, trying to get even closer.
“Mmhmm. You'll have to be quiet. I want to lick you all over, taste your pretty little hol-“
They’re interrupted by Tracy clearing her throat unsubtly from the hall.
Fuck.
"If you two are done asphyxiating on each other's pheromones," she examines her nails, "you better come downstairs before Hugh's mom comes up to say hello."
Wincing, Hugh chuckles, retrieving his hand from Paul's ass.
"Sorry, Trace."
Hugh's parents are in the kitchen with Aida and T'Vala, unloading a couple of bags onto the counter. They're greeted with hugs before being pressed into service helping wash the cooking utensils. (Aida does have a standard refresher under the counter, but Paul’s never seen it actually used and suspects the Culber wash-and-dry assembly line is as much a tradition as anything else.)
T’Vala has just finished brewing a pot of tea that smells strongly of cloves when the front door chimes before swishing open.
“Tío!”
Nella’s excited entry is accompanied by the more sedate arrival of her parents, brother, and grandfather. Hugh’s niece is still wearing the coat and knitted hat needed for New York snow, boots tumbled over right at the edge of the entryway when she bounces over to greet Hugh before launching herself at Paul with a delighted cry.
”You’re here!”
He catches her mid-leap, careful not to hug too tightly.
”Hello, Nella.”
Her heels dig into his sides, tapping happily.
“Mama said you were asleep, you’re not too tired are you?”
”I had a nap,” he assures her, watching as her frown smooths out.
”Okay.”
He sets her down once she unwinds her arms from his neck, watches her receive a hug from Tracy, then skid to a stop two feet from T’Vala as she emerges from the kitchen, raising her hand in a formal ta’al that Nella returns.
”Live long and prosper, Antonella.”
It’s odd to see her whirlwind of energy go still, but he supposes that the bouncing heels will launch her back into motion once the courtesies are complete.
”Peace and long life, Doctor T’Vala.”
“I trust that you have been diligent in your studies?”
”Yes,” Nella nods, “even though my teacher said the book that Tío Paul gave me is too hard.”
“Indeed?”
The raised eyebrow is directed at him, and he pauses mid-step towards the entryway.
”It’s just an introduction to photosynthetic evolution,” he mutters, “I read it when I was Nella’s age.”
”It is a peculiar human practice to dictate which educational materials are appropriate when there is no cultural taboo associated with the knowledge.”
Nella’s scowl says she agrees.
”Nella,” Meera hides a smile from her unrepentant offspring, hugging Paul herself and taking her sleeping son from David to pull off his muddy boots, “why don’t you help Abuelo with the bags, then go get cleaned up for dinner?”
“Okay, Mama.”
She dashes off again just as the oven beeps, and he finds himself swept towards the kitchen to begin unloading dishes from the oven. By the time they’re finally seated at the huge dining table, the mouthwatering scents are reminding him just how long it’s been since he ate a quick meal crammed between a snoring Tellarite and a too-low bulkhead on the transport shuttle from Jupiter Station.
He remembers being overwhelmed by the sights and smells the first time Hugh brought him home, worried that he would never be able to finish everything on his overflowing plate and accidentally offend Aida. Paul still can’t help the amazement at the array of home cooked food that appears on the table. The only exceptions seem to be the apple and pumpkin pies Hugh’s uncle David picked up in New York, and he accepts a slice of both along with much-needed espresso as the meal winds down.
They retire to the living room to sit in front of the fire, Paul snuggled up to Hugh’s side with Nella on the other. Despite her earlier energy, she falls asleep halfway through describing the frozen lichen on the trees in Central Park. It’s only 2200, but Paul can feel his own eyelids getting heavy again, weighed down by excellent food and hours of travel that their earlier nap only took the edge off of.
He thinks he sees Aida wink at them when he follows Hugh upstairs behind Meera carrying a sleeping Nella.
They take turns showering - the tiny bathroom isn’t big enough for them to effectively share - and brushing their teeth, then Hugh checks that the bedroom door is locked before sliding naked beneath the sheets beside him. Paul sighs into the kisses as they aggressively snuggle, rolling over on the narrow bed with limbs entwined.
“Mmm. Might. Need a. Raincheck,” he murmurs between kisses.
Hugh makes an inquisitive noise, breath tickling the hair in Paul’s armpit as he breaks off to nuzzle his ribs.
“Thinking…ohhh. Yes. Thinking we leave off-“ he squirms, biting back a fit of giggles as Hugh’s beard scratches the sensitive underside of his arm, “till tomorrow.”
A hand works its way between them, squeezing playfully.
”Will this keep?”
He shivers as Hugh bites his shoulder, waiting until they’re nose to nose again to speak.
”Can I just hump your leg now?”
“Mmm,” Hugh kisses him soundly, “I have a better idea.”
”Whaaaa-“
The world tips as Hugh switches their positions on the bed, manhandling him around in a way that never fails to be arousing. Paul abruptly finds himself on top, unresisting when Hugh grabs his ass and guides him upwards until he’s straddling his chest.
”…Hugh?”
They’ve built up a sheen of sweat, and certain body parts glide perfectly on it. He claps a hand over his own mouth just in time to catch the moan as Hugh maneuvers him forward more, tucking his erection into the valley between those delicious pectoral muscles.
”Go ahead,” Hugh grins up at him, flexing in a way that leaves no room for misinterpretation.
The rolled up shirt they wedged between the headboard and wall successfully keeps the bed from making too much noise as Paul happily rubs himself to completion, Hugh’s tongue teasing him on every thrust forward. There’s something deliciously naughty about using Hugh’s body this way, knowing he’s getting himself off behind Paul’s back even as he opens his mouth wider and contains the potential mess. The muffled moan around him makes Paul bite his own hand, but it’s worth it for the sight of Hugh’s eyes gone glassy with pleasure.
”Mmmmphhh,” he mumbles once they’re back under the covers together, “s’good.”
“Mmhmm.”
His lips are clumsy with impending sleep, but Hugh doesn’t seem to mind.
Notes:
Aida told Paul to have lots of sexy times with Hugh way back in Chapter 107 (“Shovel Talk”).
Chapter 534: Sated
Summary:
Paul. Hugh. A bathtub.
Notes:
Short snippet of Culmets (implied) sexytimes + feelings.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Heaven, Paul decides, has nothing on being loved by Hugh Culber.
Right now, he can’t imagine anything better than finding himself kneeling in the tub in their bathroom, arms spread almost as wide as his legs while he clutches at the smooth floor and Hugh indulges his oral fixation in a leisurely fashion from behind…
…unless it’s seeing Hugh’s swollen mouth and self-satisfied smirk once Paul’s legs stop shaking.
…or Hugh’s thighs squeezing his shoulders and his breathless mewls while he returns the favor.
…or maybe crawling naked into bed together and snuggling so close there’s no room for a molecule between them.
…or Hugh’s sleepy, sated eyes when he says, “Goodnight, sweetheart”.
Notes:
Wishing you all a very happy new year (mine will be in 5.5 hours…) and an enormous THANK YOU for making We Go Together one of the best parts of my year - a place to bring all the stories in my head to life, and amazing fellow Culmets fans to share them with.
Chapter 535: Suspense
Chapter Text
Hugh’s first thought when the gravity fluctuation hits Discovery is this is nothing like zero-G training.
The second comes after they all literally hit the deck, the sting of biting the inside of his cheek vanishing as he quickly assesses potential injuries.
Paul.
His unconscious body wouldn’t be able to cushion him from the impact, and Hugh can’t remember who else was down in Engineering when he left.
The assortment of painful but otherwise minor bruises, cuts, and scrapes among the bridge crew is an unexpected blessing. He follows Tilly into the science lab, scanner in hand.
”Culber to Engineering. Is Comma-“
”He’s fine, Doc,” comes Reno’s voice, “slapped a restraining field on him. Can’t have the Mushroom Lord floating into my warp core.”
Relief unknots some of the tension in his chest even as he swipes open his tricomm and checks the medbay logs.
No serious injuries.
Yet.
”Thanks, Jett.”
”Don’t mention it. I mean it. Reno out.”
Adira rushes in next, hand pressed to their side and teeth gritted, and Hugh lets Dr. Culber take over.
He has a job to do.
Notes:
Seriously, I wondered how Paul didn’t get a concussion by falling back onto the deck. The neural link must dampen the actual external sensory inputs Paul’s body receives and replace it with the holographic interface.
Chapter 536: Same (Thing)
Notes:
More S4E2 “Anomaly” thoughts with a callback to S2E1 and Chapter 362 (“Surf, Part One”).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
”You’re not even here,” Book intones, voice flat.
Brittle.
”No one’s here.”
Knowing he’s not really physically present doesn’t make it any easier. He recognizes that bleak look, and Book’s words are a gut punch of remembered grief and pain. The glassy-eyed stare tells him everything.
All he can see is the people he lost.
(“Hugh is everywhere I look, Tilly. How much more am I supposed to take?”)
It’s a visceral memory, the sense that reality isn’t real, that the ghosts of what was and what might have been are overlaid on the grey haze of his surroundings.
(”Well, when you lost me, what did you want people to say to you?”
Nothing. I wanted them to leave me alone.
“It’s not nearly the same thing.”)
Maybe he was wrong.
Maybe there was one thing he wanted people to say - that he heard from Tilly, that he clung to in those bleak months when loss haunted him - without the sympathy that always followed.
”I’m here,” he asserts, quiet and firm, “we’re all here.”
Notes:
Who knew a rewatch would bring on so many ideas? This was such a Paul-rich episode (with one of my favorite Culmets scenes ever), that I didn’t explore every option the first time around. What Anthony was able to do with his voice and eyes…
Chapter 537: Sunday
Summary:
Hugh has something that might help Adira’s nightmares.
Notes:
Okay, how am I only just now noticing the stuffed bunny on Adira’s bed in S4E2 when they’re talking to Gray? I have to go check their flashbacks to see if they had it on the generation ship *waves hands*.
Takes place before Season Four, possibly when Gray isn’t talking to Adira,
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“It’s getting late.”
It’s the third night in a row that Adira’s curled up on the couch in Paul and Hugh’s quarters, pretending to be engrossed in their reading. They respond to Paul’s statement with a noncommittal hum, just like they have since Friday, biting their lip. When they manage to raise their head, Hugh and Paul share a look they can’t decipher, a silent conversation taking place.
”I’m going to uhh,” Paul gestures with his thumb back over his shoulder, “hop in the shower.”
The doors swish shut behind him, and Hugh scoots closer on the couch, filling the space Paul vacated.
Here it comes.
“You’re always welcome here, you know that, right? We’re here for whatever you need-“
”But I have my own quarters,” they force out through a throat that feels like sandpaper, “and I should, you know be sleeping. There. Not here.”
”Adira-“
”I’m sorry for not letting you and Paul have a night alone, and ohmygod I can’t- I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You-“
“It’s just I feel safe here,” they blurt out, face heating, “and…”
”Hey,” Hugh’s hand is warm on their shoulder, “can I finish?”
He’s wearing a gentle, understanding smile that reminds Adira of Senna’s father.
“Okay.”
”You’re always welcome here. Paul and I absolutely don’t mind, okay? I know you haven’t been sleeping well.”
That’s a complete understatement, but they nod anyway. Hugh squeezes their arm, then stands and moves over to rummage in the wardrobe. It doesn’t feel like an indirect way of telling them to leave, so they wait while he spends a couple of minutes muttering to himself.
”If you really want to go back to your quarters, that’s fine, but I wanted to…” he trails off, leaning further in, “ah hah! I wanted to offer you something.”
That’s so not what they were expecting. Hugh‘s not using his Dr. Culber voice, so they’re fairly certain he’s not going to suggest a sleep aid, so…
“I know you’re- feel free to say no. But,” Hugh returns and holds out a small gray-brown object, “sometimes. Something to hold onto helps.”
They take it from him, examining it curiously.
”I know you’re not a child, but…well.”
It’s a stuffed animal made of plush fur with long ears and a button nose that even Adira can recognize as an Earth rabbit. It’s not something they’d expect Hugh to have in the closet though?
“It was from Nella,” Hugh’s expression is soft but there’s a strange tightness to his voice, “my niece.”
”I…it is?”
He sits beside them again, reaching out to run his thumb over one of the big paws.
”Yeah. Paul and I weren’t posted together a lot- well, ever. Long story short, my niece decided Paul was the most interesting person in the world, even decided to be a mycologist because of him. She adored him and he was wonderful with her. Patient, never treated her like a child.”
His eyes are far away, and Adira holds absolutely still, not wanting to pull him back from wherever he’s gone just yet.
”Anyway,” he shakes his head, “I missed him when we weren’t together, and so Nella gave me that, years ago, to ‘help me be less lonely’. And I thought maybe it might help you.”
”I…Hugh, I can’t, you can’t give me this. I mean,” they hasten to add, “thank you, but it’s…it’s yours.”
Hugh pets the rabbit on the head once, fondly.
”Consider it a loan, then.”
He sets his hands on his thighs, expression open and patient. They look down at the way they’re holding the toy, hands folded around it.
”…thank you.”
”His name is Mister Flop Ears.”
”What?”
”I know, I know. Nella was really little, but I couldn’t very well change his name, could I?”
Gazing down at the little stuffed animal, Adira wonders what Hugh’s niece was like. They know what Paul’s respectful, honest demeanor means to them, so they can well imagine what he must be like with actual children.
The bathroom door swishes open partway.
”Hey,” Paul sticks his head out, “can I come out now? Or should I take another shower.”
His eyes land on the toy Adira’s holding, and a tiny smile that they’ve never seen before appears.
”Mister Flop Ears?”
Chuckling, Hugh stands.
”Yeah.”
The door opens the rest of the way, and Paul steps out, hair damp and in his pajamas.
”Spending the night, kiddo?”
They can feel Hugh watching them, no judgment or expectations. Paul doesn’t seem to be in a hurry for an answer, but moves to start turning down the bed.
”Yes. I mean, if that’s okay?”
He hands them a pillow with a smile.
“Always.”
Notes:
So umm. Fluffy and a bit silly and an excuse to bring up Nella? 100%
Chapter title because I already used “Stuffed”, unfortunately.
Chapter 538: Stave (Off)
Summary:
Discovery is home. The DMA has been stopped, and (almost) everyone lives. How does the fall out happen once the adrenaline wears off?
Notes:
Rewatch has reached S4E7 “But to Connect”, and given me several more things to think about.
Takes place post-Season Four.
Story told from both perspectives, split by a line to help avoid confusion.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Long day?”
Hugh shrugs off his jacket, imagines shedding the weight of responsibility with it. It’s not the way reality works, but it does help.
”Yeah. Had to- well. Update files.”
He joins Paul on the couch, leaning in for a kiss hello. Paul’s gaze sharpens, hearing what isn’t said.
”Book.”
”You know I can’t tell you that.”
”Mmm. Are you hungry?”
Paul’s warm and solid, and Hugh rests his cheek on his shoulder.
”Not yet.”
A nod, then Paul flicks open his tricomm again. It’s not a dismissal in any sense, not when his arm circles Hugh’s shoulders and he kisses the crown of his head.
Peace.
Hugh lets his hands roam, tracing idle patterns on Paul’s thigh, listening to the quiet murmurs and wordless noises of interest, annoyance, and thoughtfulness accompanying whatever his partner is reading. Eventually, Paul closes his files and goes still. It’s a tell that Hugh’s infinitely familiar with, something that says Paul’s been turning a thought over in his head, worrying at the edges, and he’s finally come to a conclusion. He’s not sure what it might be, but squeezes Paul’s knee to let him know he’s receptive.
”You know, I was thinking about Book.”
Hugh gives an encouraging hum.
”And it made me wonder, what happens if any of us is put in that situation?”
He straightens, not drawing away but enough to be able to see Paul’s face.
”We’re only human. Well, Kwejian in Book’s case, but who’s to say?”
”You know,” Paul tips his head to the side, “I’m glad you stopped feeling guilty about it.”
”Mostly,” Hugh feels compelled to point out, albeit with a half-smile that Paul mirrors.
”Mostly, then. Just…”
”Just what?”
Paul takes his free hand, palm warm and dry, folds their fingers together. He bites his lower lip, jaw working as if he’s looking for the right words.
“If I ever, ever get to that…if I’m about to do something-“
”You wouldn’t.”
Hugh says it like an absolute, a fact.
”If I do. Please stop me.”
“Sweethea-“ Hugh turns more towards him, takes the hand that slides down from his shoulders too, “Paul.”
Sometimes he hates it when Hugh uses his name.
This isn’t one of those times.
“Book lost everything. Everyone on his home planet.”
“Yes.”
”You’re what matters most to me, Hugh. You and Adira and Tilly and-“ he shakes his head. “If I survived losing you all, it wouldn’t be living.”
Hugh stares at him for the space of several breaths, brow furrowed and eyes searching. Eventually, his lips part as if in sudden realization and he nods once, decisively.
”Grief makes people say and do ugly things. And you know,” he swallows, “and so do I. And you’re afraid that would drive you to do something terrible.”
”Yes,” he pauses, surprised at the vehemence in his own tone.
Hugh doesn’t flinch, and Paul takes a deep breath, then continues.
“Yes, because Book is a good man. But he was manipulated precisely because of that, because he loved and lost so much. How could I be sure I wouldn’t do the same? How could I be sure I wouldn’t become Tarka?”
“You aren’t seeking reassurance that you won’t.”
It’s not a question.
”No. Because I know what grief does. How it…clouds everything.”
His voice catches on the last two words.
”It can.”
Hugh’s frowning, and Paul wishes he wasn’t the one that put it there.
“I promise I won’t bring it up once we’re Earthside.”
”You don’t have to promise. You’re taking me home, the least I can do is listen.”
“Still. I’m sorry. I just-“
”Paul. Sweetheart…that’s not who you are. I know,” he raises his hand to forestall a response, “you don’t want me to say you would never. But I know you. And you wouldn’t.”
”Hugh-“
”And,” that same hand moves to cradle his cheek, “yes, if I ever truly believed you capable of it, I would stop you. I also know I would never need to. You would stop yourself. You care, sweetheart. About people you’ll never even meet. Life- all life, you will always protect it.”
”How can you know that?”
”Because,” the frown melts away and Hugh’s eyelashes are suspiciously wet even as he smiles, “there’s a million reasons to love you, but that’s mine.”
Notes:
It’s great writing that I hate how Tarka used Book’s nature against him to get what, in the end, he wanted. The writers lined up so many parallels with Paul and Tarka, like a reflection of his brilliance and stubbornness and (occasional) arrogance taken to the extreme. After watching again, I needed to work this out.
I haven’t written this many stories in one day (well, one and a half) in quite a while. Thank you for sticking with me and leaving so many wonderful comments :).
Also, anyone else notice that everyone’s quarters have personality - Tilly’s had knickknacks and a photo with Michael, Saru has his garden - but Paul and Hugh’s feels impersonally decorated? Like tasteful but generic sculptures and pieces of crystal, not when they’ve been together so long. I hope next season the set dressers give them more stuff.
Chapter 539: Sent
Summary:
The Discovery crew had two hours to say their goodbyes before leaving for the galactic barrier. What messages were sent?
Chapter Text
>> Message from Stamets, Paul, CMDR, U.S.S. Discovery to Tilly, Sylvia, LT, Starfleet Academy
>> Open message?
”You’ve probably heard we’re going to the galactic barrier to try and make first contact with the 10-C. I’ve sent you the encryption to access all of my files if you want to see the data yourself. I- I wish I knew what was going to happen. Does science as we know it even function outside of our galaxy? Hopefully we’ll be back to tell you all about it in person, when this is all over. If…I know I don’t say it enough. I’m proud of you, Tilly. Those cadets are lucky to have you to guide them. Thank you for looking out for Adira. And thank you, for- well, you know. When Hugh was gone. And for getting kidnapped by an extra dimensional fungal lifeform so I could find him again. Heh. That was supposed to be a joke. You’re going to be- you already are amazing. Never forget that. Never hide who you are. Stamets out.”
Notes:
To be continued?
Chapter 540: Startle, Part Two
Summary:
Adira has a chat with Tilly about accidentally interrupting their SpaceDads.
Notes:
Continues from Chapter 475.
Chapter Text
Swish.
Adira nearly trips over their own feet but manages to stay upright as they stumble a few steps into the corridor. They’d like nothing better than to flee back to their own quarters, but despite the time of night, Discovery’s still buzzing with activity and they’re fairly certain that anyone passing can read what just happened on their face. Ducking into an observation port, they cram themselves into the corner of the alcove and exhale.
They’ve gotten so used to overriding the lock on Paul and Hugh’s quarters that they barely look these days, fingers flying over the input pad. Remembering to use the code Hugh gave them is still difficult, and the thought wasn’t even in the top 20 things roaming around their brain two minutes ago, seven of which they wanted to run by Paul. Had been prepared to, until-
Well.
Covering their eyes with their hands, they try desperately not to think about…that.
Equations of state.
How to replace cello strings.
The correct way to grind spices for hasperat.
The bubble of amusement in their stomach from Tal isn’t helping one bit.
How to tie French knots.
All 25 bones in a Saurian’s inner ear.
The panic mixed with a healthy dose of chagrin gradually subsides until they’re able to walk to the nearest turbolift with some form of calmness. Once inside, they lean on the wall and groan.
The molecular structure and properties of hydrazine in a vacuum.
Exiting again, they do their best to avoid eye contact with anyone, which is exactly why they nearly jump out of their skin when a hand lands on their shoulder.
“Adira,” the light touch changes to a steadying grip, “hey, are you okay?”
Adira opens and closes their mouth a couple of times, but nothing comes out. Tilly’s studying them with bemusement, and they shake their head to clear it. Miraculously, they’re just outside their quarters and she follows them inside, slinging a casual arm around their shoulders and sitting them both down on the edge of the bed.
”What happened?”
Her voice is familiar and non-judgmental, and that settles something on them.
”I just- umm. Okay. Wow.”
“Is it bad?”
“Not…exactly?”
Their voice spirals upwards, and Tilly frowns in concern.
”You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”
“It’s not that,” they wave a hand in a vague gesture, “just. Umm. Paul.”
The frown deepens.
”Stamets…?”
”He’s fine. I- well.”
”Adira.”
”I went to go talk. To Paul. About stuff. But,” they feel their face turning pink again, “he and Hugh were…you know.”
Tilly’s mouth forms a perfect O, eyes widening.
“We’re they dressed?”
”Yes. No. I mean, Hugh had his shirt off, but yes.”
“And they were-?”
Adira covers their eyes with their hands again, mumbling into their palms.
“Kissing. And Hugh had his…hand on Paul’s…butt.”
There’s a moment of silence, long enough that Adira peeks through their fingers. Then-
”Oh,” she looks relieved, worry dropping away, “is that all?”
“All?”
“That’s like them on their lunch break in the back of the cultivation bay. Well, usually with all their clothes on. Wait, they let you in while they were doing that?”
They drop their hands but squeeze their eyes shut, nose wrinkling.
”No. I umm. Forgot and used the override.”
“Adira-“
”I know! I know. I should have checked.”
”Well,” Tilly sounds far too amused, “now you’ll remember. Right?”
”Yeah. Can I just erase the last ten minutes?”
”Afraid not. It could have been worse.”
Their eyes fly open again, staring at her.
”It- no. Absolutely…nope.”
”Just saying.”
”Ewwwww.”
Chapter 541: Speaking
Summary:
Paul and Gray’s first conversation.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s past 0300, and Paul knows he shouldn’t still be in Engineering. Returning to Discovery from Ni’Var minus the confirmed hypothesis he’d pinned his analysis on feels like enough of a failure in itself.
(He goes first to their quarters to find Hugh sound asleep, curled around Paul’s pillow. Sleep feels like a foreign thing, and Hugh needs all of the rest he deserves without Paul’s restlessness disturbing him. If he tries to work at the desk or couch, he knows his muttering will do the same.
The deep frown lines the DMA has etched into his handsome face are eased in slumber, and Paul tenderly caresses his cheek, kissing Hugh’s temple before heading to Engineering.)
The DMA is weighing on all of them, and he’s well aware that it’s taking over the majority of his conscious thought. He keeps returning to the data, staring at the figures and equations and trying to make sense of it all. It’s not arrogance to say that there’s very little he shouldn’t be able to punch a scientific or mathematical hole through, particularly with the help of Tilly and Adira, and the frustration has become highly personal.
Adira.
If it’s too late to wake Hugh, it’s even less appropriate to bother them. Paul sighs, guilt seeping in around the bleary edges of his vision. He’d received Hugh’s message that the zhian’tara to transfer Gray’s consciousness into the synthetic body was successful while en route, a bright spot amidst everything clouding his mind. Despite the importance of going to Ni’Var, he can’t help feeling guilty that he wasn’t there for them both. It was easy enough to tell himself that they could be in no better hands than Hugh’s, but he should have been there.
Sighing, he scrubs a hand over his face. The two gamma shift engineers working at the far console don’t even look up as he starts pacing. It-
Swish.
He’s just pivoting to start back towards the stairs when a blue-topped blur rockets into him. Paul freezes, brain attempting to parse who could possibly be hugging him like this. His hesitation must telegraph itself, because the person’s arms loosen and they step back.
Gray.
“Umm. Hi? I’m sorry, I should have asked first…”
It takes a few moments longer than it should for him to realize what Gray could possibly be apologizing for.
You weren’t here then, make up for it now.
He doesn’t have to reach hard to find a genuine, if tired, smile. Shaking his head, he holds out his arms, and this time he hugs Gray just as tightly.
“-k’you.”
Gray’s speaking into his sternum, and releases him just enough to be able to see his face.
”What’s that?”
“Thank you. For taking care of Adira.”
His expression is solemn, too serious for so youthful a face until Paul reminds himself that Adira sometimes has the same look, courtesy of being joined.
”I-“
”It’s just,” Gray continues earnestly, words picking up speed, “I hated not being here completely, not being whole enough. And seeing how you and Hugh are with them, how much Adira talks about you I just- I just needed to tell you first. And you don’t know me yet, but I feel like I know you, and this is probably really weird right now.”
It’s almost familiar, like Adira’s rushed delivery without the fidgety nerves. The words sink in, beating back the tide of frustration and fear from the DMA. In its place, something quiet flutters in his chest. He takes another step back, and Gray lowers his arms too.
”Paul Stamets.”
”…sorry?”
Gray stares at Paul’s outstretched hand before brightening, smaller hand squeezing Paul’s no less fiercely.
“Oh! Gray…Gray Tal.”
”It’s so good to finally meet you.”
Notes:
In behind the scenes material, Anthony talks about how Paul is fixated on figuring out the DMA, and that leads him to be less engaged in things - like Gray’s embodiment.
It’s a bit of an abrupt ending, unfortunately. I’m falling asleep, may try to do a little editing tomorrow.
Chapter 542: Secern
Summary:
There's more than two sides to everything (and everyone).
Chapter Text
Others see someone critical with impossibly high standards.
Tilly and his team see how much he respects their intelligence and contributions, irritability more frustration with himself when there's a pressing problem and he can't logic his way out of it.
Others see someone incredibly pedantic and obsessed with tiny details.
Hugh's nieces and nephews adore Tío Paul's patience and willingness to explain everything with the same level of seriousness no matter how trivial other adults think it is.
Others see a genius, intelligence and innovation to the point of arrogance.
Hugh's heart breaks for the boy isolated by his intellect, pushing himself to be the best and smartest to be noticed by an absent and detached parent.
Others see someone cold and guarded.
Hugh sees a wall carefully constructed to protect a fragile heart, a yearning for connection.
Others see a strange pairing, a sunny-dispositioned and compassionate physician with a taciturn partner.
Hugh cherishes the most precious thing in the universe, that he's the one person Paul feels safe enough to be totally vulnerable with, trusted with his easily-bruised heart.
To not be Commander or Dr. Stamets, with a lightning-fast mind and answer for every question.
To simply be.
Notes:
I'm not sure where exactly I was going with this one?
Chapter 543: Slipstitch
Notes:
Contains a minor mention of blood and non-graphic suturing.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When he and Adira had beamed down this morning, Hugh certainly wasn’t expecting to be hiding in a cave while Emerald Chain holdouts terrorized the planet.
“Adira?”
”…yeah.”
Their distracted tone makes him smile, combined with a scrunch-nosed frown of concentration as they squint at a portion of embroidery. While they might be talking a mile a minute in other situations, their intense focus on the needle and floss comes with a surprising amount of silence.
“What do you want to watch next?”
”Mmmm.”
He doesn’t begrudge them the escape, particularly when it’s the first shore leave they’ve been able to take since stopping the DMA. Discovery’s crew is scattered to different resorts on the continent, and he’s looking forward to Paul joining them in the morning. Today, it’s just him and Adira lazing around the enormous suite, watching holonovels and replicating an increasingly odd assortment of food. The remains of their latest meal are still scattered over the coffee table, a half-empty bowl of salsa next to the last few spoonfuls of vegetable masala, crumbles of cheese left on the platter with tempura mushrooms and a few stray grapes.
Hugh’s just reaching for the Denevan jelly custard when the hair on his arms rises. Pausing, he wonders what’s caused the unexpected static charge before the telltale whine of an ionized energy weapon pierces the companionable silence. The transparisteel windows shatter, and he’s moving before his brain even catches up, grabbing Adira and dragging them behind the shelter of the couch.
”Hugh??”
Their eyes are wide and panicked, and all he can think of in that moment is keeping them safe.
”Are you okay?”
As he speaks, an explosion rocks the building. The ceiling groans. There’s no time to think, not when he can hear phaser fire and screams in the corridor beyond their room. He tamps down the physician’s instinct to rush out and help, making a decision and pulling Adira towards the broken windows.
Pressing himself to the wall, he chances a look outside, then swears viciously. Beyond their resort, an Emerald Chain ship is firing suborbital weapons into the city. His tricomm display fizzles, and he curses again.
”We have to get out of here,” he shakes his head, watching as buildings are systematically leveled.
”How? The door-“ they cringe as an impact sends debris flying and the ceiling bows downward, “we can’t-“
It’s a three meter drop, not ideal, but he can’t think of another option. There’s a set of ornamental bushes just below that should break their fall, and he can’t see any assailants on the street.
Yet.
He gestures, and Adira stares for three long seconds but doesn’t argue, doesn’t ask if it’s safe. Scared but trusting, they climb over the window sill and land in the densest part of the bushes, rolling nimbly to their feet. Hugh’s less fortunate, the facade of the building starting to crumble beneath his feet. Flailing, he jumps awkwardly and misses the plants, crashing to the pavement hard on his side, right arm bent beneath him.
Fireworks of pain explode up from his wrist, whiting out the edge of his vision. His ears ring, not just from waves of compressed air, and he fights down a wave of nausea.
“Hugh!”
The bombardment is moving closer from the city center, and the only direction left is into the forest beyond the climate-controlled habitation zones. Struggling to his bare feet, he grabs Adira’s hand again and together they flee for their lives.
This planet is decidedly M-class, and the subtropical location means they’re smack in the middle of monsoon season. The warm downpour makes the ground treacherously slippery, but at least all of the water does a good job of rinsing the soot and ash off of them by the time they stumble into a rift in the rock of the foothills. Behind them, the sonic boom of explosions continue. No ship seems to be targeting the areas outside the habitation domes, and he spares a thought for whomever wasn’t as lucky to be near one of the exits. Their attempts at hailing Discovery while running failed miserably, probably courtesy of whatever dampening field the Emerald Chain ship has in place.
“A-are…is this, are we safe?”
He slumps against one of the walls, adrenaline receding enough that pain is starting to register again. Adira’s chewing their lower lip, staring worriedly back the way they came.
“Seem to be,” he mutters, “okay. Are you hurt?”
They shake their head in immediate denial, then look themself over before giving a slower shake.
”Hugh? You’re bleeding.”
”I know.”
Although the storm soaked them, there’s a gash on his left forearm that’s starting to bleed again. He’s got it compressed against his chest using his right elbow, right hand curled into a pained fist.
”Oh shi-“ Adira scrambles over, hands hovering, “what…?”
Sliding down to sit, he takes a deep breath and tries to will his heart to slow. He lets Adira take his arm in shaking hands, crimson oozing steadily as they swipe open their tricomm and scan.
”Must have- shrapnel, probably.”
The display only confirms what he’s seeing: a three-inch cut with jagged edges, deep enough that holding it closed probably isn’t going to work. Their mad dash from the city hadn’t helped matters, although his blood pressure isn’t dangerously low.
“That looks…bad.”
Adira looks like they regret the words as soon as they’re out, but he can’t disagree. He’d trade a lot for a simple 23rd century regen right now, or even a sterile field dressing. Unfortunately, the loose lounge shorts and t-shirt aren’t going to produce any medical equipment, and Adira’s tunic and leggings won’t help either.
Wait.
”You brought your sewing.”
”I-“ Adira looks at the small sodden pouch they’d dropped, “sorry, I don’t know why, I just…”
He shakes his head, gentling his tone.
”I’m glad.”
”What?”
Hugh glances down at his arm again, probing the edges, and does his best to smile.
”Going to have to stitch this up.”
Adira stares.
”You mean-“
”Yeah.”
They open the bag, spilling out a pincushion, two colors of thread, and a pair of tiny shears.
“I don’t have a way to clean it?”
“It’ll be fine for now.”
Hopefully we won’t be here long enough for an infection to spread.
Adira hands him a threaded needle. In normal circumstances, he’s fairly ambidextrous when it comes to surgical procedures, but his fractured right wrist makes that impossible. The needle tumbles from his grasp, a silver spark.
“Shit.”
”Hugh?”
”I can’t- you’ll have to.”
They pluck the fallen needle off his leg, frozen in the act of handing it back to him.
”What?”
”You'll have to stitch it. Please.”
”I don’t. I don’t have any…I’m not-“
”Just like sewing,” he offers a crooked smile, “you’ve got two hands to work with.”
Adira’s hands are shaking, and the first tentative stitch makes him hiss in pain as they tie off the end. They flinch.
”You’re doing fine,” he tries to keep his voice even, “keep going. Deeper, don’t worry about hurting me.”
“Hugh…”
”Do you need a minute?”
”You-“ they give a strangled cough of laughter, “I’m sticking a needle into you and you’re trying to make me feel better?”
He catches their hand with his left, squeezing gently.
”Yes.”
”…okay.”
”Now what?” they ask after snipping off the end, rubbing their hands together.
He carefully flexes his left wrist, pleased when the stitches hold. It’s a little uneven, but in an era where Adira’s hobby is considered drastically archaic, it’s better than the medical cadets he and Tracy had taught the process to a few months ago. The bright turquoise thread contrasts with his skin, and a detached part of his brain thinks his grandmother would probably approve of how tidy Adira’s knots are.
“Now,” he sighs, “you keep trying to reach Discovery. I’ll see what we can scan from here, and hopefully we won’t be here too long.”
In the end, it’s another five hours before the Emerald Chain ship abruptly rises from the atmosphere, presumably to engage Discovery. The dampening field lifts enough for them to signal the ship, and Tracy and a very worried Paul are waiting in the oddly empty medbay once the transporter releases them.
“We’re okay,” he murmurs into Paul’s neck, trying to keep his right arm clear of the tight embrace, “we’re okay.”
Adira’s elbow is digging into his ribs, but he waits until Zarrin appears with a thermal blanket for them before he lets go. Tracy shoos him onto a biobed as Adira glues themself back to Paul’s side and his partner keeps a hand on his thigh.
“How many?”
Tracy pauses, gives him a sober look.
“Three hundred,” she shakes her head, “none of our crew.”
The loss of life makes his chest ache, and he sees Paul’s arm tighten around Adira’s shoulders.
”Four other ships,” he picks up the explanation as Tracy runs a regen over his right wrist, “chased them into a nebula before we realized they were trying to keep us away from the planet.”
That explains the delay in rescue, and he nods, deciding to leave asking about more details until later.
”These are nice,” Tracy comments, nodding down at his left forearm, “was this you, Adira?”
”Umm. Yes?”
Giving a small but genuine smile, she picks up a laser scalpel.
”Better than the med students.”
”Really?”
The stitches pop, and he bites his tongue at the sting of the cut reopening. Paul steps closer, releasing Adira to let Zarrin work on their minor cuts and scrapes.
“You did a great job,” Hugh adds, “couldn’t have done it myself.”
The cool relief of a local anesthetic precedes a blue glow of a disinfecting sweep.
“I need a shower,” Adira mutters, although he can tell by their pleased look that the compliment landed where it should, “like, three hours ago.”
Tracy dials her regen down for better accuracy, moving slowly to let the tissue heal. He’s aware of how gritty he feels, the clean white of the medbay in contrast to his muddy, damp clothing. Fatigue has been creeping up the last few minutes, but he forces himself to stay alert.
”Go on,” he smiles, “get cleaned up. We can have dinner-“
They interrupt him with a yawn of their own.
”Gonna go sleep.”
“Okay.”
He gives them a one-armed hug, sighing as Tracy finishes up.
”Zora,” she addresses the ceiling, “can you beam Adira back to their quarters?”
Certainly, Doctor Pollard. And may I add, I’m very glad that Ensign Tal and Doctor Culber have returned safely.
“Thanks, Zora.”
Adira vanishes in a swirl of transporter effect, and he exhales, dropping the mask. Tracy doesn’t comment, just highlights a few remaining contusions on the scan and raises a silent eyebrow. He nods, grateful for the offer, and eases himself off the biobed.
”Hugh?”
Paul’s at his elbow, frowning.
”Can handle the rest myself. Thanks, Trace.”
“I’d say ‘anytime’, but we’d all appreciate it if you don’t scare us like that again.”
There’s no heat behind it, just tired humor.
”Send my bill to the Emerald Chain.”
Smirking, she pats his knee and moves off to a couple other patients on the far side of the bay.
”Sweetheart?”
Paul steps around him, taking his other hand as well.
”Right here.”
“Let’s go home.”
Notes:
Err, sorry for the rapid shifts in pacing. I wrote the scene of Adira stitching Hugh up, then decided I needed to write a before and after. The original scene starts with “You brought your sewing” and was maybe 400 words long. The other 1,400 showed up later.
I’m behind on replying to comments for the umpteenth time :(. Please know how much joy it brings me to read them, short or long!
Chapter 544: Stew, Part Four (Conclusion)
Summary:
T’Vala makes stew.
Notes:
Continues from Chapter 533.
Every time I try to stick with a snippet, the characters bulldoze that intention and insist on me telling more of their story together.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
There’s something completely incongruous about T’Vala, her graceful but strong Vulcan posture upright, wearing an apron and leaning over the stove in Aida’s kitchen. He’s been relegated to the other side of the counter, perched on a stool beside Hugh and watching as T’Vala directs Nella on how thick to slice the taro and Okinawan sweet potatoes. Paul’s a little surprised that neither T’Vala or Aida seem worried about her using a relatively large knife, but seeing how she handles it with exaggerated care settles some of his concern.
“-and so,” T’Vala gestures to the cubes of kabocha browning in a large Dutch oven, “it is advisable to allow them to cook completely prior to adding the other ingredients.”
Aida nods, setting aside her own knife, the bowls around her cutting board full of thick slices of onion and kale and pounded tamarind.
”Do you soak the barley first?”
”The grain which we use requires it in order to remove the outer husk. It is a laborious process,” she raises a brow, “yet my mother’s mother did so in the traditional method rather than utilizing modern conveniences.”
”The old ways still work,” Aida smiles, “although it does need more patience.”
”Indeed. However, repetitive actions while preparing food may be used as a meditative practice.”
At his side, Hugh chuckles, leaning his cheek on Paul’s shoulder. As they’ve done for the last half-hour, T’Vala and Aida continue to ignore their audience.
“T’Vala? Are these good?”
Turning, he sees her inspect Nella’s work with what could almost be a hint of fondness.
“You have followed my instructions well.”
Nella beams, as if the statement were a much more effusive bit of praise.
Then again, from a Vulcan, it probably is.
“Wash your hands,” Aida takes custody of the knife before Nella climbs off the stool, “that purple is going to stain.”
The sink goes on, and T’Vala measures out two cups of barley before pouring them into a mortar. Damp-fingered, Nella hops onto the seat on Paul’s other side, kneeling on it and leaning on her elbows for a closer look into the kitchen.
”The original grain, once soaked, must be freed from the husk before other ingredients are added. I will now add these spices,” she gestures at the box on the counter, “and hot water to allow the barley to macerate.”
Aida wipes her hands on a towel, retrieving the kettle from the stovetop.
”How much?”
“I would estimate no more than sixty milliliters for this volume of barley.”
”Aren’t you going to measure it?” Nella pipes in as T’Vala accepts the kettle and pours a thin stream of steaming water over the barley before adding two generous pinches of the spice mix.
”As I would hazard to assume the Professor has instructed you, in this instance experience enables me to determine the correct consistency and aroma without exact measurement.”
Another child might balk at the explanation, but Nella just nods.
”Okay.”
The coffee in his mug has cooled, and Paul nudges it aside. Across the counter, T’Vala wields the pestle with efficient movements. The rhythm she establishes is even and oddly soothing to the ear, pausing now and then to add more water. It’s smeared with a purple-green paste by the time she sets it down, stepping aside to allow Aida to examine the contents.
”May I?”
”Indeed.”
Aida dips a spoon into the mixture, scooping up a small amount of the paste before rubbing it between her fingers.
“You said your grandmother taught you how to make this?”
”Yes. It is a traditional dish from the region in which she used to reside.”
Aida’s smile is gentle.
”I take it that she is no longer with us?”
T’Vala’s expression remains serene, although Paul thinks there’s the slightest twitch to the corner of her mouth.
”No. However, I find that its preparation evokes particular pleasing memories of her tutelage.“
The moment stretches out, even Nella stilling her fidgeting. Outside, he glimpses the other children playing tag with Tracy and Meera on the deck, their shouts muffled.
“I’m honored, then,” Aida speaks quietly, “that you have chosen to share her memory with my family.”
“Babe?”
Paul surfaces from the half-doze, head resting on Hugh’s chest as the swing rocks them gently.
”Mmmm?”
“I’m going to get some more tea.”
Scratching his knee, Paul straightens.
”I’ll get it, need the bathroom anyway.”
He collects their empty glasses, stepping out from under the shade and feeling the sun on his skin. It warms his arms, and he sighs.
More melanin would be nice about now.
He passes Tracy sprawled out on one of the chaise lounges, apparently sound asleep despite the shouts of excitement from the other end of the yard. As he re-enters the house, it looks like not much has changed in the better part of an hour. Several of Hugh’s cousins are chatting in the living room and Nella and T’Vala are still engaged - their level of focus seems to transcend ‘playing’ - in a game of kal-toh at the kitchen table. It’s rare for Hugh’s niece to be perfectly still, but he can almost see the wheels turning in her head as T’Vala reaches for the next piece.
When he emerges from the bathroom, the structure on the kal-toh board has changed shape and Nella’s frowning. He refills both glasses as quietly as possible, peering with interest at the Dutch oven parked on the back burner. A whiff of fragrant steam escaping from the lid reminds him how long it’s been since lunch, and he pauses to bundle a few of the ever-present Christmas cookies into a napkin before making his way back outside.
Trading Hugh’s glass for a kiss, he sets his own down on the table and snuggles back into Hugh’s side. It’s tempting to slide down sideways, not just to lay his head in Hugh’s lap, but to pull his partner down on top of him for serious snuggling. No one’s currently looking their way, and the swing is more than deep enough to accommodate them. They’ve spent every night wrapped around each other in Hugh’s too-narrow bed, but it’s never enough.
Of course, he knows that going horizontal would provide too much temptation, despite their best intentions. He’ll have to be content with feeding each other cookies, hardly a consolation prize in itself.
More relatives have arrived over the last two days, and Aida’s home rings with voices, laughter and bickering and song. It’s a large house, and all of the guest rooms are filled. Tracy and T’Vala have beds set up in Nella’s room (much to her delight), and two of Hugh’s cousins and their partners are even squeezed into Aida’s study. In the midst of it, Paul half-expected to be asked to share Hugh’s room, but they’ve somehow managed to make everyone fit. If anyone else noticed that they’re the only room besides Aida’s with less than three occupants, they’ve been polite enough not to mention it.
As it is, they’ve all crowded around the large dining table. Dinner itself is a noisy, cheerful affair. He marvels at the fresh rolls being passed around, Aida and Hugh’s uncle David having produced several other vegetable-based dishes to complement T’Vala’s stew. The vast array of food couldn’t be more different than his own experience growing up; neither of his parents cook, although he’d taught himself how to do so during one two-week period of inclement weather at the Academy, trapped indoors.
T’Vala’s stew is nothing like what he might have expected. Root vegetables mingle with soft chunks of kabocha, ribbons of kale decorating the bowl like confetti. Its flavor is rich and earthy with a slightly astringent quality, and he happily accepts a second helping. Strangely, it pairs well with the toasted cheese baguette, and he pinches Hugh’s thigh as Hugh steals a slice off his plate to dip into his own bowl.
Later, when they’re tucked in bed together, he muses at how easily the Culber clan neatly folds others into their warmth and welcome. At dinner, he’d watched Tracy chatting with Hugh’s relatives, laughing and completely comfortable. He might have expected T’Vala to be stiff-backed and ill at ease with so much human emotion on display. Instead, he noticed how careful the others were to leave space on either side of her, including her in conversation and offering compliments on her cooking. Paul thinks about her standing at the counter with Hugh’s grandmother, the common language of food surpassing cultural boundaries as they chopped and measured and stirred. It’s…
”You’re thinking too hard,” Hugh murmurs into his neck, hand rubbing idle circles on Paul’s stomach, “is something wrong?”
”No,” he smiles, “not at all.”
Hugh hums in acknowledgement, kissing his cheek before pulling the covers a little higher. His breathing soon evens out with sleep, fingers gone still. Paul shifts carefully, snuggling further into Hugh’s embrace. It’s love made tangible, something he can’t get enough of, but there’s another something wrapping him in happiness as well.
Family, he thinks, the feeling is family.
Notes:
In my headcanon, Hugh grew up in Aida’s house with his parents. Nella, her brother, Meera, and Hugh’s brother (who I haven’t come up with a name for) are currently living there.
Before writing this, I didn’t know T’Vala learned to cook from her grandmother as well. Too cliché?
Chapter 545: Swaddling
Notes:
I was going to save this for the milestone Chapter 550(!), but couldn’t wait to share with you all.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Nellita…she’s perfect.”
“She could have waited another three weeks.”
”Like mother, like daughter.”
She smiles up at him, and the small bundle in her arms stirs, one tiny fist emerging. In his peripheral vision, Paul’s face goes soft in a way he’s never seen before.
”I think she wants you to hold her, Tío.”
Paul nods, then pauses, blinking, when it’s clear she’s talking to him.
”…me?”
He glances over at Nella’s husband, sound asleep on the hard hospital couch, as if he expects him to object.
”Yes you, silly,” Hugh teases gently, nudging his partner with his elbow.
”I don’t- I’ve never…”
His niece’s smile only grows. She beckons Paul closer to the bed, and Hugh steps around him to switch places, setting a reassuring hand on the small of Paul’s back.
”Go on,” he murmurs.
“Okay? Okay.”
“Hold your hands out-” Nella carefully transfers the blanket-wrapped infant, “there.”
Paul’s hands nearly span the length of the tiny body, and he straightens only a little awkwardly. Chuckling, Nella reaches up and rearranges his arms until her daughter is cradled in the crook of Paul’s elbow. Her eyes open then, staring up at him, and Hugh remembers holding a newborn Nella in his own arms.
Few things in the universe can render Paul Stamets speechless, but apparently Nella’s baby is one of them. The look of wonder on his face, creases deepening beside his eyes and the way his lips keep twitching as if he’s about to smile, makes itself at home in Hugh’s heart. For a moment, the setting sun turns Paul’s silver hair golden again and all he can see is the man he fell in love with 30 years ago.
“Hi,” Paul whispers, eyes widening as she coos contentedly.
”She likes you,” Nella settles back against her pillows with a look of tired satisfaction, and Hugh bends to hug her properly, kissing her cheek. “I knew she would.”
Seemingly unbidden, Paul starts to rock the bundle in his arms.
”Yeah?”
”She’s going to love you both as much as I do.”
There’s a smile curving his lips when he wakes, something rare these days. He lets the dream sit with him, eyes still closed, relishing the feelings of warmth and love. Beside him, Paul stirs, stretching. He groans quietly, rolling over and gathering Hugh into his arms, sighing in contentment. A fresh wave of affection rolls over him, settling into his soul.
It’s a path they couldn’t take, couldn’t be there to watch his niece grow up and fall in love, couldn’t cry at her wedding or hold her first child. Couldn’t watch the clever imp become a confident and brilliant woman. Today though, the bittersweet ache at the thought of everything that might have been doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.
”Hugh?”
He opens his eyes as Paul props himself up on an elbow, looking down at him. He’s pillow-mussed, hair a mess and eyes only half open. Hugh lets himself imagine him in another decade and a half, thinning hair gone pure platinum and more lines on his face and still just as gorgeous as the day they met.
“Hi.”
A half-smile tugs at Paul’s lips, shifting a little until Hugh’s head is resting on his forearm.
“Good dream?”
Taking Paul’s other hand - because he’s not going to be allowed his lips until they brush their teeth - he kisses the palm softly before snuggling closer.
”I was dreaming about Nella.”
Paul’s look of surprise is tempered with the same mix of fondness and sadness that he feels when he thinks about his family.
“Oh?”
“Mmhmm.”
Warmth further envelops him as Paul kisses his cheek, resting his temple on Hugh’s forehead.
”I see.”
“You’re a great dad, you know.”
A quiet huff of laughter. It’s telling how relaxed Paul is that he doesn’t question the seeming non sequitur.
”Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Funny,” Paul’s hand slips beneath the collar of Hugh’s shirt, fingers rubbing gently, “I told Adira that you and I, we’re a package deal. So, by the distributive property…”
Hugh chuckles.
”Are we numbers now?”
”Not today. But, dear doctor,” his fingers still, “if I’m a great dad, that makes you one too.”
”I hope so.”
”Nella and Adira would have got on like a spaceport on fire.”
His delighted laugh shakes them both.
”Can you imagine? Put the two of them and Tilly in a room and let them make impossible things real.”
“Yeah.”
They fall silent, and after a couple of minutes Paul tugs him out of bed by the hand to brush their teeth. When they’re done, Paul smiles at him in the mirror and turns, wrapping his arms around Hugh’s waist. The kiss they share is light, and it reminds him of the moment Nella’s adolescent annoyance at her favorite uncles being affectionate turned to scandalized realization of what “kissing in private” really meant.
She’d have loved Adira.
“Stamets to Culber.”
”…hmmm?”
Paul’s watching him with amusement.
”You were light years away just then.”
Hugh shakes his head, nuzzling their noses together.
”I’m right here. Exactly where I want to be.”
Notes:
Written in honor of Anthony and Ken welcoming their baby boy into the world :)
I thought about putting the first part of the story in Paths Not Taken, but decided that canon Hugh deserved to have it as a dream.
Chapter 546: Slipknot
Summary:
Consent is sexy.
Chapter Text
They talk about anything and everything, but Hugh cherishes the unspoken language of their love, the looks and touches and implicit understanding.
“Can you keep your hands to yourself, or do I need to tie you up?”
May I?
Hugh pauses the rocking of their still-clothed hips and waits, watches as Paul takes in the playful threat, considering. It’s only a few breaths before he very deliberately gropes Hugh and replies.
“What do you think?”
I’m fine with whatever you want.
Paul’s permission given, he grins. There’s the fun of wrestling his love’s hands over his head and pinning them there, but he really wants to focus all of his attention somewhere else. Hugh leans over to open the nightstand drawer, rummaging inside even as Paul continues his fondling, other hand coming up to flirt with his collarbone.
”I think,” he extracts a blindfold and length of quick-release cord, “you’re going to need some…restraint. Unless you want to behave?”
Setting the objects on Paul’s chest, he sits back on his heels.
Is this still okay?
Paul gives him a lazy smile, licking his lips and squeezing again. Then he slides that hand up and the other down, meeting in the middle of Hugh’s chest before turning both hands over and holding them out, wrists turned up.
Yes.
Notes:
To be continued? I have a few other snippets that could fit with the theme.
Chapter 547: Spots
Notes:
Fluffity fluff.
Chapter Text
There’s a scattering of freckles on Paul’s left shoulder, just beyond where the collar of his pajama top sits. Hugh usually greets these old friends with a kiss during their morning shower, and again in the evening if he’s helping Paul undress (a pleasure in itself) or sharing another shower. Sometimes - if they’re engaging in rather steamier activities - it’s a bite instead, one of the dozens of rituals in their relationship that speaks a language all its own.
Tonight, they’re curled together in a tangle of limbs beneath the covers, the hair on Paul’s thighs teasing the bare skin of Hugh’s legs. Paul’s sprawled out on his stomach, Hugh’s arms snugly around his waist, and humming in contentment as Hugh presses a meandering trail of kisses from ear to neck to shoulder and back again. He squirms adorably when the feather light caresses of lips turn into nibbles, giggle-snorting into the pillow as Hugh’s beard tickles dampened skin.
”Yeah?”
”…mmmph. Mmhmm.”
Hugh licks the side of his love’s neck for the sheer pleasure of tasting him, rubbing the instep of his left foot over Paul’s calf.
”Hungry?”
The question is accompanied by an inviting wiggle of Paul’s hips, and he presses his cheek to the spot between Paul’s shoulderblades that makes a perfect cradle for his head.
”We already brushed our teeth.”
”Well,” he can hear Paul’s smile, “no one says you have to swallow.”
Chuckling, he pinches Paul’s hip, immediately soothing it with gentle fingers.
”Not tonight, sweetheart?”
Beneath him, Paul pulls his face out of the pillow, turning his head until he can make eye contact and answer the half-question with one of his own.
”Snuggles?”
Giving the patch of freckles one last caress, Hugh climbs off Paul’s back, rearranging themselves until he’s cuddled into Paul’s side instead. Paul nuzzles his forehead, and he tips his head up to collect a goodnight kiss.
“Always.”
Chapter 548: Soap
Notes:
Things I have an endless supply of: Paul and Hugh fluff in bed, in the shower/tub, and scandalizing their kids by being affectionate.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Washing Paul is as natural as breathing, as snuggling together beneath the covers. In the shower, it’s automatic, one taking over after the other finishes soaping himself up or reaching for the shampoo. They’re much of a height - a fact he loves - so he’s used to his hands mirroring the same touch as his own body.
Things are the same and yet so different in the tub, when bathing together is leisurely and there’s actually room for two pairs of elbows and knees. The space between them isn’t overly large per se, seated between each other’s feet on opposite sides. And yet, having to reach for Paul’s hands creates a sense of distance to be crossed even if all he has to do is sit up and lean forward.
Tonight, the cloudy mineral water laps gently at the programmable matter marble. Paul’s magic fingers are at work, digging into his instep to release the tension there and massaging shins grown sore from hours spent standing in surgery. He watches him through half-lidded eyes, lulled into meditative calm as thumb and forefinger rub tight circles on either side of his Achilles tendon. When at last his foot is released with a kiss to the ankle, he rouses himself.
“Mmm. Have I mentioned I love your hands?”
Paul flicks water at him, smiling.
”A few times.”
Rising, he reaches for one of the towels folded on the floor.
”Getting out already?”
There’s a hint of disappointment in the question, and he shakes his head.
“Nope,” he briefly straddles Paul’s lap to set the towel just behind his head, hands braced on the edge as he stands in a sheet of water, “just returning the favor.”
Paul sputters for a moment, but catches on and scoots forward enough for Hugh to sit on the edge of the sunken tub. Feet dangling, he uses them to reel his partner back in, settling more comfortably on the towel as he does (programmable matter or not, a cold floor on his balls is not conducive to relaxation) and lathering his hands up.
He spreads a slick of suds over Paul’s shoulders and up the back of his neck, seeking out the knots in his middle and upper trapezius with a physician’s deft touch. Paul groans quietly, head lolling forward as Hugh uses the opportunity to soap up more of his back. The tub is only half full, and he has to reach down further to scoop up handfuls of water to rinse. He rubs at the red lines from its edge that have imprinted themselves on Paul’s creamy skin, then coaxes him to lean back again, head pillowed on Hugh’s groin. With Paul between his knees like this, he has the opportunity to gaze downward on him. It’s a bit like when his love reclines against him on the couch to read or watch a holonovel, and the implied vulnerability slips to the back of his mind as he gives in to the urge to look his fill.
The bridge of Paul’s nose is ever so slightly asymmetric at this angle, heat-flushed skin showing pink through the damp blond hair at the crown of his head. His eyelashes catch the light, long slow blinks and open hands floating alongside him a testament to relaxation. Paul’s built on sturdier lines than Hugh’s own frame, broad chest needing no extra muscle to reach a pleasing proportion. Further down, the no-longer-quite-flat stomach disappears into the water, and if Hugh stares, he can just make out the slightly darker trail of hair following the same path (he can’t see it too, but he knows what’s bobbing pink and pretty and soft between Paul’s thighs).
When his gaze travels upwards again, he finds a pair of blue eyes with creased laugh lines smiling up at him.
”Hi.”
”Hi yourself.”
A huff of air escapes Paul’s lips,
”What?”
”You're doing it again.”
The accusation is full of affection.
”Am I?”
”Yes.”
Trailing his hands up Paul’s biceps, he crosses them high over his chest and leans down until he can kiss the very tip of his nose.
”Going to tell me what exactly I’m doing that has you so amused?”
Water droplets clinging to the hair on its back, Paul’s hand rises from the water to curve behind Hugh’s neck even as he arches up for an upside-down kiss.
”That.”
”Mmm. I see.”
”Yeah?”
Closing his eyes, he smiles.
”Yeah.”
Notes:
I think I hear cat!Paul’s paws approaching…
Slowly sinking back into Hugh’s headspace as I re-read When Sorrow Turns to Joy so that I can wrap up that story with the ending it deserves. The characters have grown so much since Season Two.
Chapter 549: (Imposter) Syndrome
Notes:
Set after S4E5 and the (onscreen) conversation they had in bed.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Swish.
Living on a starship means no one is ever fully away from their work, but Paul doesn't mind most of the time. He's gotten better at trying to leave stress on the other side of the door to their quarters, but the DMA is all-consuming, the invisible sehlat in the corner that looms large in everyone's thoughts. It's the split-second stumble in conversation when people manage to forget for a little while that the universe is under threat, the guilt for living their lives in its shadow. Still, life does go on, in bits and pieces and spans of time that are somehow untouched by disaster.
Hugh's home already, he notes with satisfaction, not staying in his office with counseling sessions for the fourth time this week. It's well past 1900, and they both deserve some dinner.
"Hi."
"...mmm."
He glances up from the zipper of his uniform jacket, trying to puzzle out his partner's distracted hum. Hugh's back is turned to him, facing the viewport and seemingly gazing out at the stars. He'd always told Paul that feeling small in comparison to the cosmos reminded him that every moment matters, and he hopes that they might be offering him some solace in their ancient depth.
Lining his boots up next to the door, he steps out of his pants and pads across the deck in just undershirt and briefs. Hugh is still wearing his 'counseling clothes', black slacks and a soft grey sweater that clings lovingly to the muscles of his shoulders and arms, accentuating a narrow waist. He steps up behind him, setting his hands on that waist and letting them slide under Hugh's arms and around the front until his chest meets Hugh's back in a loose embrace.
"How was your day?"
"Fine."
Paul exhales slowly through his nose, resting his cheek on the back of Hugh's shoulder.
"Didn't we agree to not say that unless you actually are?"
He keeps his tone level, affectionate teasing rather than chiding. It has the intended effect, because Hugh gives a brief hum that could almost be a laugh. There's an edge to it that he's all too familiar with, and he wonders if they're up to having another conversation tonight.
Maybe not, but we need to.
The steady rise and fall of Hugh's chest never ceases, but it's too even, too regular, and all too common as of late. Paul recognizes the physician's trick of projecting calm, biofeedback to force their bodies away from dysregulation in situations of stress. Hugh's breathing used to be something beyond notice, besides the comfort found in listening to it in the shadowy sanctuary beneath the covers. Now, he's exquisitely aware of the hitches and shallow inhales and breathing exercises that signal inner turmoil, and wishes mightily that he didn't have to be. It provides an ironic respite from his own concerns, even if they're all related.
We really do make a pair.
Instead of pointing it out directly, he makes a non-committal noise and presses a kiss between Hugh's tense shoulders.
"Shower?"
"Sure."
Turning in the circle of his arms, Hugh pecks him on the lips before raising his own hands and gently breaking the embrace. The same motion of stepping back turns into undressing, so Paul lets go without protest and strips off his own underwear before heading into the bathroom. Hugh joins him in the shower less than thirty seconds later, and they wash themselves and each other in silence.
At least it's comfortable silence.
He might describe showering together as autopilot, but the intricate choreography of scrubbing and lathering and rinsing without misplaced elbows or an unintended faceful of water, all without speaking a single word, is meditative on its own. They don't linger tonight, Discovery's environmental system whisking away the steam as they dry off and pull on pajamas.
"Dinner?"
Glancing down at his bare feet, Hugh offers a lopsided smile that Paul returns.
"Here, right?"
"Yeah. In the mood for something in particular?"
It's a rhetorical question when the replicators can produce anything they desire - and on an evening where he suspects he won't receive a playful response requesting any other kinds of desires - and he's not terribly surprised when Hugh shrugs. It's not dismissive, so he nods and lets his fingers scroll through the menu before bringing the steaming bowls to the table.
"T'Vala's stew."
"Mmhmm," he hands Hugh a napkin and fork, "it's a classic."
Hugh's face is downturned, seemingly watching himself chase root vegetables around the bowl. Paul doesn't try to start conversation, just steadily works his way through the meal until they're both finished. His partner is still poking at stray bits of grain, and Paul gives a mental sigh before letting his own hand cover Hugh's wrist. The listless motion of the fork ceases, but he still won't meet Paul's eyes.
Okay, now we're avoidant.
"What's wrong?"
There's no use pressing once the question is out, so he waits, counting to 148 before Hugh responds.
"I feel like I'm...lying to people."
It takes effort to keep his tone soft and unassuming.
"What do you mean?"
"People are depending on me to help them."
Frowning, he rubs Hugh's knuckles with his thumb, back and forth over skin and tendon and bone.
"And you are. You're making a difference. Saru even said-"
Hugh makes a frustrated noise, and he stops.
Too much.
"I know that. I just-" he finally looks up, and Paul's own jaw twinges in sympathy at how tight Hugh's is clenched, "I know who I am to people. But who am I, really? To myself."
Although it's tempting to redirect the conversation with a bit of humor or sarcasm, it's not what Hugh needs right now. It's the kind of conversation usually reserved for their bed, whispers and confessions across the sheets, and having it out in the open feels vulnerable, exposed. Making a decision, he tugs on Hugh's hand until he half-rises from the chair, pulling him to sit sidewise on Paul's lap.
"You're you. You now, you before...no matter what else it seems like other people might think."
"What am I supposed to think of myself if I'm not? How can I do my job if we don't even know if it really will all be okay? I'm so..." his fingers clench on Paul's shoulders briefly, "tired."
He wraps his arms around Hugh's waist again, looking up.
"Do you trust me?"
Hugh gives him a look that says he's both surprised by the question and slightly offended on Paul's own behalf.
"Of course."
"You told me once that sometimes the only time you felt like yourself was with me."
A pause, then Hugh shifts on his thighs, scooting closer.
"Yeah."
"So, the way I see it, you're so many different things to so many people. Regardless if you think you're not, if you feel like you're falling short of something that's, frankly, fucking terrifying and impossible...you're Hugh Culber. You're a doctor and counselor, and the crew knows it's safe to tell you things, that you'll listen. And sometimes being heard is the important thing, not you being able to give them a solution or even take your own advice."
"...when did you start in on the existential crisis?"
There's the hint of a smile on Hugh's lips, so he counts it as a small victory.
"Adira. Realizing what I wanted to do for them, because I didn't get it. Also, possibly going overboard, because, well-" he releases Hugh's waist long enough to wave his hand in a vague gesture, "it's embarrassing for them."
"I see."
"And even more than all the rest of that, you're Hugh. My partner, the man I'm going to spend another life loving, who is holding himself to impossible standards and out-overthinking even me lately. Believe me," Paul cradles Hugh's cheek in his palm, "that's more than enough. For me and for everyone."
Hugh closes his eyes, and Paul closes his mouth. The hand resting on Hugh's back moves in steady circles, slow and undemanding, and he feels Hugh leaning into him. Kissing his shoulder, Paul waits and counts. He makes it all the way to 511 this time before Hugh's eyes open.
"Thank you."
It's not the miraculous complete release of guilt and self-criticism, but he's not expecting it to be. It might only be a bandage, an emergency repair, but Paul thinks it'll hold together long enough for them to make it through. At least for now.
He uses the fingers still resting along Hugh's jaw to guide his head down for a kiss.
"You're welcome."
Notes:
My imposter syndrome flared up badly today and I needed some way to deal with it, which mostly amounts to writing fic about what I wish I had a Paul or Hugh of my own to say to me when I need it. Sigh. A happier Valentine's Day chapter is next, I promise.
Chapter 550: Stylus
Summary:
Belated Valentine's Day special - every day is a day to celebrate love for our SpaceDads.
Notes:
Includes excerpts from a horribly trashy fictional romance novel, so there's some slightly florid language.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
An ordinary evening on Discovery might seem boring to others, but Hugh has zero complaints. He’s wearing his favorite pair of sweatpants, Paul’s feet are tucked under his thigh, and Zora’s playing quiet jazz in the background while they both catch up on - for once - leisure reading.
He's halfway through the latest bad romance novel Tracy shared. It's full of shirtless protagonists, overblown speeches about love and lust, and erotic scenes held together by the thinnest of plot threads, terrible in the best possible way.
"Beneath the full moon, the balmy air was redolent with the heady fragrance of flowers and musk. He inhaled deeply, feeling a tingling travel down his body."
Paul shifts where he's lounging with his back to the arm of the couch, clearing his throat. He makes an apologetic noise when Hugh glances over, and Hugh mentally shrugs before going back to the PADD.
" A vision of beauty rose from the fountain at that moment, graceful limbs and flowing hair as red as the sunset. Water cascaded over her face, glistening on her plump, pouting lips. As he stepped forward, her mouth opened, the tip of her tongue caressing the pearls of her teeth. She was wearing only a diaphanous cloak, molded to the curves of her body by the water, slick and lush. The breeze rippled through the trees and his shirt rubbed over his hard nipples, and the spark reached his groin, his interest swelling and growing stiff.
'Who are you?'
'I,' she delicately glided out of the fountain, 'am the nymph of the waters. I could hear the song of your desire, pumping with each heartbeat. I could taste your essence when you bathed and will sate your hunger.'
He swallowed, manhood standing to attention at everything the move exposed.
'But I've been told this fountain is cursed, and you are an eldritch creature sent to capture my soul.'
In one move, she stripped the cloak from her body.
'What is it you desire, my prince? Have you needs your days as a warrior cannot fulfill?'
'I-' "
This time, Paul seems to be squirming against the cushions, adjusting the waistband of his pants. He shakes his head at Hugh's questioning look, and Hugh wonders if it might just be indigestion. Wincing sympathetically, he pats Paul's ankle and considers offering to replicate some ginger tea the next time he's up.
A few pages later, something catches his attention. He and Paul have full access to each other's PADDs, a practical feature when they're examining data together or Paul is expounding on some new discovery. The blinking notification nearly hidden in the lower left corner means that his current file is being shared, as well as the location of his active reading.
Oops.
Although...
Raising his hand to casually scratch his nose, he uses the cover to give Paul another covert glance.
I bet that's not indigestion.
It's Movie Night, so he can't ratchet up the tension too much before company arrives, but there's nothing against proving his theory. Arranging his face in his best look of innocent concentration, he deliberately scrolls back to a particularly explicit description of the protagonist performing self-pleasure and has to bite his lip to keep the smile off his face when Paul's toes tense beneath his leg. His stylus is discarded on the side table and he picks it up, idly tapping it against his chin before slipping the end between his lips and sucking slightly. Paul's next inhale goes a bit shaky, and-
“AhhhhCHOooOoo!”
Paul’s sneeze startles them both, and the stylus slips out from his mouth. The mostly-empty bowl of snacks balanced on Paul’s knee tumbles to the floor, spilling a fine mist of salt and crumbs onto the cushions as it goes.
"...bless you."
"Sorry."
He sets his PADD down, smiling.
"For sneezing, or reading over my shoulder?"
Sighing, Paul rubs a hand over his face.
"Or," Hugh teases, trailing a finger up the inseam of Paul's pants but stopping inches below his groin, "for getting turned on by what you called 'the trashiest bad smut ever'?"
That earns him a cute scowl, the corners of Paul's mouth twitching.
"I'm not answering that."
With a chuckle, he stretches and retrieves the fallen dish from the floor. Predictably, his stylus has rolled under the coffee table far enough that it’s just beyond the toes of his outstretched foot. He pinches Paul's inner thigh playfully before standing and crouching down. Hugh’s knee creaks as he bends over, reaching for the errant object, and the hiss of discomfort turns into a yelp of pain as he flinches and manages to bang the back of his head on the underside of the tabletop.
“Owwwwwww. Ugh. Mmmmppphh.”
”Are you okay?”
Growling, he snatches the stylus and retreats from under the table with exaggerated care. His rueful groaning is met by a sympathetic noise from the occupant of the couch.
"This is your fault," he declares dramatically.
”Mmm. C’mere,” Paul murmurs as he straightens, a hand warm on his lower back.
When he shuffles back around, he finds a commiserating half-smile and outstretched arms. Dropping the stylus on the table, Hugh moves into the open V of his knees, wraps his arms around Paul’s waist and presses his face into a warm stomach for a few long moments.
"Did that hurt?"
"A little."
He settles back on his heels, pillowing his cheek on Paul’s thigh as gentle fingers cradle the back of his head. Paul doubles over to kiss the offended area of his skull, the slight sting of soreness retreating under a loving touch.
"I'm sorry. Want me to make it up to you?"
"Later? Definitel-"
Excuse me, Commander Stamets and Doctor Culber, Zora's melodic voice fills the air, Lieutenant Tilly, Ensign Tal, and Gray Tal are requesting permission to enter.
“Gray’s shuttle must have arrived early,” Paul grins, “thanks Zora, you can let them in.”
Swish.
“Hey, so like I was- OH SHIT.”
It’s an uncharacteristic profanity from their sometimes overly proper Adira, and Gray makes a startled noise as he barrels into their suddenly unmoving back.
”What-“ Tilly‘s red curls appear with her voice, just visible over Adira’s stunned expression, “…guys?”
Giving Adira a quizzical look, she leans over the threshold, frowning. Hugh considers how their position must look from that angle - him kneeling between Paul's legs, Paul's hand seemingly holding his head close to his groin - and chuckles as Tilly side-eyes Adira, stepping around them.
"It's fine. Come on."
Adira freezes in the act of raising their hands, probably to cover their eyes.
"Are you sure?"
Tilly shrugs.
"They're just being...them."
"Oh," Gray nudges Adira, "okay."
Hugh makes eye contact with Paul, which is a mistake because the mix of surprise, uncertainty, and half a serious Stamets 'I'm thinking' squint is absolutely adorable and it sets him off into a fit of laughter. Above him, Paul groans.
"Will someone please tell me what that even means?"
Notes:
So uhh, the whole romance novel thing came about because I was trying to think up a scenario where Hugh loses his stylus and has to crawl under the coffee table.
Happy Chapter 550!
Chapter 551: Surface
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“You-” Paul declares, glancing around as he crosses the threshold as if to confirm that Hugh’s alone, “work too hard.”
His expression is mild, so Hugh chooses to take it at face value and offers a half-smile.
”Pot, meet kettle.”
”Mmm.”
Paul’s approach pauses on the other side of the desk, hands resting on the back of the chair there. He’s giving Hugh a look that clearly means something, but his tired brain is refusing to translate.
”What?”
”That,” Paul nods at the open file hovering over the desk, “yeah?”
Oh.
People might complain - albeit less these days - about Paul’s prickly demeanor, but he does try to be considerate. It’s not a patient file or anything confidential, although Hugh appreciates the respect for professional boundaries, and he swipes it closed and dismisses it with a flick of his fingers. Once it vanishes, Paul comes around the desk and rests his hip against it, half-turned to the stars outside the viewport. Swiveling his own chair, Hugh accepts the proffered hand, and Paul seems content to let him trace the contours of his knuckles while they gaze out at space.
“How was your day?”
A gentle squeeze of fingers acknowledges the question.
”Nothing new, but…well. Adira started nodding off and almost hit their head on the console, so I figured it was time for both of us to call it quits.”
”Are they okay?”
”Mmhmm.”
Paul smiles when Hugh raises their joined hands to his mouth, depositing a kiss in the palm and another on the pale underside of his wrist. Nosing the cuff upwards just a little, he inhales deeply, picking up a hint of faded cologne and something more. It’s not that he doesn’t get his fill, but there’s something about having Paul’s scent here, outside of their quarters, that carefully smooths the edges off stress.
“Thanks for coming to get me,” he sighs, “I just…”
“I get it. You should know that by now.”
”I know.”
And he does know, the same part that reminds him of evenings waiting for Paul to come home.
”I have missed dinner with you though, dear doctor. Are you done for the day?”
”Mmhmm.”
He lets Paul tug him out of the chair, basking in the smile when Hugh pivots and traps him between his own body and the desk, arms bracketing him to either side. His eyelashes flutter against Hugh’s cheek as one kiss turns into a dozen, soft and welcoming. Paul’s lips are a little chapped, and Hugh can taste coffee and something sweet.
”Had dessert already?”
Paul nudges their noses together, widening his stance to let Hugh move closer until he’s almost sitting on the polished wood surface.
”Adira wanted Tilly’s snickerdoodles when we took a break.”
”Mmm,” he licks the corner of Paul’s mouth again, “tell then I approve. Although-“
”…don’t tell them why?”
”Exactly.”
The hands resting between his shoulder blades urge him forward for another kiss. It’s been a long week and neither of them is as young as they used to be, but the quiet gasp that escapes when he tugs Paul’s lower lip between his teeth is as alluring as anything louder. He bends his knees, hooking a hand behind each thigh and lifting Paul to sit on the desk as he straightens.
“Mmm. Hi.”
”Hi yours-“
More kisses cut off his response, undemanding and unhurried. One of his hands steals under Paul’s jacket, deftly untucking the undershirt until his fingers find warm skin. Paul makes a pleased noise, leaning back on his own hands only to yelp in surprise as his elbow collides with the abstract Vulcan meditation sculpture behind him. He makes an awkward grab, steadying the object before letting go again.
”We might want to move where there’s less breakables. Did we have sex in your office on the list? Or is that too weird.”
Hugh pretends to think.
”Might be. Definitely making out though. On the other hand…” he mentally reviews the list of tomorrow’s appointments, “yeah, not sure I could sit here and counsel someone tomorrow if it reminds me of that.”
”Fair enough.”
”So?”
Paul gives him a playful wink.
”Couch?”
The vision that conjures up is both appealing and dangerous.
”That’s even worse. What if we-“
”The ship cleans up.”
”You know what I mean.”
”Kidding,” Paul reels him in for another kiss, “mostly, anyway.”
Hugh makes sure to sneak in an ass grope when he lifts Paul back to his feet.
“ ‘Mostly’?”
”Mmhmm. I am hungry though, why don’t we go home, have dinner, and then-“
”See where it goes? Deal.”
Hand-in-hand, they head out of his office.
Notes:
Originally began as a fic where Hugh’s scandalized at the thought of doing sexytimes in his office, but that didn’t make sense given the other places on the ship they’ve gotten handsy, so I’m leaving this one open to the possibility ;)
Chapter 552: Scion
Notes:
Set just after Season Three.
Title used on the context of one’s offspring.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Commander Stamets.”
The sound of his name startles him, and he mentally sighs. The internal voice that sounds a lot like Hugh reminds him that he ought to pull it together for Starfleet’s C-in-C, so he dredges up what could pass for a tight smile and does his best to look neutral, if not pleasant.
”Admiral.”
Vance is giving him a look he can’t quite read, and he focuses on keeping his shoulders down rather than bunched up near his ears.
”I owe you an apology, Commander.”
That surprises him out of his own thoughts.
”Sir?”
Nodding to himself, Vance sets his mostly-empty glass down on an abandoned table. The music and conversation of Michael’s promotion party is lively, but the corner they’re standing in lets them talk at a normal volume and still be heard.
“Before last week, I hadn’t seen my wife and daughter in almost two years.”
He follows Vance’s gaze across the room, to a girl of perhaps eleven speaking animatedly with a woman with the same wide smile.
”…I didn’t know that. Sir.”
”There aren’t words to describe it,” Vance sighs, “nor the fear of not knowing if she would be safe, when the only thing I could do to protect them was keep them far away from here.”
Hugh would know what to say.
“I can only…imagine.”
It comes out stiffer sounding than he intended, but the admiral doesn’t seem to take offense.
“You did, though.”
”Sir?”
Eyes still trained on his family, Vance leans against the bulkhead, voice growing more quiet.
“It hadn’t occurred to me. I knew, from Discovery’s debrief when you first arrived, that Doctor Culber had…died.”
Even now, when he’s had months of Hugh asleep in his arms, the words still twist around his spine like icy claws.
”Yes.”
”What I mean, Mister Stamets, is that the decision I made in the midst of a crisis, is one I made for the safety of your unique capabilities. And I know now what my decision could have cost you.”
The more he speaks, the harder it is to fight down the visceral memory. He’s aware his hands are clenched, nails digging into his palms hard enough to leave marks that Hugh will want to kiss away later.
”I see.”
”I read Captain Burnham’s report, Commander. And,” Vance turns to face him fully, expression serious, “I can read what wasn’t in there.”
Paul opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.
”Command - being responsible for Starfleet - means I have to make decisions on behalf of others. But it also means that sometimes it inflicts a terrible price. And-“ he shakes his head, “and for what it’s worth, I’m glad it didn’t come to that. I mean that from the same place I know that if my wife and daughter were in certain danger, I know how I’d feel about anyone who tried to keep me from trying to save them, no matter the reason.”
It’s close to the last thing he would have expected to hear from him. It could be an empty platitude, and yet…
I believe him.
Clearing his throat, Paul swallows and brings his jaw back under control.
”Thank you. Sir. I-“
As if summoned by Paul’s thoughts, Hugh appears over Vance’s shoulder, moving away from the throng at the center of the room. Whatever is written on Paul’s face makes his smile dim, but he still greets Vance with every evidence of good humor.
“Am I interrupting, Admiral?”
“Not at all. I’ll leave you gentlemen to it.”
Vance departs with a courteous nod to them both, and Paul’s still watching his retreating back when Hugh’s arm slips around his waist. He leans into it, ignoring the decorum of a dress uniform event to rest his head on Hugh’s shoulder.
”Is everything okay?”
A dozen meters away, he sees the admiral’s daughter hug her father before dashing off again. He takes a few moments to gather his thoughts, safe in the shelter of Hugh’s strength.
”…Vance understands.”
”What’s that?”
Paul smiles. It’s a small thing, but he’s been sorely out of practice for a while.
”Love.”
Notes:
Budget season is starting at work, and it’s making it difficult to be creative :(. I’m going to try and finish up some of the many WIP chapters after this, including cat!Paul’s return to having thumbs.
Chapter 553: Scientific
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Beyond the doors ahead of her, the gala is waiting, hundreds of people ready to celebrate her and her discovery of five new fungal species. Her husband is waiting in the audience, their three year-old daughter beside him, along with the rest of her family.
She’s ready, really, has even stopped pinching herself to prove that it’s reality. Mostly.
In fact-
“Doctor Culber? Are you ready?”
She takes a deep breath and turns away from the window, nodding at the student sent to escort her. The small specimen canister tucked into her palm glows with gentle bioluminescence, and she smiles at the wispy tendrils of mycelia visible in the transparent medium. Beneath the edge of the dome, the holographic label floats serenely.
Prototaxites stametsii
Discovered by Antonella Culber, Ph.D., 2272
”Yes.”
Notes:
I am beyond horribly disappointed and sad that Paramount has decided Disco ends with Season Five *and* they’re making us wait until 2024. If they didn’t film it with the intention to be the last season, none of our characters will have their stories properly concluded. They sure as hell better be taking the interim to write proper endings and leave us with something the characters and fans deserve.
I’m just…yeah.
Chapter 554: Synthetic
Summary:
The origin of Keyla’s crush on Dr. C
Notes:
Takes place before Season One picks up.
I think I completely unintentionally hit 1,000 works exactly with this one :D
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Swish.
There’s only one other person in the main medbay, working at one of the consoles. His broadly-muscled back would be more at home on a security heavy, the medical whites stretched across his shoulders and biceps oddly incongruous.
“Excuse me, Doctor…?”
The man turns, and she’s greeted with a friendly smile that turns into a frown when he focuses in on her cheek.
”Hugh Culber. Lieutenant-“
”Detmer. Sorry sir, you’re the new CMO, right?”
Shes pretty sure she’s seen him across Discovery’s expansive gym, lifting weights.
”That’s me.” His scanner seems to materialize in hand, “I’m guessing that’s a Velocity disc bite?”
”Yeah. I was practicing and slipped going up a wall, and, well…”
Keyla braces herself for a lecture on safety. Instead, he chuckles, patting the biobed next to them.
”Have a seat, Lieutenant. Was it full on, or an edge?”
“Edge.”
Dr. Culber winces sympathetically, checking the dosage on a hypospray. It hisses, and cool relief washes over her cheek as he scans.
“Ouch. I patched up a few of my own at the Academy. But,” he flicks the results onto the display at the head of the biobed, “looks like you’re luckier than me and didn’t break anything.”
Opening her mouth, Keyla realizes she’s not sure what to say to that and closes it again.
”Ended up with a hairline fracture of the zygomatic bone the morning of my first grand rounds,” Dr. Culber continues in a conspiratorial tone, picking up a regen and thumbing it on. “Luckily I had a bone knitter in my bag.”
He trails off, smile fading a bit as he focuses on his tricorder readings. Up close, she can see hints of gray in his neatly-trimmed beard, laugh lines at the corner of both eyes suggesting that he’s actually a bit older than she originally assumed.
“Almost done.”
“Okay.”
He checks his tricorder again, then sets down the regen.
”Good as new. Would it be okay if I had a look at your augment?”
Her hand twitches upwards self-consciously. It’s not so much that she forgets about it, but sometimes when the headaches recede enough, she can almost pretend she still has both of her own eyes.
“Is it damaged?”
The question comes out more defensively than intended. Dr. Culber doesn’t seem offended, just tips his head to the side thoughtfully, as if choosing his next words with care. She’s used to people staring, even doctors with their professional manner, eyes drawn to it in a way that makes it impossible for her to miss the scrutiny. Dr. Culber’s gaze is less invasive, and she’s not sure exactly why. His next question isn’t what she’s expecting to hear either.
“Migraines?”
She shifts on the biobed.
”Sometimes.”
”By ‘sometimes’, do you mean more than once a week?”
Keyla gives a half shrug. They’re not debilitating, so she’s not even sure if she should be complaining too much.
“Yeah. How did you know?”
”Practice,” Dr. Culber gives her a wry look, “my partner gets them, and for your own sake, I hope you’re a bit less stubborn than he is about admitting it.”
That draws a smile from her, and she feels some of the tension leak from her spine.
”How bad?”
“It’s fine.”
The automatic response is out before she even realizes it, years of practice not lying but also not quite telling the truth. He sighs.
“I’m sure you’re still fully top-notch with them, but if you’d like, I can try to see if there’s something I can do about it. The ocular and trigeminal nerves could be affected, and it’s still early enough that we won’t have to alter any pathways your brain’s created. We don’t have to do it now,” he adds gently, “just letting you know it’s an option.”
He sounds about a hundred percent less patronizing than the specialists she’d seen back at ‘Fleet Medical. It strikes her then what the difference is: he’s paying the same sort of attention to her synthetic parts as he does the ones she was born with, neither avoiding nor lingering. Keyla swallows down the unexpected tightness in her throat.
”I- thank you, Doctor.”
“You’re welcome. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
She pauses mid-headshake.
Actually…
“If you ever want to do a few rounds of Velocity, Jo- Lieutenant Owosekun and I usually play on Tuesday mornings.”
Dr. Culber smiles, nodding.
”If you don’t mind keeping the gravity close to normal, I’d love to take you up on that sometime.”
He pats her shoulder, then steps back to let her hop down.
”Try not to be back in here before your next check-up,” he chuckles, taking the edge off the admonishment, “and maybe I’ll see you on the court before then.”
She queries the computer when she’s off-shift that evening, curiosity piqued.
9-Gamma-4/double: Stamets, Paul (LT/ENG) & Culber, Hugh (LTCDR/MED)
“Huh.”
Stamets? The walking frown down in Engineering?
”What’s that?” Joann calls from the bathroom sink.
”Nothing…” she replies absently, “just. Well. Have you met Doctor Culber?”
Joann sits on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the end of one of her locs.
“The Chief Medical Officer?”
”Yeah.”
She tries to imagine the pinch-faced man - who seems to be constantly arguing with Captain Lorca - with Dr. Culber’s warm smile, and can’t quite imagine it.
“Sure, he did my physical last week. Why?”
“I think he and Lieutenant Stamets are together.”
”Together?”
”Doctor Culber mentioned his partner, so I checked the cabin assignments. There’s no reason they’d be sharing if they weren’t, right?”
Joann shrugs.
”Maybe. Does it matter?”
“He’s really…nice. Umm. And I invited him to play Velocity with us sometime.”
Dropping the loc, Jo leans forward and grins. It’s an expression Keyla recognizes from her old Academy roommate, and it means she’s in for trouble.
”Ohhh. You like him?”
”Not like that.
“Sure.”
Groaning, Keyla stands, shoving her feet back into her boots and heading for the door.
”Night, Jo.”
“Goodnight, Keyla.”
Swish.
Notes:
Just watched two interviews with Anthony (Playbill maybe? And the Today Show) where he confirmed that they thought Discovery would go for more seasons beyond five. Also, he talked about the stories he wished they could tell, referenced Hugh and Paul’s past, and said “that’s what fanfic is for” 🥺
Chapter 555: Swish
Chapter Text
Good morning Doctor Culber. I apologize for interrupting you.
Blinking, Hugh glances up at the ceiling. It’s an admittedly archaic habit - from an era further in the past from the present day than even the first computer from the century he was born in - but a difficult one to break.
”Hi Zora. You’re not interrupting me…?”
There’s a pause of a few milliseconds.
Perhaps I have made an incorrect assumption? Ensign Tal would like permission to enter, but first asked that I check that you and Commander Stamets ‘are not busy’.
The bemused half-frown slides off his face, and he chuckles quietly before draining the last mouthful of lukewarm coffee from his mug and setting it on the nightstand. Paul's expressed a half-serious concern about Zora knowing when they're up to more intimate activities, and it's a shame he's not awake now to hear the question.
”Ahh. No,” he smiles down at the messy blond hair peeking out from under the sheet, “we’re not, but I appreciate you checking. You can let them in.”
As the door swishes open, he casually relocates the hand unconsciously gripping his groin into a more innocuous spot on his thigh. The hand’s owner makes a vaguely displeased noise into the pillow, but otherwise doesn’t stir.
”Morning.”
Adira opens their mouth to respond, pausing as a yawn comes out first.
“…hi.”
They’re already halfway to the replicator by the time they manage that one syllable, and he watches with a fond smile as they mumble something and a large mug materializes.
“You’re awake early.”
”I-“ they groan, taking a long gulp, “ugh.”
Based on the aroma and mound of whipped cream teetering on top, Hugh suspects they’re actually starting to enjoy Reno’s beverage of choice.
Albeit with more cream and sugar than raktajino…
Tipping his head to the side, Hugh studies their slightly puffy eyes and the way they’re clutching the mug with both hands. Their spiky hair is suspiciously flattened on one side, and he inconspicuously glances down to confirm that, yes, they did actually stop to put shoes on before coming over.
”Nightmares?”
“No. I just…you know.”
"Okay," he nods as if the vague response is self-explanatory, "I get it."
Their eyes open fully at that, peering at him over the ceramic rim.
"You do?"
Hugh lets the question linger for a moment, then shakes his head.
"No," he pats the duvet, and they climb up to sit cross-legged at the foot of the bed, "but that's okay."
Adira wrinkles their nose, and he can almost see the wheels turning in their head. They seem to be looking at Paul, or at least the ear and hand visible from under the covers.
Ahh.
“Want to talk to Paul about it?”
“Please?”
He nods, then gently shakes Paul’s shoulder.
”Babe?”
”…-mmmrrpphhh.”
The hand on his leg retreats, and Paul abruptly stuffs his head underneath the pillow. Adira looks on dubiously.
"Umm."
Smile widening, Hugh tries again, lifting the edge of the pillow.
”Sweetheart, time to wake up.”
"...no."
Shifting, their guest clears their throat.
"I can come back-"
He waves a hand at them, then carefully peels back the covers, thankful that they both went to sleep fully clothed last night. The rush of cooler air makes Paul grumble more loudly, but his drowsy grab for the edge of the duvet misses by several inches. He emerges with a groan, static-filled hair clinging to the pillowcase.
" 's'that for?"
"Adira's here."
His partner sits up fast enough that it would be comical in other circumstances, and affection wraps itself like a warm blanket around his shoulders as he watches the sleep clear from Paul's eyes immediately to focus on the third person on the bed.
"Is everything okay?"
Pajama-clad or not, Paul looks ready to tackle a sehlat on their behalf, and it's possibly on Hugh's top ten list of most adorable things in the universe.
"Err. Well. Yeah, no, but uhh..."
Scrubbing a hand across his face, Paul shakes his head.
"Stay there."
He climbs off the bed and makes a beeline for the bathroom. The door swishes shut behind him, and Hugh's left leaning on the rapidly-cooling indent in the mattress as he hears the sink go on. Adira is drinking their coffee again, and he wonders if he ought to absent himself. Standing, he crosses to the replicator and retrieves a café au lait to set on Paul's nightstand.
“I can go get us some breakfast,” he suggests, a tacit offer to give them some privacy.
They frown.
"Go? The repli- oh. No."
"Sure?"
"I just..." Adira squirms, "this is kind of dumb."
Saying 'I doubt it' probably won't help, so he just sits back down and raises his eyebrows.
"I mean. I-" they sigh, "I told him to go. And I'm glad. I just...miss Gray."
The last two words are mumbled into the remains of the whipped cream, but he hears them clearly enough.
"Ahh."
Swish.
Paul emerges, eyelashes and hair damp as if he's just splashed water on his face. There's a blob of toothpaste on his collar that Hugh uses his thumb to swipe away as he hands him the steaming mug, and Adira narrows their eyes.
"You don't have to brush your teeth anymore," they point out, tone trailing upwards in a half-question as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
Actually, it probably is.
Paul snorts into his coffee. The side-eye they give him reminds Hugh of Nella's expression whenever Tío Paul explained why he still visually checked the meniscus on liquid samples in volumetric flasks or wore clothes with functional buttons. He gives a half-shrug, and settles down next to Hugh again.
"I know."
Notes:
To be continued?
The original concept of this snippet was Adira coming in while Paul was brushing his teeth, and a sweet reflection by Hugh on how much he loves them brushing their teeth together. Decided to keep the title, and may eventually tell that story too.
Chapter 556: Selvage
Summary:
Sometimes intimacy is far more than being naked together.
Notes:
Set early in Season Three.
Romantic Culmets sexytimes.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The ever-present and nearly imperceptible hum of Discovery around them fades into the background as the mattress shifts beneath their weight. Behind and overhead, starlight streams in as their only light, illuminating Paul’s face. He reaches up to caress his cheek, thumb tracing a familiar path down to his chin. There’s maybe more grey than Hugh remembers in his hair, frown and strain lines deeper than before, blurred into soft shadow but unmistakably present.
Still.
This.
He reaches for the bottle and slicks himself up, biting his lip as Paul straddles his thighs and works his way up Hugh’s lap.
“Ready?”
There’s no need to whisper, but it feels right.
”More than.”
Paul steadies himself with a hand on Hugh’s shoulder, lips meeting in a lingering kiss as he reaches behind himself and starts the slow slide downwards. Hugh resists the urge to close his eyes, fights the instinct to push up into the silky heat surrounding him. Instead, he sets his hands on Paul’s waist, rubbing gentle circles with his thumbs. The kiss fades until it’s just them with their foreheads pressed together, open mouths sharing the same air.
This is perfect.
Eventually, Paul buries his face in the side of Hugh’s neck, panting as he eases down the last inch. The sated sigh as he seats himself elicits a quiet, breathless laugh.
”Already?”
Paul bites the sensitive skin beneath his ear, the rasp of stubble signaling a smile.
”Yes.”
Hugh keeps his lower body still, but wraps his arms fully around Paul’s waist, hands sliding in the sweat building at the dip of his lower back where it meets the delicious swell of his backside.
”We haven’t even gotten to the best part, sweetheart.”
Head still bowed, Paul just barely rocks his hips. It’s a struggle to control the desire to mindlessly rut his way to climax, but also one he’s spent years mastering.
”Speak for yourself.”
He waits as Paul shifts his knees on the sheet before slowly leaning back against the headboard.
“Oh?”
”The best part,” he murmurs, “when you’re so deep inside of me I can finally breathe, when we fit together perfectly,” his lips travel over Hugh’s collarbone, breath fanning over damp skin and the tickle sending fire skittering in its wake, “and it’s physically impossible to be any closer…”
Whatever he does with his hips pulls a moan from Hugh that seems shockingly loud. He draws in a shuddering breath, nuzzling the side of Paul’s face as his fingers flex.
”-yeah?”
Paul’s softened a bit, and Hugh frees a hand to slip between them, working him back up with slow strokes.
”But- mmmmm, I still want to, because it’s never,” he nibbles his way back up Hugh’s throat, “ever,” Paul’s tongue flicks out, tasting, “ever enough, Hugh.”
The next words never make it past his lips because Paul seals their mouths together again, swallows Hugh’s moans as he finally starts to move.
Everything after that is full of sweat-slicked skin, groping hands and wordless exclamations of pleasure. Paul’s delighted laugh when Hugh comes much sooner than planned is the furthest thing from mocking, not when his eyes are dark with a joyful lust and he cradles Hugh’s face to kiss him through the orgasm. And when both of their hands bring him to his own climax, Paul’s cry is loud and uninhibited.
Hugh finds the ability to form coherent thoughts again after they tumble sideways onto the rucked-up sheets. Paul‘s still breathing hard, cheeks pink as they snuggle, limbs haphazardly tangled and a spectacular love bite blooming on his throat.
“I missed you.”
The quiet admission stirs him from the half-doze he’d fallen into, Paul’s heartbeat beneath his palm.
”I missed you too, sweetheart. I’m so-“
Wet fingers press against his lips. The shared realization of what they’re sticky with pulls a huff of laughter from them both, stopping Hugh’s apology in its tracks. Paul flails for a few moments, managing to retrieve the towel slung over the headboard, and they give each other a cursory wipe down before crawling under the covers.
”I know. Me too.”
”I love you.”
Paul kisses his forehead, his cheek, his lips.
”And I love you, dear doctor.”
Notes:
Title refers to the edge of a piece of fabric that keeps said edge from unraveling. Relevant here either as a reference to the border of self between them *or* something that holds them together.
Chapter 557: Stiff
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul’s a terrible liar, but he uses clever misdirection and crankiness to cover for it. If Hugh was a less observant man, he might not notice the tells. If he was a less caring partner, he might not feel the urge to do something when anything direct is shut down or ignored. Since he is both of those things and a physician, it’s impossible to ignore the tiny signs when his gut tells him that Paul’s had a long day.
It wasn’t easy to spot them at first, not until he’d spent enough time with him - virtually or in person - to trace the evidence back to its source.
…the curling edge of a collar point, softened by repeated fussing with the zipper, a sure sign that Paul needed physical room to let his mind breathe.
…the hair at the nape of his neck or on the right side of his forehead escaping from the rest of his immaculately styled coif, tugged away by fingers rubbing in frustration.
…a tightness in Paul’s shoulders speaking of being hunched over a console or in front of a simulation.
…slightly unfocused eyes, courtesy of too long spent frowning and unblinking at something.
…four rosy crescents bitten into the pale pink of Paul’s palm from hands clenched into fists.
Nagging Paul is like trying to make a Vulcan laugh: ineffective, frustrating, and all the more likely to make him less inclined to inadvertently cooperate. Direct confrontation is best saved for moments when his own reserves of equanimity are full, but thankfully Hugh has plenty of other strategies at hand.
On those days, Hugh will dim the lights to avoid more strain on tired eyes, speak quietly and not ask questions he knows Paul won’t answer. He’ll gently brush Paul’s hands away from his collar, unzipping his jacket and undressing his partner without any words needed before leading him into the shower. Then he’ll urge Paul to lean forward and rest his head on Hugh’s shoulder while he washes his hair and massages some of the worst tightness out of his neck. Sometimes it’s a bath instead, Hugh perching on the edge with Paul between his knees, fingers walking along the knotted muscles until Paul’s chin sags onto his chest. They’ll linger until the water cools, until Hugh’s kissed his palms and wrists and hauled them out to have a light dinner.
Sometimes they’ll watch a holonovel, something with a plot Paul can complain about until his tongue is no longer stumbling over the words, the pattern of his criticism and Hugh’s teasing familiar and well-worn. When they’re both yawning, they’ll brush their teeth and drop their pajamas onto the floor, slipping between the sheets naked. Those are the nights Paul turns away from him, not a rejection but a request to have his back protected, to lean into safety and Hugh’s strength while he chases sleep.
Sometimes they have sex just like that, slow rocking while Hugh plays with his nipples.
Sometimes they’ll talk, Paul working through whatever problem is plaguing his mind or Hugh telling him about his day.
Sometimes Hugh sings him Aida’s lullaby, kissing the back of his shoulder and tucking the covers around them.
And sometimes Paul knows what Hugh needs is to be able to take care of someone else without wondering if what he’s doing is enough.
Notes:
This took a more serious turn than intended, but I’m not mad at it.
Chapter 558: Squeeze
Notes:
Non-graphic single-handed sexytimes and a whole lot of love.
Chapter Text
Paul Stamets in excited science-ing mode is equal parts adorable and hot as hell. Not that he isn’t ridiculously desirable most of the time, but Hugh‘s made a happy study of all of his attractive qualities, and his passion for his work is near the top of the list. All said, it does make for an interesting mix of interest, bemusement, sympathy (when Paul’s feeling stumped), admiration, worry, and arousal.
Ergo, when Paul’s going off on a mini-seminar about mycelial transduction during their evening snuggles, it’s only natural that Hugh responds to his brilliant deduction by kissing him soundly. One kiss leads to another, sweet and close-mouthed becoming languid and lingering as they nibble and lick and sigh. He lets his hands wander, one over Paul’s cheek and the other snaking up under his pajama top to rub at his hip. In response, Paul deepens the kiss, throwing his leg over Hugh’s own thighs to haul him closer.
After several minutes, they separate for air, sharing the pillow and a sleepy-eyed look that says everything.
“Hi.”
Paul shamelessly gropes his chest, and Hugh delights in his partner’s enjoyment of his body as he squeezes and caresses
”Hi yourself.”
He lets himself be rolled onto his back, Paul’s weight grounding him as they trade quick pecks, lips grazing each other. Making out fully clothed beneath the covers is sensual in the extreme, and Hugh loves it. The position presses other parts of their bodies closely together, and he can feel the start of something stiffening through two pairs of pajama pants. Unfortunately, exhaustion is winning out over arousal on his end, and he gently breaks the kiss.
”…mmm?”
”What're you thinking?”
He rolls his hips upwards for context, and Paul gives him a lopsided smile.
“Kind of in the mood.”
”Yeah?”
A nod, followed by a wiggle.
”You smell so good,” Paul murmurs, stuffing his nose into the crook of neck and shoulder to inhale deeply, “could go either way, really.”
”Okay.”
Hugh gives his ass a friendly squeeze in passing, scratching at his lower back in a way that makes Paul briefly go boneless.
“-mmmphhh. I love your hands.”
”My hands love you too.”
Chuckling, Paul grinds into him properly a couple of times, breath hot on his throat.
”Interested?”
“I think,” he sighs with rueful regret, “he’s a bit too tired to play tonight. Don’t let me stop you though.”
Paul raises his head and pouts at him out of habit, but there’s only a hint of disappointment.
“Too tired to do cleanup anyway. But…”
Planting a kiss on his stubbly chin, Hugh thumbs at a covered nipple before tweaking it.
”Hmm?”
“Wanna watch?”
It’s an easy answer. There’d be no harm done in saying he’s too sleepy and would rather close his eyes, or asking Paul to take it to the couch or bathroom. On the other hand - pun absolutely intentional - there's a deep satisfaction that has surprisingly little to do with lust in seeing him satisfy himself.
"Oh yeah."
With a wink, Paul rolls them over again, then squirms upwards until he's slouched against the headboard. He takes a few moments to arrange the pillows more neatly behind him, waiting for Hugh to lift himself off his legs long enough to kick off his pants. After he's done, Hugh curls up perpendicular to the pillows, resting his head on Paul's right knee and watching as he gives himself a casual squeeze.
"Comfy?"
Hugh wiggles his shoulder, feeling the start of pins and needles in his hand.
"Actually...how's your hip?"
"Fine. Are you calling me old-"
Rolling his eyes fondly, Hugh sits up and rearranges Paul's legs, bending the right up until he can drape it over his own torso, cheek now resting on Paul's left thigh and giving himself a front row view of his partner's groin.
"-ahh, " Paul kicks the duvet the rest of the way down with his left foot, "I take that back."
"Thought you might. Want me to help?"
Pale fingers curl around the pink prize lying nestled amongst golden curls, and Paul grins.
"I wouldn't object."
Hugh traces his knuckles up from Paul's right knee, grazing sensitive skin.
"Get to it then."
These days, things rise to climax more slowly than 15 years ago. It's absolutely not a complaint on Hugh's part, particularly when he has all of this Paul on display to enjoy. (It does, however, mean they have to plan their quickies, but a little private warm-up before locking themselves in Paul's private lab is the opposite of terrible). He's currently suckling the middle and index fingers of Paul's free hand, making sure to be extra noisy. His own hands are busy palming Paul's backside and cradling his balls while watching arousal thicken and stiffen his favorite sex toy in the entire universe, slick with the contents of the bottle now abandoned on the sheet.
"Enjoying the show?"
"HmmMmm-"
Paul pulls his fingers free to tangle in Hugh's hair, twirling the curls around their damp tips as his hand picks up speed.
"-yes," he licks the saliva off his lower lip, tongue darting out briefly to tease the rosy tip, "silly."
"Love the way you look at me," Paul sighs, "fuck."
"I try."
Some time later, Paul’s free hand scrabbles at the sheets, and Hugh pauses in stroking the trembling inner thigh beneath his cheek, pushing up on his elbow. He snakes his own right hand under Paul’s now-raised left knee to lace their fingers together and squeeze, Paul’s palm damp with sweat and radiating heat. It puts him at just the right height to lavish kisses on his lover’s stomach, and he does so, open-mouthed and wet.
"...Hugh."
“Mmmmm,” Hugh hums, dropping to nuzzle against Paul‘s groin, feeling knuckles grazing his nose, “mmhmm.”
”…close,” Paul gasps above him, “gonna-“
”Yeah?”
He draws out the single syllable, breathy and slow, loading it with as much sensuality as possible. Paul’s pink lips have gone a darker shade, swollen and reddened from being bitten, and the anticipation settles warm and heavy in his stomach. It’s not quite full-blown arousal - although it’s impossible to not be just a little turned on when Paul’s enjoying himself like this - and he revels in the sensation.
“Go on,” Hugh kisses a fold of skin beneath his ribs, “let me see it.”
A breathless noise.
"Nnnggguhhh."
He reaches for the abandoned bottle, managing to open it one-handed and slick up just his fingertips before tossing it somewhere onto the floor. Paul's eyes fall closed as Hugh shoulders his legs open just a little further, then reaches out with unerring precision to press up and not-quite-in.
"Come for me, sweetheart."
The clench of Paul's knuckles around himself, how his legs give an abortive jerk upwards, the sudden flexing of his stomach and forearm - Hugh revels in it, feasts his eyes on Paul's body as release rolls through him. His mouth falls open, slightly crooked lower teeth and chapped lips punctuation to the low moan rumbling in his chest. He kisses Paul's thighs, his stomach, his cheek, waiting for him to rouse and kiss back before climbing off the bed to go wash his hands. While he does, Hugh straightens the covers enough that Paul won't complain, shaking out his pajama pants to hand back to him and redistributing pillows. Paul snuggles into his chest when they finally settle in for the night, loose-limbed and relaxed.
It's not always earth-shattering, but it doesn't need to be, not between them.
Chapter 559: Suspect
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Babe?”
”…”
”Are you asleep?”
”…yes.”
“Okay.”
*covers rustling*
“What?”
”I thought you were asleep.”
“Very funny.”
“Mmm.”
”So?”
”So…any plans for Thursday?”
”S’that supposed to mean?”
“Well-“
”I didn’t forget our anniversary.”
”I wasn’t-“
”Suuure.”
”Sorry.”
“Mmm.”
”Really-“ *kiss* “I didn’t mean-“ *kiss* “it like that.”
”I know. Did you want me to make plans? Usually you do.”
“Have you noticed Adira acting a little strange?”
”They’re seventeen Hugh, it would be weird if they weren’t.”
”Oh?”
”Mmhmm. But no.”
”Well. Tilly commed and we had a very Cadet Tilly conversation where she asked a bunch of questions about what you like to eat, then suddenly had to leave to teach a class.”
”And?”
”It was oh-two-fifteen at the Academy.”
”Ahh. So, they’re up to something?”
”Probably.”
”Okay.”
“Okay?”
”Mmhmm-“ *yawn* “we can worry about it later. After coffee.”
”Deal.”
”Love you.”
”Love you too, sweetheart.”
Notes:
I owe you all comment replies! Have been caught up doing house stuff over the long weekend, plus trying to plan a trip to see Without You (fingers crossed) and indecisively working on multiple WIP chapters without finishing anything.
Chapter 560: Stubble
Chapter Text
“-mn it.”
It’s muffled by the sound of falling water and the squish of shampoo, but the tone of annoyance carries clearly and Paul’s hands pause in their scrubbing.
”…Hugh?”
A groan.
Leaning back to rinse his hair, he swipes a hand over his forehead to clear any suds he might have missed and opens his eyes. Through the two-inch gap left by the partially closed door, he can see the edge of the towel tucked around Hugh’s waist and the fact that his partner seems to be leaning over the counter towards the mirror.
”Everything okay?”
A rueful noise, then Hugh turns enough to catch his inquisitive glance. From the visible half of his face, Paul can make out a nose wrinkled in what looks to be annoyance.
”Come see for yourself.”
Intrigued, he ducks his head back under the water a final time, then taps the shower off and retrieves his towel. When he steps out of the cubicle, he’s met with the sight of Hugh’s towel crumpled in a damp heap just off-center on the bathroom floor and a very attractive naked backside turned his direction.
”Not that I’m complaining about the view,” he bends to toss the offending towel into the laundry pile only slightly ostentatiously, “but…?”
Hugh shuffles around as Paul straightens, pointing up at his own face.
”See?”
”Wha- oh.”
”Exactly.”
His partner’s neatly trimmed beard is a point of pride, one that’s currently less than symmetrical. Biting his lip and rearranging his expression into one of commiseration, Paul examines the now-bare patch about the size of his thumb and prominently located midway across the sweep of the right side of Hugh’s jaw.
”Aww,” he leans over and kisses the spot, “can you fix it?”
The 32nd century takes personal hygiene and grooming conveniences to the next level, although he suspects they’re not the only members of Discovery’s crew still indulging in anachronisms like toothbrushes and trimmers.
”Growth accelerator’s too itchy,” Hugh grumbles, “ugh.”
”Should grow out again in a few days,” he offers.
“Yeah-“
Excuse me, Commander Stamets, Zora’s voice fills their quarters, you’re needed in Main Engineering.
“Be right there. See you later?”
”Mmhmm.”
Paul spares another sympathetic noise before shedding his own towel and moving to the wardrobe. He dresses quickly, ducking back into the bathroom for a quick peck goodbye, and heads off for the day.
Lunch is forgotten when Discovery answers the distress call of a Barzan colony ship and Paul spends the afternoon literally up to his elbows in stabilizing volatile experiments in their laboratories while Adira helps repair damage from the micrometeorites that knocked out their deflector and damaged the nacelles. He sees Hugh only in passing, carrying a crying child and tending to those injured in the collision. Dinner is also a non-event, trading barbs with Reno as they crawl around the ancient warp drive, chamber sealed and flooded with a human-tolerable mix of gases. The tasteless nutritional drinks are functional and stave off hunger, so by the time he stumbles across the threshold of their quarters he’s more than ready to crawl into bed for cuddles and sleep.
Hugh’s already tucked in, lying on his stomach and propped on his elbows to read something. He gives a pleased hum when Paul kisses the top of his head, shooing him towards the bathroom. Paul can smell his own sweat, thank you very much, and opts for a quick trip through the sonics to save time. Toothbrush in hand, he leans out of the bathroom.
“Hugh?”
”Hmmm?”
”Are you hu-“
Oh.
Blinking, he sets down the toothbrush and advances on the bed.
Fuck.
“…babe?”
The smile Hugh gives him as he sets aside his reading and turns over is the picture of innocence. Rolling his eyes would require looking away, so he settles for climbing on the bed and straddling Hugh’s hips instead.
“You- wow.”
Smile morphing into a grin, Hugh tucks his hands behind his head.
”I take it you like it?”
Paul reaches down and traces his fingertips from cheek to jaw to chin.
”Fuck. That’s smooth. Also, you look like you’re about thirty.”
Turning to kiss his palm, Hugh winks.
“That a problem?”
“No, I just feel old.”
Hugh pinches his ass.
”Wanna check if I missed anywhere?”
Bending over, he indulges in a long kiss. He doesn’t bother sitting up again afterwards, lips brushing as he replies with a question.
”How would you recommend I do that, Doctor Culber?”
”Well, Doctor Stamets,” clever fingers dance over Paul’s sides and across his stomach, loosening the towel, “I’d like to suggest you come sit on my face.”
Licking Hugh’s lower lip, he laughs quietly.
”Oh, I think that can be arranged.”
Notes:
Wilson posted an Instagram video a couple of weeks ago where he’s almost completely clean-shaven and OMG.
Chapter 561: Snack
Notes:
Set early on in their relationship, when Hugh, Tracy, and T’Vala are all assigned to Starfleet Medical.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“May I inquire,” T’Vala’s voice is even as ever, “if this behavior is part of a mating practice?”
Blinking, Paul considers the scene Hugh’s Vulcan colleague is currently taking in with her usual polite curiosity: himself, sitting so close to Hugh he’s practically on his lap, lips parted and tongue sticking out to follow the fingers that just so teasingly deposited a slice of strawberry in his mouth.
For his part, Hugh lets his hand fall to rest on Paul’s thigh, squeezing gently.
”Not specifically,” he chuckles, “but it does…well. Express affection.”
T’Vala’s left eyebrow rises, and though the hands folded serenely in front of her don’t so much as twitch, Paul gets the distinct impression she’s taking mental notes.
”Fascinating. Does-“
Doctors Culber and T’Vala, please report to Triage Area Gamma. Incoming trauma, multiple cases, three minutes.
Before the announcement ends, Paul’s already untangling himself from Hugh and reclaiming custody of the bowl of fruit. His partner gives him a grateful smile, rising and zipping his jacket shut before leaning back down for a kiss. T’Vala nods to him, then they exit the on-call room with the same brisk walk used by all medical personnel on their way to an urgent event.
Paul sets the dish down on the side table and retrieves his PADD. He glances at the chrono - 1930 - and sighs. Hugh’s shift was supposed to end at 2000, so with luck, he won’t be gone for more than an hour or two and they can actually head back to his flat at a reasonable hour. Idly popping a blueberry in his mouth, he flicks open the latest message from Justin and settles in to work until then.
Notes:
How have I not used “snack” after 3+ years of snippets?
Well...just deleted a spam comment accusing me of using AI to write, which I MOST CERTAINLY DO NOT. Ugh. I would hate to have to limit comments to registered users only, because that was super super disturbing :(
Chapter 562: Sacral
Summary:
These are their moments.
Notes:
Thank you all for letting me vent about the spam comment on the last chapter! The randomness really threw me off.
Please accept this as a small token of my appreciation for supporting my writing.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“I keep thinking it has to do with energy transfer, but the equations don’t…Hugh?”
Hugh makes a noncommittal noise, not pausing as he carefully noses the hem of Paul’s pajama top upwards. His love is sprawled out on his stomach, hips twisted and knee bent against a mound of quilt. It makes the thin sleep pants pull taut over his beautiful backside, the slope perfect for him to pillow his cheek on like he had been for the last half-hour.
”Trying to start something?”
He doesn’t answer, but knows Paul can feel him smile, the tickle of his beard against sensitive skin eliciting a shiver and giggle.
Mine.
The dimples at the small of Paul’s back are just the right size for his thumbs to rest in when his fingers are fanned out, Hugh’s hands gripping his hips to guide their lovemaking or massaging a day’s tension away. He greets them with a kiss each, nuzzling and gently nibbling.
“Mmmmm.”
Hugh lets his eyes fall shut, lips parting and tongue swirling in circles. Paul tastes warm and clean, and he repeats the action on the other side, thoroughly stroking the shallow dip.
”Just…” he watches goosebumps rise in the wake of his murmured breath, “enjoying you. Should I stop?”
It’s a teasing tone, but they both know he will if Paul says so.
“No,” Paul’s fingers brush his ear, dancing over his brow, “never.”
Notes:
“Sacral” can refer to either sacred rituals / symbols (Hugh’s worship of Paul’s body) or in relation to the sacrum (lower back).
Chapter 563: Scientist
Chapter Text
Scientists - or just the application of scientific principles - make wonderful lovers. Granted, he doesn’t have a statistically rigorous sample size, but Hugh’s quite willing to assert that extensive experience outweighs any claims to the contrary.
As if he wasn’t enamored enough by Paul‘s brilliant mind and complete honesty, being on the receiving end of what amounted to Paul researching the best ways to drive Hugh out of his mind was both endearing and possibly the hottest thing ever. Even after the joy of discovering each other in bed settled into comfortable familiarity, they’d built on their knowledge over the last sixteen years. Others might assume repetition and sameness to become less interesting, but it couldn’t be farther from reality.
Case in point: much as making love face to face is amazing, Paul’s less-mobile left hip and knee mean that it’s easier for Hugh to spoon up behind him and take the strain off those joints. He makes up for it with roaming hands and propping himself up to cradle Paul’s head in the crook of his elbow, maintaining eye contact and kisses. (It also combines two of his favorite things - snuggling Paul and watching him come, so there’s no complaints possible.)
Or like tonight, they’ve made concessions for the increased stamina that comes with age. Innuendo and outright erotic ‘threats’ aside, being bent over the arm of the couch or the table is going to become painful before either of them is finished. Instead, Paul has him arranged on his knees on the bed, chest resting on a pile of pillows and hands gripping the headboard. It’s less vigorous fucking and more of a sensual rocking together that leaves plenty of time for lips and tongue and fingertips tracing all of the major muscle groups in his back. By the time he’s ready to come, Paul’s clever fingers are practically massaging his latissimus dorsi and really, what could be better?
No, Hugh’s more than happy to keep his mushroom-mad scientist, particularly when they collapse in a heap of sweaty limbs, giggling at the inappropriate noise their skin makes as it sticks together.
Notes:
The original concept was Paul pausing mid-action to ask Hugh if he’d worked on his lats that morning (with the associated humor), but it took a different turn entirely.
Let me know if you’d like to read about some of Paul’s early “experiments” :D
Chapter 564: Slipknot (Reprise)
Summary:
Hugh is cautious, Paul is a bit impatient, and consent is sexy.
Notes:
Contains extremely consensual light bondage.
I have a draft that’s been in progress for months detailing the first time Paul asked Hugh to tie him up after the Osyraa fiasco. Until that’s fully edited, please enjoy something a bit further along:
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Comfy?”
He wiggles his shoulders deeper into the pile of pillows.
”Mmhmm.”
From the foot of the bed, Hugh fusses with something, a quiet rustling noise accompanying it.
“Not too tight?”
Pursing his lips, he pulls against the band holding his wrists together. There’s enough give that he could get loose if he really wanted to.
”I’m good.”
The rustling stops, and Hugh’s weight makes the mattress dip at Paul’s right hip. A finger works its way between the band and the back of his left hand, and he hears a hum of agreement.
“Okay.”
He opens his eyes just enough to peek through his lashes, enough to catch the soft look that most people probably wouldn’t associate with being naked and tied to the bed by one’s partner.
“Stop worrying.”
The hand trailing back down his arm detours over his chest to tweak a nipple, but he can see the beginnings of a frown creasing Hugh’s brow.
“You’ll tell me if you want to sto-“
Shaking his head, Paul opens his eyes completely and sits up as much as possible. It’s slightly awkward given the arms outstretched over his head, but he wants Hugh’s full attention.
”Yes,” his voice is quiet but firm, “I will.”
“Okay.”
A kiss, then Hugh’s hands carefully ease him back against the pillows before his partner returns to the foot of the bed. Standing, it’s easier to see the coil of quick-release cord in his palm, thumb tracing the rounded edge. Paul lifts his right foot off the sheets, nudging Hugh’s hip until he gives it a playful smack.
”Impatient.”
”My partner promised me that he would, quote, ‘make me quit squirming while he has his way with me’.”
”Did he now?”
Closing his eyes again, Paul nods.
”I’m just reminding him that as much as I love anticipation,” he can hear Hugh’s chuckle, “we have to leave time to clean up before Adira’s shuttle gets back from Trill and they inevitably show up here at oh-six-thirty.”
“Duly noted.”
The hand gripping his ankle sets it back on the bed, guiding his leg up until it’s bent at the knee. Hugh does the same with the other leg, then pushes them down to either side, working the soles of his feet together. It’s simultaneously comfortable and leaves him feeling a little exposed - relatively, since it’s Hugh and Paul’s body very much likes that - and he’s not sure what to expect.
He twitches at the sensation of something being passed between his toes, immediately soothed by an apologetic hum.
“That’s…new.”
Opening one eye, he sees Hugh smile as he ties a neat bow on the knotted cord binding Paul’s big toes together.
“Trying something a little different. Okay?”
Anyone else might roll their eyes in annoyance, but he’s Paul and it’s Hugh asking, and it settles warm in his chest.
”Yes.”
Notes:
Trying to contain my impatience until the series finale of ST: Picard goes up 😬
Chapter 565: Spend
Summary:
When spending isn’t the point.
Notes:
Currently on a physical-emotional intimacy kick…
Set early in Season Three.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As soon as it’s feasible, they take a day off together, spent in bed and a significant portion of that spent inside of him.
Paul gives him the gift of his body, cradling Hugh in every way imaginable, smiling up at him.
He’s missed Hugh in everything, but this - the way Hugh takes care of him, how their bodies respond to each other, the hundred different touches that speak more than words - he never thought to fill the aching void of physical intimacy again.
When Hugh rolls them over to lie beneath him, Paul’s weight holding him to the mattress, he relaxes completely.
He’s safe here, protected from everything and everyone with Paul’s knees bracketing his thighs and hand cushioning his head more gently than any pillow.
Paul’s eyes are soft, tender, and he kisses him with all the love of nine hundred-plus years.
Home.
Notes:
Okay, the Picard finale? ZOMG.
Chapter 566: Student
Summary:
T’Vala and Nella.
Chapter Text
Paul’s refilling his glass when hears Nella come down from her room and the subsequent even tone of T’Vala saying something quietly.
“Okay!”
There’s a tiny thunderstorm of feet as she races back upstairs - he catches Aida’s sigh of affectionate exasperation from the kitchen counter - and returns at a much more sedate pace. He can just see through the doorway that Nella’s carrying something carefully cradled against her chest, setting her burden down with exaggerated care on the coffee table.
Huh.
The brazier is small, about the size of his two fists together, and clearly Vulcan in design.
“It may be best for us to move outside.”
Rising gracefully, T’Vala picks up the brazier and lets Nella open the patio door. Paul follows curiously, iced tea in hand, watching T’Vala retrieve a couple of pillows from unoccupied chairs. She arranges them on the bare flagstones a safe three meters from the edge of the deck and beside the swing, then kneels on one and sets down the brazier, tucking her skirt neatly around her ankles as Nella mirrors the position.
”This is new?” Paul asks, gesturing with his chin while the swing rocks gently beneath them.
”Oh,” Hugh chuckles, “no.”
”No?”
Nella’s face screws up in concentration, taking a wooden box out of her pocket and adding a pinch of incense to the brazier before looking at T’Vala expectantly. T’Vala nods her approval, holding out her hand for the snapfire tucked inside the lid of the box.
”Nella saw T’Vala meditating a couple of years ago,” he lowers his voice, “and spent an afternoon asking her questions until I think even Vulcan patience had its limits.”
T’Vala lights the incense and a thin trail of fragrant smoke rises, wreathing their corner of the yard in a scent Paul associates with their favorite Vulcan restaurant near the Academy in San Francisco. Nella holds out her hands, and he’s surprised to see T’Vala take them without hesitation, small fingers crossing her palms as they both close their eyes. He must make a noise, because T’Vala’s head turns his direction.
”Vulcan children are taught to meditate in this fashion,” she explains, “before they are able to fully discipline their thoughts. Antonella is highly intelligent with the necessary curiosity to learn. She is most logical, in fact, and requires only a modest amount of guidance.”
Nella grins.
”Although,” T’Vala adds with the faintest touch of something that might be indulgent amusement, “she, as all humans, does have a tendency towards outward displays of emotion.”
Chapter 567: Specchio
Notes:
Set during “Saints of Imperfection”.
Title translates to “mirror” or “reflection” in Italian.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh hasn’t bothered to think of what he must look like after an eternity fleeing for his tattered existence in the mycelial network, too busy running (always running), ever-vigilant for the hiss that signals the onset of burning agony.
When he first sees Paul - the real Paul, his Paul - he’s afraid to look too closely and terrified to look away, convinced he’s yet another apparition of his damaged psyche.
And when fingers meet warm flesh, when Paul’s hand is solid and real and his arms are cradling Hugh and he can smell his sweat and feel his breath, Hugh meets his (beloved, blue and stormy gray and fierce) eyes.
He sees his own reflection in a sheen of tears not yet fallen, the animal-shy wildness of his own face, his ragged beard and filthy skin.
Then Paul blinks.
He sees hope and desperation, disbelief and wonder and joy, and a shining softness that-
Oh.
How could he have forgotten this?
None of his fevered imaginings, the longings of his heart, could reproduce this.
He sees love.
Notes:
I’m never going to get tired of revisiting this reunion.
As requested, I’m also working to compile all of the “Shapeshift” chapters into a standalone story so that they’re easier to find in one place.
Chapter 568: Suction
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Babe?”
”…mmm.”
Paul is a welcome warmth blanketing his right side, and Hugh lazily slips his left foot out from under the covers for thermal regulation.
”What are you doing?”
There’s a brief sucking sound as Paul’s mouth pulls away from the place where Hugh’s neck and shoulder meet. His hair tickles Hugh’s nose when he lifts his head enough to make eye contact.
”Giving you a hickey.”
It’s said in the same tone as Commander Stamets might recite the laws of physics to a cadet. Hugh summons Dr. Culber’s best I’m-too-professional-to-respond-honestly look that he uses on recalcitrant patients.
“Clearly.”
When he doesn’t follow with anything else, Paul shrugs and dives back in. Abandoning the pretense, Hugh chuckles.
”Why?”
This time, Paul makes sure to thoroughly lick the area before raising his mouth to the level of Hugh’s ear.
”Do I need a reason?”
Hugh catches the wrist of the hand moving with purpose down his torso before Paul can poke his navel.
“No.”
”Okay.”
Rubbing his thumb over the thick hair on Paul’s forearm, he smirks.
“Are you horny? Or just a teething kitten.”
That earns him a nip to the earlobe.
”Nope.”
Beneath his hand, Paul’s turns over and their palms glide together.
”Well,” Hugh pulls another pillow behind his shoulders, making it easier for Paul to reach his neck without straining his own, “in that case…”
”Hmm?”
He uses the hand not currently occupied to gently direct Paul’s face closer, and they both smile into the kiss.
“Carry on.”
Notes:
Not me ignoring the actual 50+ partial chapters in drafts to write what just popped into my head…
Definitely in a soft, playful domesticity phase. Oops?
Chapter 569: (Un)Shorn
Notes:
Set early in Season Three. A very tiny bit of remembered angst, but mostly Culmets at their understated best.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“You’ve let it grow.”
Hugh’s roused from his content half-doze at the sound of Paul’s quiet comment. Head pillowed on his partner’s thigh, he opens his eyes to find himself being watched.
“Hmm?”
The hand cradling his cheek shifts, thumb giving a last feathery caress before rising. Fingers smooth his hair back, over and over.
Ahh.
“Well,” he leans into the petting, “I thought I’d try something a little different. After.”
Paul’s lips quirk in acknowledgement, the understanding unspoken between them.
After dying.
After being brought back.
After their separation.
“Did you-“ Paul pauses, swallows. “You wanted to look different.”
Hugh shifts, rolling further onto his side, pajama top rustling against the couch cushion beneath him. He tucks his right hand under Paul’s thigh.
“I think…I needed to look in the mirror and recognize myself again.”
Saying it out loud doesn’t quite capture the feelings, but Paul nods, solemn.
”Something new.”
”Something like that.”
His hand pauses, and Hugh realizes the tiny motions he’s feeling are Paul twisting the curls around his fingertips. It occurs to him then just how different it must be for him too.
”Gives you something to really pull, finally.”
That earns him a smile, bringing them both back to less emotionally fraught ground.
“True.”
They lapse into silence, Hugh’s left hand slipping under Paul’s shirt and tracing idle circles over his stomach. He’s known how much he missed these in-between moments, the hours spent over years together, but the renewed reality is even sweeter.
”I’m glad you kept the beard.”
He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, opening them again slowly.
”Yeah?”
”It’s definitely you.”
”Mmm.”
Paul’s watching him again. It’s not like he had when Hugh first came back, eyes clouded by memories and brittle false calm. This is Paul seeing him as he is, who he is, not just the memory of the man he used to be.
Much as he’s loathe to move from the comfort of where he is, he does. Sitting up, he silences the wordless protest it elicits by settling fully on Paul’s lap instead. Paul rearranges his arms, circling his waist, and Hugh rests his head on his shoulder.
”Yeah?”
”Yes.”
”Okay.”
Notes:
Something that might make it into “When Sorrow Turns to Joy.”
Chapter 570: Spinach, Part Two (Conclusion)
Notes:
Follows on immediately from Chapter 491 (“Spinach, Part One”).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Go on,” Hugh smiles, sitting back in his chair and folding his napkin on the table, the picture of attentiveness.
Paul heaves a sigh and rolls his eyes, spearing a carrot off his plate with slightly more force than necessary.
”Fine.”
“Thank you.”
Reno’s reply is in the same monotone one might be might use to fend off a particularly annoying merchant, and Keyla gives a patently fake cough into her own napkin.
“Let me guess,” Reno continues, “holding hands in the turbolift, making kissy faces during briefings, all that?”
Frowning, Keyla shakes her head.
”Actually, no one even knew they were together. Before, I mean, when we first launched.”
Oddly enough, Reno pauses as if she wasn’t expecting that. Despite his show of annoyance, they catch a gleam of surprise in Paul’s eyes at her reaction before Reno sets down the spoon.
”…really.”
“Yeah. I mean…I found out because Rhys told me, but Tilly totally thought they hated each other because they were being so-“ she shrugs, side-eyeing them sitting so close that Adira isn’t sure if Hugh’s even fully on his own chair, “not this.”
”We were trying to be professional.”
”So what chang- huh.”
Reno shuts her mouth mid-sentence in response to Hugh, expression softening in a way that Adira remembers from when they asked for her commbadge to beam down to the dilithium planet, to save him and the others.
“To be fair,” Hugh adds with what has to be deliberate lightness, “the Captain was a sociopathic revolutionary imposter. Can’t say that really left much space to be comfortable around here.”
Between one bite of salad and the next, they catch the faintest hint of…something passing over Paul’s face, eyes gone distant and jaw clenching at the same time Hugh shifts in his seat and casually drops his right hand below the table to land on Paul’s thigh.
Reno hums thoughtfully.
“After we got here, the future,” Keyla offers a touch too cheerfully when the silence teeters on the edge of becoming awkward, “it was…nice.”
The subtext of everyone tactfully avoiding mention of the separation Adira had to dig details out of Tilly is blatant, but they’re not going to bring that part up. Ever.
(They honestly can’t imagine the two of them being at odds with each other, not more than a disagreement here and there. They’re a solid fact, the package deal Paul had referred to at Georgiou’s wake. Remembering the loss of Gray had been horribly painful, but they still had him with them, as part of Tal even if he’d never manifested separately. Paul didn’t have that, and Adira can’t reconcile the image Tilly painted of a man hollowed out by grief, twice over after Hugh’s re-embodiment.)
Retrieving the spoon, Reno twirls it between her fingers.
Adira blinks.
”Uhhh.”
Scooping up another heaping spoonful of pudding, Reno turns her chair, propping the elbow of the arm holding the bowl on the table.
“Back to your question. I’m sure you’ve noticed that Stamets isn’t always great with the self-preservation. I swear you all need me around to make sure you don’t get yourselves killed.”
Any lingering tension vanishes when Paul uses the back of his hand to push his own plate and glass to the side, planting his elbows on the table.
“Leaving aside the part where we were just fine before your asteroid nearly crashed into Discovery-”
“Who else would have provided such excellent moral support while you wrestled with the existential issue of admitting that you snuck out of the medbay?”
“…that’s not exactly what happened.”
Reno sets down her spoon, fixing Paul with a flat look as he raises a protesting hand again.
“Who’s telling this story?”
Hugh chuckles, taking Paul’s hand and lowering it to the table before letting go again.
”I’d love to hear your version.”
“Kid?”
Adira’s usually quick to remind people that they’re not a child, but since Reno still calls Tilly that too, they’re strangely unbothered by it coming from her.
”Umm.”
”Leaving out all of the non-classified stuff,” Reno continues, “nine hundred years ago. Homicidal AI, torpedoed Discovery while we were literally running down the hall assembling a time traveling suit. Things exploded, and loverboy ended up with part of the ship sticking out of his chest. The doc fished it out and stitched him back together.”
”I knew that.”
Piecing together that part of the story wasn't difficult from things people had said, albeit with less colorful descriptions.
“We get yanked into the future - which, for the record, is about as comfortable as swimming through a clogged drain - and crash onto an ice planet. Detmer managed to keep us from turning into a scorch mark, but the power’s out. We’re in Engineering tracing the EPS manifold failure with pieces of said homicidal AI that someone left all over the mushroom cube, and Stamets is dragging himself around-“
”I wasn’t dragging myself.”
”All right. Moving with a great deal of slowness and making all sorts of noises like you had surgical sutures holding your insides together after the doc kissed it and made everything better.”
Reno pauses, and Paul makes an ‘I give up’ gesture. Hugh’s smiling again and Keyla grins when he winks at her.
”We’re about oh, five minutes from being turned into scrap metal by some parasitic ice. Stamets decides to ignore my sage advice and goes up into the Jefferies Tube, because he thought the limits of mortal bodies didn't apply to him. The doc showed up, threatened to drag his ass back out.”
“Someone had to go up there,” Paul interjects, “you wouldn’t.”
”Could’ve called Nilsson.”
He huffs.
”Long story short, we saved the ship. Doc did have to climb up there and haul him down again though. After they finished making out.”
They're pretty sure Hugh just squeezed Paul's leg under the table, which, yuck. Despite the occasional mutual awkwardness, Paul’s never been standoffish in terms of offering shoulder bumps and hugs and kisses on the forehead that Adira will absolutely, 100% deny being awake for. That being said, seeing him and Hugh be cuddly is just…weird sometimes.
”Okay, I did not need to know that part.”
Hugh chuckles.
“He did save the ship, Jett.”
Turning his head, he smacks a kiss onto Paul’s cheek. Adira realizes that they never hear Reno’s first name except from Hugh, and files away that thought to examine later.
”Thank you,” Paul side-eyes Reno while addressing Hugh.
“You’re welcome,” she deadpans, seemingly unfazed when he makes a noise of annoyance, “Bobcat.”
Notes:
With apologies for letting this sequel sit unfinished for nine months! The rhythm isn’t as even as the first part, but I figured it needed to see the light of day instead of sitting in Drafts any longer.
Chapter 571: Semi(-arid)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The botanical gardens on Mars are vast, beyond the scale of any Paul's been to on Earth. They house flora from all the worlds of the Federation in a riotous mix of colors, shapes, and textures. Past the barely-visible transparisteel of the pressure dome, sunlight filters through the dust in the atmosphere, casting a ruddy glow on everything.
He’d had to promise Justin a case of Aldebaran brandy to babysit the experiments Paul left running back on Deneva. Taking a trip here for Nella's birthday had been at the top of her wishlist, and while he would normally never abandon a project, Hugh’s arms around him at night and Nella’s brilliant smile when they arrived on Aida’s doorstep are definitely worth it.
They pass through the desert and glacial habitats, and he can feel the humidity as soon as the airlock between the domes opens into the rainforest. Turquoise vines mix with magenta and emerald green foliage, roots trailing from branches and stones covered with moss. Nella breaks into an excited skip for several meters before turning back and holding out her hand.
“Come on, Tío.”
”I don’t think she means me,” Hugh chuckles, taking Paul’s jacket, “go on, I’ll catch up.”
Hugh kisses his cheek before swatting his backside when Nella looks away, attention caught by something deeper in the forest. She turns back again, bouncing on her toes and gesturing impatiently. Smiling, he takes her hand and follows.
Nella’s talking rapidly, pausing only to drink her lemonade when Paul pulls up something new on his tricorder screen (Hugh might sneak a holo or two of her smiling widely at something Tío Paul says with the straw still between her teeth). She’d clambered up onto his lap as soon as they joined Hugh in the cafe perched on the edge of an artificial waterfall, her own scanner in hand to compare readings. He waves them off again as soon as the drinks are finished, content to sit in the artificial shade and catch up on his medical journals while they disappear back into the forest.
He catches up with them an hour later in a semi-arid habitat, Paul sitting cross-legged on the path in front of a stand of small scrubby trees, rust-colored dirt on his knees. Nella has her scanner out, and he’s pointing at something on the underside of a boulder. Hugh’s not really following whatever they’re discussing, distracted by their identical expressions of focus as they lean over the screens.
If asked later, he might admit to helping Paul dust himself off a little more thoroughly than necessary once they’re done literally crawling beneath a log to examine some sort of fungus.
"She reminded me of you."
"Hmm?"
They’re tucked in Hugh’s bed at Aida’s house, replete with dinner and conversation. Nella had nodded off during dessert, her boundless energy from their trip finally winding down, and they’d retired themselves not long after. Paul‘s freshly showered, damp hair beneath Hugh’s cheek as they cuddle, and he’s enjoying how the small bed necessitates his love having to sprawl half on top of him.
"At the Met," Paul murmurs into Hugh's shoulder, "when you held out your hand."
”Our third date?”
The memory brings a smile to his lips, of the way Paul took his hand and listened as Hugh pulled him from painting to painting.
"You had the same look of...excitement isn't the right word. Happiness? Something. I knew you wanted to show me something you cared about, not just to show it off, but so I could share the experience with you."
The words knot themselves warmly in his chest, and he kisses Paul’s forehead softly.
”That’s when I knew.”
”Hmmm?”
”Well, that night. After you feel asleep on my couch.”
Paul’s hand pauses in tracing circles on his stomach.
”Not my fault, you fed me asopao after we walked six miles in that museum, and you made a really nice pillow.”
Laughing quietly, Hugh lifts that hand, twining their fingers together.
”That’s when I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Notes:
Sorry for the delay in posting a new story! I’ve been getting ready for my trip to see Anthony’s show, and decided I should probably clean the house too 😬
Chapter 572: Slide
Summary:
Paul and Hugh, a bathtub, and foreplay gone a little awry.
Notes:
Post-Season Four.
Toe-sucking happens here (please skip if that’s on your Nope list!).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh has wonderfully defined calf muscles, leading down to deceptively slender ankles. His feet have an elegant arch, one which Paul is intimately familiar with, particularly when Hugh’s toes are flexing against his cheek while he lavishes kisses on said part of his left foot. The warm, humid air wreathes them in its embrace, the only sounds of skin meeting skin and Hugh’s quiet noises of enjoyment.
”…hmmmnnnnnn.”
Glancing up, past a prominent knee and down the length of a relaxed thigh, he lets his eyes rest on Hugh’s stomach and watches the muscles there tense minutely every time he licks his instep.
”Mmm?”
The only response is fingers caressing the inside of his own ankle. Both hands are occupied keeping Hugh’s foot in place, so he uses his toes to gently stroke Hugh’s hip.
Speaking of…
It’s been so long since his partner - and everyone else, really - managed to actually relax, the frown lines that the DMA permanently etched into his forehead nearly invisible now. Hugh definitely deserves a treat, and Paul has zero problems indulging in something guaranteed to make him happy, particularly when the bath means everything is freshly washed. He smiles, unseen, at the tiny droplets of moisture glistening on Hugh’s eyelashes, and wonders what the reaction will be.
Without further ado, he moves his mouth away from the arch and closes his lips around Hugh’s big toe at the same time as he shifts his grip tighter, because being kicked in the face by the love of his life isn’t going to make their evening better.
”Swe- ahh!”
The question doesn’t have time to form before it melts into a long sigh of enjoyment. Hugh’s eyes open wide as Paul delicately swirls his tongue around the toe, surprise swiftly changing to something more playful.
”You- mmmmmm, what did I do to earn this?”
He lets the toe slide from his mouth with an exaggerated pop.
”You’re you.”
Hugh opens his mouth to reply, but all that comes out is a gasp as Paul picks a different toe and starts sucking. Really, he ought to do this more often. Maybe not as much as sucking other parts, but the programmable matter tub makes it so much easier. He idly tongues the space between Hugh’s middle and first toes, chuckling as Hugh’s fingers dig into his ankle.
“Ohhh. I- sweetheart, you…” Hugh breaks off to shiver in obvious delight when Paul switches feet.
”Hmmm?”
Water runs down his chin, and he takes his time licking up stray droplets on the sole.
“You’re so good to me.”
He bites the ball of Hugh’s foot, just enough to almost get kicked, and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth.
”I could be even better.”
”Oh?”
Winking, he pulls his feet back, getting to his knees. The water sloshes against the sides of the tub as he runs both hands up the insides of Hugh’s legs, bending forward with obvious intent.
“May I?”
For his part, Hugh responds with a grin of his own, resting his forearms on either side of the sunken tub.
”By all means.”
He deliberately overshoots and kisses Hugh’s stomach, laughing as one hand lands on his head and gives it a not-so-subtle push in the right direction.
”Impatient.”
”The most gorgeous man is in the tub with me, naked, about to go down. Wouldn't you be?”
Paul shoulders Hugh’s thighs open wider, hands teasing closer.
”When you put it that way…hang on.”
”Wha-“
In hindsight, he really ought to have considered giving Hugh longer than a half second to process and respond. Three things happen in short order:
Paul hauls Hugh closer by the thighs…
…and the water buoying them up makes it all too easy for him to slide forward…
…and Hugh makes a belated grab with the hand previously in Paul’s hair, the yelp as the back of his head bounces off the edge of the tub cutting off as he goes underwater.
Fuck.
Paul ends up with a heel to the ribs as they flail, but he’s too busy apologizing while Hugh coughs and sputters, and the towel smacks him in the face when Hugh grabs it off the side, and they both end up laughing helplessly. When it finally subsides into the occasional giggle, he focuses on Hugh‘s face again and nearly bites through his lip.
Hugh’s smile is so wide it looks like it probably hurts, water still dripping from his beard. His cheeks are slightly flushed from the laughter, chest heaving, and he’s looking at Paul with a soft expression at odds with the rueful mirth filling the air between them.
”Only us,” he murmurs, hand seeking out Paul’s on the cool tiles, “right?”
This time, Paul’s careful to only move himself as he leans forward for a kiss.
”Yeah.”
Notes:
I’ve been literally walking myself off my feet around NYC these last few days - eight miles yesterday! For some reason, writing sexytimes feels a little…odd, in closer relative proximity to the men that bring our SpaceDads to life.
Going to see Without You tomorrow night. I’m super excited, and a bit disappointed I can’t be here next Thursday for Wilson to join Anthony :(. That would have been utterly perfect.
Chapter 573: Stitches
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Swish.
“Hugh,” Paul’s excitement greets him, “come see this!”
Blinking, he glances around their quarters, but can’t see his partner anywhere as he bends down to unzip his boots.
”Babe?”
”Here.”
Following his voice, Hugh realizes he’s been looking a meter too high. Paul’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, something colorful spread out in front of him. He’s barefoot in pajama pants and wearing Hugh’s faded Starfleet Medical tshirt, hair coming ungelled and falling in wisps over his forehead.
How many years did you dream about coming home to him - your home together - just like this?
Hugh kicks off his boots, shedding his jacket over the back of a chair. It’s telling that Paul’s in a good enough mood that he doesn’t even bother to give him the usual ‘you know where the laundry pile is’ look. Instead, he gestures and pats the deck beside him, tipping his chin up for a quick kiss hello.
”What-“
Hugh winces as his knee pops while joining him on the floor, thumbing the button open on the waistband of his pants.
“Adira made this.”
The parental pride in his tone makes Hugh smile, even as he pauses to take in the large square of needlework in front of them.
”I- wow. It’s…amazing.”
He recognizes the candid holo it’s based on, one of him and Paul smiling at each other, taken during their first shore leave with Adira over a year ago. Reaching out, he runs his fingertips over the surface, marveling at the construction. They’ve transformed it into two dimensions, yet the tiny stitches capture lifelike depth, illustrate the shadows falling on Paul’s cheek and the laugh-lines beside his own eye.
”Took them months to make,” Paul smooths his own hand over the textile, “I knew they could sew, but this is…something else.”
”They made it for us?”
”Mmhmm. I almost couldn’t wait to show you.”
Humming thoughtfully, Hugh rests his head on Paul’s shoulder. He’s warm beneath Hugh’s cheek as he breathes in traces of clean sweat and Paul, admiring Adira’s work with contentment.
“It’s perfect.”
Notes:
Anthony was even more genuine and warm than I could have hoped. There were surprisingly no other VIP ticket holders last night, so it was just him and me. We sat together on the edge of the stage for maybe ten minutes, talking Trek and a few other things. He couldn’t say what’s happening with Paul and Hugh in Season Five (I had to ask if they get their happy ending even though I knew he wouldn’t be allowed to answer), but promised it’s definitely not as bad as Season One 🙃. Also confirmed that they were not expecting Paramount’s decision to end Discovery.
I can’t get over how powerfully emotional his voice is, the goosebumps and laughter and tears it evoked. So glad the run was extended so I could make this trip to see the show. (And I did have him sign a piece of needlework that’s taken two years to make. He took a picture to send to Wilson, and I’m just…dead.)
Can confirm that he gives great hugs 😊
Chapter 574: Seven
Chapter Text
“Come on,” he mutters to himself, shaking the tricorder even though he knows full well that it won’t change the results, “dammit. Why aren’t you growing?”
The slightly drooping fungus doesn’t respond.
”Lieutenant?”
This day is just getting worse.
Sighing, he pinches the bridge of his nose, not bothering to brush the dirt off.
”Why would you be fine yesterday, and not today? The growth curve…”
”Sir?”
Paul closes his eyes and thumps the tricorder against the soil mound.
”How am I supposed to tell Captain Assho-“
”Lieutenant Stamets!”
He starts, both at the proximity of Tilly’s voice and the volume as it spirals higher.
“Yes?!”
It comes out far harsher than it ought to, and her boots shuffle backwards.
“Umm…err, sir..I…”
Shit.
Reminding himself that it’s not her fault that this patch of Stella isn’t growing at even a quarter of average, he grits his teeth and inhales sharply before looking up and deliberately taking the edge out of his tone.
“Sorry. What is it?”
She chews her lip, fingers twisting together.
”Err. Sorry for interrupting you, sir, it’s just- well. You’re needed in umm, Jefferies Tube Fifteen-C, section seven.”
Huh?
“Now?”
”Well, actually maybe three minutes ago? I- well, I didn’t know if you could hear me, so I…yes. Fifteen-C.”
He stands and dusts the knees of his uniform off, rolls his sleeves back down.
“All right.”
She nods and scampers off, and he grimaces at her retreating back. It’s not Tilly - for all of her enthusiasm and awkwardness and lack of a filter, she’s the absolute opposite of a disappointment - but the interruption itself when he’s already behind schedule.
What’s it about anyway?
The faster you find out what they want, the faster you can get back here.
And maybe you’ll get home before 2300, and Hugh will still be awake.
The still-very-much-present thrill of coming home to his partner is tempered by the fact that he’s not completely oblivious to how his irritability and single-minded focus is testing the limits of even Hugh’s patience. Hugh deserves to have him fully present, or at least not so consumed by the thrice-damned war and Lorca’s relentless pushing. After all, it’s Hugh’s first formal CMO posting that isn’t an emergency measure, and he ought to be more supportive and take care of him in return.
Fucking war.
His boots have carried him to the Jefferies Tube access point on Deck 15, and he palms open the hatch before ducking inside. He gives his eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer lighting, then starts the crawl from B to C, counting sections as he goes.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Paul frowns. He’s in 15-C-7, but there’s no apparent issue to resolve. The secondary energy matrix manifold runs parallel between Deck 14 and 15, but the lights indicate everything in working order when he pops the panel off.
What am I here for?
Annoyance returns full force. Flipping open the communicator from his belt, he suppresses a groan.
”Stamets to Tilly.”
”Lieutenant?”
”I’m in Fifteen-C-Seven, Cadet.”
A pause.
”…that’s good?”
”What,” he lets a little of the impatience seep out, “exactly am I doing here?”
”Umm,” Tilly clears her throat, “I was told-“
”Yes,” he interrupts her, reminding himself that by-the-rules Cadet Tilly probably hadn’t thought to question whomever asked her to pass the message along, “by whom?”
There’s a slight echo, as if someone else is approaching.
“Sorrysiritwasthedoctorandhesaidnottotellyou…”
Two café au lait this morning really aren’t enough to help him parse that.
”Who?”
A thump, then a pair of white boots drop down from the junction above, followed by white-clad legs and a very familiar backside. Long fingers pluck the communicator from his hand.
”Thanks, Cadet. I’ll handle it from here.”
Hugh snaps the communicator shut, sets it on the grating, and regards Paul on his hands and knees, now-empty hand still upraised.
“Hi?”
”Mmm.”
He finds himself being guided backwards with a firm touch on his shoulder, until he’s sitting on his heels with the top of his head just brushing the paneling above him. Then Hugh crowds in, not beside but directly against him, bearing them both down until Paul’s flat on his back with Hugh straddling his thighs, cradling Paul’s head to cushion it from the metal grating. Prowling forward the last foot, he lowers himself until their chests are pressed together.
Paul opens his mouth, but is silenced with a firm kiss. Exhausted and confused and frustrated, his body still knows exactly how to react, relaxing into Hugh’s touch before his mind even catches up. Hugh sighs into the kiss, nibbles his lower lip, then pulls back until they’re nose-to-nose.
”Hello.”
“What…?”
“You’re working too hard.”
”I-“
”And,” Hugh cuts him off, voice even, “I missed you this morning.”
Ahh.
“I’m sorry.”
He is, sincerely. It’s not the first time he’s fallen asleep in his private lab, but Hugh pulled a double shift last night and Paul should have woken up beside him in their bed. Instead, he’d come to with a PADD digging an indent into his cheek and stone-cold coffee seeping into his uniform sleeve. He’d sent an apology, had meant to take fifteen minutes at lunch to see him, but time had gotten away as it had far too often of late.
”I know.”
Hugh shifts, rolling them onto their sides. It’s far from the most comfortable place to be embracing, but Hugh’s arms around him make the unforgiving metal fade into a minor annoyance.
Still.
”What…”
”I missed you,” he murmurs, pillowing Paul’s head on a solid bicep and kissing his cheek, “I needed you, but I knew you wouldn’t come home early.”
Guilt knots itself in his stomach, sharp and heavy.
”I’m sorry.”
Hugh’s lips are soft and damp, kisses light and undemanding.
”I know. Just…” he closes his eyes, resting their foreheads together, “can you give me a few minutes where it’s just us?”
Shame heats his cheeks, prickling worse at the complete lack of reproach in Hugh’s voice. He strokes Hugh’s jaw with the backs of his fingers, squirming closer. They’re in a dead-end junction that won’t have maintenance this time of night, and he ruthlessly shunts aside the worry of being discovered.
Lorca and his damned war can go to hell.
“I can do better.”
”Sweetheart?”
They’re so careful to be proper while in uniform, and the quiet endearment feels all the more precious for it. He reaches past Hugh’s hip, retrieving the communicator.
”Stamets to Tilly.”
”Sir?”
”Your shift ended three hours ago.”
”Sir…”
”Get Harrington to run the growth curves again on Section Five, then go get some sleep.”
”Really? I mean- yes, umm…”
Hugh’s hand delves beneath his jacket, working his undershirt up to rest on his lower back.
”I’ll see you in the morning, Cadet. Stamets out.”
He zips the comm into the pocket at his thigh, and meets Hugh’s gaze. As ever, his partner’s eyes are warm and he falls into them.
”Paul?”
Pulling Hugh closer, he buries his face against his collar for a long breath.
”Let’s go home,” he says quietly, “I’m tired.”
“You sure? I know you’re busy.”
Hugh’s possessive hold belies the implied out. He raises his head again, nuzzling Hugh’s cheek.
”Yes.”
Notes:
Posted from 37,000 feet somewhere crossing into Pacific time on my flight back home from NYC. I’m exhausted from transportation delays, and a little sad to be leaving, but so very grateful I had this experience.
Chapter 575: Seductive
Summary:
An early conversation.
Notes:
Just a few months into their relationship.
Implied sexy thoughts. Very sexy thoughts ;), followed by serious conversation.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“I love your hands.”
It’s a simple enough statement, and Hugh hopes he isn’t being too forward. On the screen of his PADD, Paul’s lips twitch upwards before he looks down, lashes fluttering.
“Yeah?”
Hugh can hear how pleased he is in a single syllable, and it fills him with warmth.
”Mmhmm,” he nods, leaning closer as if that would somehow shorten the light years between them.
”Why’s that?”
Paul’s looking back at the screen again, eyes wide and cheeks the tiniest bit pink.
”Because…” Hugh has to look away himself for a moment, “when you held my hand. When you let me hold your hand, on our first date. It felt…right.”
”Yeah?”
In theory, long-distance relationships could work, but in Hugh’s experience, reality seldom lived up to expectations. Too many opportunities for disconnection, for drifting apart, for hiding things, or - as his last had - ending with infidelity. And yet, in the months he’s been talking to Paul since their first meeting on Alpha Centauri, the fluttery excitement in his chest has never been tempered by suspicion that Paul Stamets is anything but sincere and open.
It’s a heady feeling, heightened by their second actual date just a few days ago, one that didn’t involve a subspace link. He remembers the sense of being lighter than air after the first, after dinner and good conversation when he unthinkingly reached out and touched Paul’s arm across the table. After Paul turned his hand over and let their palms rest together. After he kissed Paul for the first time, felt his stubble catch on his own beard, tasted chocolate on his lips.
“…Hugh?”
Paul’s frowning a little, and he rushes to erase that crease between his brows.
”Sorry.”
”You were a hundred light years away. Do you…” Paul swallows, “do you need to go?”
“No! No,” he shakes his head, “I just. I was thinking about kissing you.”
“I…really liked that.”
He loves the way Paul’s nose scrunches up when he’s smiling happily, but even better is the way his voice drops and he bites his lip when they start talking about things like this.
Imagine what he sounds like in bed.
“It was amazing. I wish you were here with me.”
”Me too. We-“ Paul glances at him from beneath his lashes, “we could be kissing.”
Their second date had involved a walk in the park at the heart of the Academy grounds, followed by sitting together on a bench hidden away behind an ancient oak tree and making out for an hour.
“The things I could do to you,” he murmurs, “oh sweetheart, I’d love to do so much more than kiss you right now.”
”Tell me?”
They haven’t so much as seen each other naked yet, and the anticipation is both exciting and incredibly frustrating. Hugh’s more than willing to take things as slowly as the distance between them (and Paul’s comfort) requires, but he’s also glad it doesn’t mean they can’t share intimacy in other ways.
“I’d kiss your wrists, try and feel your pulse with my lips.”
”Is that proper medical technique, Doctor Culber?”
He loves the sound of his title rolling off Paul’s tongue.
That’s not the only thing you’d like to have on his tongue.
“Nothing I’m thinking right now is terribly…proper.”
“Mmm. I- I think I’d like that.”
”Even though you don’t know what I’m thinking?”
“You’ll have to tell me, then.”
“I want to suck on your fingers. One at a time. I…” Hugh gives Paul his most sultry look, “like having things in my mouth.”
Paul shifts. He’s lying on his stomach on his bed, and Hugh very much hopes it’s because his pants are starting to feel a little tight too. His lips are parted, and Hugh can’t help but imagine kissing them red and swollen.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It really gets me off.”
“Hugh…”
“I’m- was that too much?”
Past conversations have been incredibly suggestive, and he’s hoping he’s not taking things too far. Paul’s immediate head shake of denial is a relief, although he can sense a little bit of uncertainty.
”No. Oh, no, I just…I’m…I want you. I’m just…I hope you know that? I want to see you again soon.”
Paul’s voice trails upwards, as if there could be any question about Hugh’s desire. It’s there even when they’re discussing music and philosophy, fanned higher sometimes when Paul goes on a scientific tear about his latest discovery or a recent paper he read. He also knows full well they won’t have leave that intersects again for at least a month and a half.
“Me too. Do you-“ he tries to edge back onto less heated ground, “we could take a trip to New York. Visit the Met.”
”The Met?”
”The Metropolitan Museum of Art. My abuelo would take me there when I was a kid. I think you’d like it.”
“I’d like that. Isn’t it the biggest museum on Earth?”
“I’d have to check, but yeah, there’s a lot to see. I’ll make you dinner, too, if you’d like?”
Paul smiles, chuckling.
“Given what you’ve said about your cooking, I might fall asleep after eating good food and walking that much.”
“I wouldn’t mind you sleeping over.”
It’s out of his mouth before he considers the implications and expectations.
”I…”
Their conversations have skirted closer and closer to actually talking about sex, although they haven’t quite crossed the line explicitly. One day, soon, he hopes he can ask to touch himself while Paul’s talking. Until then…he would be devastated if his own ardor makes Paul uncomfortable.
”I’m sorry. Don’t let me push you.”
“You’re not! You’re not, Hugh. I’m just…not very good at this. Talking to someone I really like, I mean,” the color of his cheeks is rising again, “and all the other stuff.”
“You’re so much better than you think. Fuck. Paul, I…” he takes a deep breath, “I’ll be ready when you are, whatever you’d like. Together.”
“That doesn’t seem fair to you.”
“I have two perfectly good hands. And,” Hugh drops the teasing tone, “please don’t ever do anything you don’t want to do. Tell me.”
Talking around it is more intimate than explicit erotica with past lovers, but Paul Stamets is very much not like anyone else.
”I- okay. I will. I…thank you. For being patient.”
“Always. I want you to be happy, as much as I am.”
Paul nods earnestly. They don’t say anything else for what feels like a couple of minutes, just looking at each other across subspace. It’s a far from uncomfortable silence.
”Will you-“ Paul licks his lips, “would you tell me more?”
“More?”
“About what you, we…could do.”
He grins.
“Where should I start?”
Notes:
Headcanon: Hugh is clearly respectful of Paul’s boundaries, and vice versa. He’s also more comfortable with himself, despite previous heartbreak, and at this point in their relationship, doesn’t yet know for certain just how much he and Paul are going to be absolutely compatible (although he very much hopes so).
Also? I was at the Met on Friday and walked literal miles, but only saw a fraction of it.
Chapter 576: Stilettos
Notes:
Another one that’s been lurking in my drafts for months (October 2022).
Chapter Text
“Heading somewhere?”
Rounding the ornamental pool with care for the uneven pavement, Keyla comes up short as someone steps into her path. Her instinctive sidestep doesn't have solid ground to land on, and she teeters precariously on the edge for two full panicked seconds before a hand lands on her bicep and deftly maneuvers her away from the water.
"...thanks."
Seemingly satisfied that she's no longer in danger of falling, Reno plants that hand on her hip.
"Well?"
Keyla blinks, mentally replaying the last minute.
”Sor- oh. That way," she gestures over Reno's shoulder towards the bar, eyes narrowing at what she sees, "so if you-"
Reno eyes the mostly-full cocktail glass still clutched in her right hand, and raises her eyebrows.
"You need a refill already?"
"No."
"So, you plan on causing a diplomatic incident?"
"What?"
"Mmm. Interesting."
She doesn't appear to be interested in moving out of Keyla's way, oddly enough.
“That guy talking to Doctor C is looking at him…” she offers at last, trailing off and unsure how to describe it.
”Most species with eyes seem to do that when they’re talking to someone.”
Reno’s voice is deadpan as ever, although there’s a slight upwards lilt at the end of the sentence.
“I…”
The man beside Dr. Culber squeezes his forearm and leans forward to say something. They’re all in civilian attire (Keyla blames the seldom-worn high heels for her balance issues), and the doctor is wearing his dress shirt unbuttoned, providing more than a glimpse of his torso. As she watches, the creep stares down the front of it, then blatantly adjusts himself before running the same hand over Dr. Culber’s bicep.
Beside her, Reno’s expression hasn’t changed. She shrugs and picks up a bowl of nuts from a nearby table.
“See? It’s so…” Keyla searches for the right word, frowning, “disrespectful!”
“Mmm.”
”So,” she narrows her eyes, “I’m going to…”
”To what?”
”I don’t- do something.”
A hand catches her elbow before she can move off.
”Detmer,” Reno sets down the bowl, “does the doc look like he needs rescuing?”
”I-“ Keyla looks back, then frowns, “…oh.”
Dr. Culber is laughing, in a way that suggests he’s either completely oblivious to being propositioned, or completely fine with it.
”But…”
”Does Stamets look bothered?” Reno continues, “and I mean, the Mushroom Lord’s resting bothered face is epic-“
She glances over at Stamets, leaning against a pillar and holding his own drink, and realizes that he seems supremely unperturbed. In fact, as she watches, Dr. Culber tosses back the last of his glass in a motion that seems overly ostentatious. The creep with him stares at his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, and therefore misses Dr. Culber catching his partner’s eye and winking broadly. Stamets raises his eyebrows, then licks his lips in such a lascivious way that Keyla feels vaguely like she’s interrupting an intimate moment in the middle of a reception boasting hundreds of people.
”…no?”
”Exactly,” Reno tosses a peanut into her mouth, “so sit back and watch the free show.”
The stranger steps into Dr. Culber’s personal space. As he does, Stamets starts to make his way towards them, pace leisurely. He stops a polite distance off to the side, and whatever he says makes Dr. Culber smile and the creep’s head whip around. A beat, then he releases Dr. Culber’s arm and recoils as if burned.
Reno cracks open a pistachio as the now-free arm wraps around Stamets’ waist.
”Wait for it.”
At this angle, Keyla can see Stamets give a patently insincere smile before turning away. Following, Dr. Culber’s hand slips down from the small of his back in a seemingly accidental manner. Stamets turns his head to say something to him, and she catches sight of his eyes. They're full of a smoldering intensity that she would never have associated with him. As Keyla - and the creep - look on, Dr. Culber gives his ass a generous and indisputable grope.
”Oh, gross,” Reno’s comment contains an undertone of delight completely at odds with her expression, “see?”
Keyla sighs.
Chapter 577: Sobrina, Part One
Chapter Text
“What the…”
Tilly wakes up inside a giant cocoon filled with goo and mycelia for the second time in two years. This time, she’s about 75% less terrified, 50% more annnoyed, and 200% more confused. She’s also wearing her pajamas.
”Not again,” she groans, kicking her legs and elbowing her way out of the tangle of biological matter.
When she crawls free and climbs to her bare feet, a cloud of chattering jaHsepp swirl towards her. She takes a step backwards as they surround her, buzzing and brushing over her skin like curious butterflies, no sign of attempting to break her apart at the molecular level.
”Thats a relief,” Tilly mutters, “okay. Umm. Hi? Can you even- of course. Is May here?”
The cloud chitters rapidly, then a single glowing spore detaches itself from the rest and reality seems to warp right in front of her. It’s not like a transporter effect, but more of a ripple of existence as a familiar figure coalesces.
”Tilly!” May smiles widely, and holds out her hand, pinky-first, “I knew you’d make it.”
Her pinky feels just as solid against Tilly’s as it did before, and she shakes her head to try and clear the cobwebby feeling from her brain.
”Why am I here?”
May wraps her wrist in a surprisingly strong grip, pulling.
”You have to come with me, Tilly.”
“Why? Why should I-“
“Trust me.”
She tugs her hand back, but May holds firm.
”Stamets is going to come get me again, you know.”
”Will he?” May seems excited, “and will he bring his…Hugh?”
Okay, she wasn’t expecting that. Like, at all.
”Why?”
“I can’t explain, just please,” May entreats her, “come with me now. They need you.”
Letting herself be led through the forest - which in itself is an awesome sight, grown tall and lush again without Hugh’s disruption - she does her best not to stumble as May breaks into a jog.
”Who are you talking about?”
May picks up speed.
”You’ll see.”
They round a corner a minute later, and abruptly skid to a stop. Finally letting go of her hand, May points.
”There.”
Squinting into the near distance, Tilly approaches warily. The amorphous shape on the ground sharpens into someone curled on their side, dark hair spilling around their head.
“Hello?”
Tilly winces as her knees hit the ground. Her tricomm buzzes with static, so she dismisses it and warily lays her hand on the person’s arm.
”Can you hear me?”
A feminine-sounding groan, then a thin wail. With a jolt, Tilly realizes the bundle clutched in the figure’s arms is an infant. She whirls, staring at May.
“You brought a baby here?”
”No! They just…I don’t know.”
The woman’s eyes are closed, and Tilly wonders how she might have arrived without a molecular transporter or Discovery’s spore drive.
”We have to take her back. She might be hurt, she needs Doctor Culber-“
Another groan, and this time the woman stirs, eyes fluttering open. She’s built slightly, skin the color of warm caramel and masses of raven curls pinned at the crown of her head.
”…I-“ a cough, “I’m-”
Tilly wakes with a jolt, sitting upright so fast her head swims and she has to close her eyes against the dizziness. Familiar non-polyester sheets are gripped in her fist, and she recognizes the interior of her own quarters.
”What…a weird dream,” she mutters.
Chapter 578: Screw
Summary:
Tracy has (unfortunately) seen it all.
Notes:
Set years before Discovery when Tracy and Hugh are Earthside at Starfleet Medical.
Contains brief, non-graphic Culmets sexytimes.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Where…” Tracy frowns, checking her kit a third time and the secondary medkit just in case her osteoregen somehow appeared inside a sealed container, “I don’t have time for this.”
Sighing, she closes her eyes and tries to think of the last time the device was definitely where it’s supposed to be.
”Last Thursday…Friday, then we- there.”
Mystery likely solved, she rapidly taps a message into her PADD before moving on to the rest of the kit.
[Pollard-Tracy-LTJG/SFMED] Hey, did I leave the other osteo at your place?
There’s no response 10 minutes later, or a read notification. Frowning, she pulls up the trauma and surgical schedules in case Hugh got called in. It wouldn’t be ideal the evening before walking a new crop of Med cadets through a practical, and it also wouldn’t be terribly surprising.
“Hmm.”
He’s not on call, but there are a dozen other reasons he might not notice a message.
”Well. So much for relaxing…”
She checks the chrono, ensuring that she has time for the trip to retrieve it, and takes the back route out of the clinic and across ‘Fleet Medical’s back lawn. It’s a relatively short walk to Hugh’s building, or it would be if she didn’t have to detour around groups of cadets out on the town after finals. Fifteen minutes later, she’s in the lift and tapping her foot impatiently as it rises to the 18th floor.
They’ve shared access to each other’s quarters for the last several years, so Tracy doesn’t think twice about entering her code when the chime goes unanswered. The doors swish open, and she steps inside, glancing around.
”Hugh? It’s me.”
The living room is in its typical cheerful disarray, stacks of PADDs balanced precariously on the coffee table and a couple of off-duty shirts thrown over the couch arm. His boots are tumbled over beside the door, his own medkit and a crate of demonstration supplies stacked on the kitchen table. She’s starting to wonder if he might be in the shower when she hears a noise from the bedroom.
”Hugh?”
An indistinct groan, low and drawn out.
Must have been asleep.
“It’s me, sorry.”
“…yes…”
”I swear we need to rearrange your furniture,” she mutters, navigating her way through the too-small gap between couch and table, “before you sprain an ankle responding to an emergency call.”
Shaking her head, Tracy rounds the corner.
”Hey, is my ost- oh hell.”
The lights are on in Hugh’s bedroom, and she’s treated to the sight of his bare ass, pants around his ankles and two particularly pale legs wrapped around his waist. Said legs are being supported with Hugh’s hands beneath each thigh, biceps straining, and are attached to a torso with an unzipped silver and blue uniform jacket. Before she turns her back, Tracy’s also certain she absolutely did not need to see the expression on Paul Stamets’ face while Hugh has him pinned to the wall.
”-fuuhhhh-owww!”
The surprised yelp turns into a thud and assorted cursing, and she surmises from the sound of rustling fabric to her left that Paul’s been dropped before diving beneath the covers on Hugh’s bed.
“Trace.”
That’s Hugh, and he sounds remarkably out of breath. Back still turned, Tracy casts her eyes at the ceiling for a moment, asking whatever deities might reside in the beyond why she had to walk in on her best friend and his partner screwing each other senseless.
Again.
“I thought he wasn’t comin- arriving until next Thursday?” she offers in a conversational tone of voice.
”Umm. What-?”
Staring out at the living room, she wonders how she failed to notice the silver-striped blue uniform pants incongruously beside a Medical white jacket.
Probably because you weren’t expecting to worry about this exact thing for another nine days.
She shakes her head and sighs, smiling wryly and taking another couple of steps away from the bedroom doorway.
”We recalibrated last week, and I think I left my osteoregen here.”
“Ahh. Oh! Hang on.”
Hugh’s moving behind her, and she holds out her right hand, still not looking, when he approaches. The device lands on her palm, and since Hugh’s standing on the side that means she won’t accidentally get an eye full of Paul, she turns her head enough to make eye contact. He’s got his pants pulled back up, unzipped but covering everything she doesn’t need to see.
”Sorry.”
There’s multiple layers to the apology, and Hugh nods, offering one of his own.
”I would’ve warned you, but…”
Since she’s seen exactly how hungrily they look at each other when reuniting in public, he doesn’t have to finish the sentence.
”Yeah. You good for tomorrow?”
”He’s only here till twenty-two hundred.”
There’s a complicated mix of frustration and resignation in the simple statement.
”See you in the morning?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll…leave you to it. Bye Paul,” she calls in a slightly louder voice.
There’s a muffled acknowledgment, and she wonders if he’s got the covers pulled over his head.
“Night Trace.”
”Goodnight.”
Tracy heads for the door, relieved when it swishes closed behind her. Before leaving, she taps a sequence into the door panel, initiating the privacy lock.
“T’Vala’s going to have a field day with this one.”
Notes:
This one started as a freeze-frame of Hugh and Paul caught by Tracy, but expanded quite a bit to set up a reason for her to stumble across them.
Also, spent almost twelve hours on my feet helping with undergraduate commencement today. Massively sore feet!
Chapter 579: Spooning
Notes:
Set during Season One while Paul’s mind is trapped in the network.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Hugh,” Tracy’s voice is quiet, “you should go home.”
He opens his eyes to find her looking down at him with understanding mixed with a hint of frustration when he shakes his head. Her hand squeezes his shoulder before giving it a gentle tug.
”Come on, you’re going to strain your neck like that.”
She’s probably right, but at the moment, spending the night in a chair beside the biobed beats being several decks away from Paul.
“I’ll be fine.”
”You-“
”Trace. I need to be here.”
His head burns with the dull of ache of being awake too long, stress and worry gnawing at his insides. She stares at him for several seconds, and Hugh’s sure she can see every ounce of it written on his face. Eventually, she sighs.
”Will you at least lie down, then?”
”I can’t-“
She forestalls his immediate protest with a raised hand.
”You’ll both fit if he’s on his side. I’ll opaque the barrier. If anyone asks, you’re monitoring his condition overnight.”
It takes longer than it should to sink in, but a wash of gratitude dulls the raw edges of his nerves.
”Thank you.”
Tracy gives him a tired smile.
”Need help turning him?”
“I’ll be okay.”
”All right. Get some sleep,” she wraps an arm around his shoulders and he leans into the hug. “I’ll have Aisha wake you up at oh-seven-hundred.”
Nodding, he watches as she takes a few steps back and raises the isolation field. It turns a milky white a few moments later, and he does his best not to be reminded of the blankness of Paul’s eyes. He stands, groaning as circulation returns to his left leg. Unzipping his jacket, he drapes it over the back of the chair, depositing his boots beneath it.
Paul’s utterly still on the biobed, chest rising and falling. For a moment, he pretends it’s nothing out of the ordinary, that his partner hasn’t injected himself with tardigrade DNA and been subjecting his mind to a process he doesn’t even fully understand to navigate the network. That he hasn’t gone catatonic after a failed jump.
Reality sets in between one heartbeat and the next though, and Hugh exhales long and slow.
“All right. Paul? It’s me.”
No response, the same as it’s been for hours.
”I can’t believe Tracy is endorsing us snuggling,” he tries to laugh, but it comes out flat. “Right? Just…”
Paul’s warm beneath his hands as he carefully rolls him onto his right side, ensuring his legs don’t fall off the biobed before easing himself on behind him. It isn’t meant to be shared, although it’s certainly rated for more than their combined weight. The surface is even smaller than the bed in his childhood room, but he’ll make it work.
He fits himself into the negative spaces left, spooning Paul’s unresponsive form and wrapping his left arm securely around his waist. His right arm protests, and he slowly works it out from between them, slipping it between Paul’s neck and shoulder until his head is cradled in the crook of his elbow.
”Computer, lights around Biobed Two to five percent.”
The lights dim obligingly, and he presses his nose to the space between Paul’s shoulderblades for several breaths. He smells like the medical disinfectant they use, but underneath is the same warm scent that means safe and home and love. Straightening, he kisses Paul’s hair and closes his eyes.
”Come back to me, sweetheart,” he whispers, “please.”
Notes:
Promise I’m working on the second part of “Sobrina”, getting a new chapter of cat!Paul ready (will be establishing a standalone story), writing Paul and Hugh’s third date at the Met, and editing chapter 100 of “When Sorrow Turns to Joy”.
Chapter 580: Syrup
Chapter Text
He's floating on the edge of not-quite-sleep, satisfied lassitude weighing his limbs down. The thought of moving seems like a hazy memory when he's feeling this relaxed, although he's just a bit hungry.
"More?"
Paul pulls his face out of the pillow, sighing at the caress of fingers over his bare shoulder.
"Mmhmm."
An amused hum.
"Roll over and open up."
Eyes still closed, he complies and directs a pout towards the other side of the bed.
"I thought that was my line."
The scent of maple and vanilla wafts beneath his nose, then a bite of fluffy sweetness is deposited in his mouth, followed by Hugh's thumb chasing crumbs off his lower lip.
"Mmm."
Peeling his eyes open while he chews, he's greeted with the sight of Hugh smearing his own nose with powdered sugar while licking it off his fingers, sheets pooling around his waist. It's simultaneously hot and adorable, and his body reminds him that he’s not as young as he used to be, rewarding him with contentment rather than arousal when Hugh leans in to nuzzle his cheek.
"Mmm?"
He raises a languid hand, tracing patterns over the expanse of Hugh’s back and smiling up at the ceiling. Their morning off started wonderfully with Hugh on his knees in the shower, moving back to bed and thoroughly disturbing the sheets. They’ve been dozing in the aftermath, lazily feeding each other from a plate of bacon and waffles between yawns and kissing sticky syrup away. All in all, it’s been a very satisfying day even before 1000.
"Yeah."
Chapter 581: Swedish (Fish)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Adira’s not really a people person, but having Gray by their side helps. Of course, that also means they feel horribly and irrationally exposed when he wanders off to talk to Guardian Xi and they’re left alone by one of the ornamental pools.
Case in point, they can feel eyes on them without having to turn around. Despite Trill leadership’s acceptance after their zhian’tara that Tal chose them, they’re well aware that not everyone on the planet is a fan, and the lack of spots makes them blatantly obvious. (They’d only half-jokingly suggested painting them on for the festival.)
Most of the Trill they’ve interacted with today have been friendly, or at least cordial while Gray was with them. Now though…
Out of habit, they look around for Paul and Hugh, but they’re not readily apparent in the crowds. They spot a few Starfleet uniforms within shouting distance, and start to make their way over.
”You. Human.”
In hindsight, they could have just kept walking, but politeness is too ingrained. They stop, shoulders pulling tight as they catch sight of someone striding towards them. She’s a full head taller than Adira, face drawn into a scowl that makes them take a step backwards.
”Why are you here?”
The disgust dripping from her words feels like a physical blow. Inside, Tal shifts.
”Excuse me?”
”What,” she crosses her arms, “makes you think you belong here?”
Several replies pass through their mind, but what comes out is, “we were invited.”
She scoffs.
“Gray was invited. Not you.”
There’s probably no use pointing out that all of Discovery’s crew was included by Leader Pav. Their fingers twitch, curling around the lower hem of their uniform jacket, and the reminder brings a measure of calm that’s at odds with their pounding heart. They do their best to smile, although it feels more like a grimace.
“Nice meeting you. I’m-“
She sidesteps, blocking their attempt to exit unless they want to splash through the fountain.
”You’ve already profaned our customs enough. Symbionts aren’t meant to be given away to aliens, not when there are unjoined Trill waiting to receive them.”
Adira glances to either side, but no one seems to be paying attention.
”Tal chose me,” they manage, “to stay with me.”
“How dare-“
”Hey, cupcake,” a hand lands on Adira’s shoulder, holding them in place as they nearly jump out of their skin, “lay off the kid.”
Jett Reno neatly steps forward until she’s partially blocking Adira with her shoulder. Her tone and expression suggest extreme boredom.
“Who-“
”I,” Jett cuts her off again, popping something red in her mouth and chewing slowly, “think jealousy really isn’t a great look. Am I right?”
Adira’s accuser stares at Jett, mouth hanging open.
”Be glad they sent me,” she continues into the silence, “because he’s kind of got a short fuse where they’re concerned.”
Jett tips her head to the right, and Adira looks over. Beyond a set of lanterns, Hugh has a palm flat on Paul’s chest in a way that suggests he’s holding him back. Given how hard Paul’s frowning their direction, they’re surprised the Trill woman isn’t melting on the spot.
“Now,” Jett tosses another of the red items into her mouth, “are you going to move?”
Adira is horribly glad they’re not on the receiving end of the unimpressed stare accompanying the question. After an uncomfortably long silence, the woman turns on her heel and stalks off, and Adira lets out the breath they didn’t realize they were holding.
“Wow. Umm. Thank you? Thank you, I mean. I- she just…”
They can’t quite find the words.
“Swedish fish?”
“…what?”
Jett holds out her hand, palm up, offering a few small vaguely fish-shaped bits of candy.
“Good for your blood sugar.”
”Umm.”
Shrugging, she gives Adira a surprisingly gentle nudge.
”Go on, make sure the Mushroom Lord isn’t going to cause another diplomatic incident.”
They swallow, nodding. Jett doesn’t follow them, but they can feel her watching them. Unlike earlier, it’s comforting, like something guarding their back until they finally reach Paul and Hugh.
Family.
Notes:
Paul may have punched someone who insulted Adira back in Chapter 488 (“Slug”).
Chapter 582: Sex Pollen (For Real)
Summary:
Tracy really would like to have a word with the universe for making her have conversations she definitely doesn’t want to have.
Ever.
Notes:
The trope sometimes strays into uncertain consent, so I tried to steer clear and keep it humorous. Despite the title, no actual sex happening in this chapter.
Dialogue-heavy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tracy braces herself, approaching the door to the next surgical suite and tapping the panel on the wall.
It can’t be any worse than what you’ve already walked in on when they can’t touch each other.
Right?
“It’s me. Are you two-“
Swish.
Contrary to what she’s expecting, they’re both fully dressed. Paul’s sitting cross-legged on the biobed, looking over Hugh’s shoulder at the side-by-side displays of their current vitals floating in front of him. The collar on Paul’s jacket is undone and his sleeves are rolled up, but none of the telltale signs of them traumatizing Tracy’s eyes are present.
Huh.
”Can we leave?”
Paul sounds mildly irritated, and she can’t really blame him.
”Sorry. Standard protocol…”
”I know,” he sighs as Hugh makes to squeeze his knee, isolation barriers shimmering as they meet, “but there’s nothing wrong with us?”
Hugh pulls the endocrine and circulatory readouts forward. There’s no significant increase in blood flow to the face, hands, or groin, and she frowns.
But there should be.
This doesn’t make sense.
“You’re sure you don’t feel anything?”
The forcefield shimmers again as Paul shrugs and accidentally bounces his hand off of the invisible barrier surrounding Hugh.
”Can we at least get rid of these? You’ve got the room isolated, and we’re hardly going to contaminate each other any more.”
It’s technically not 100% certain, but Tracy knows arguing won’t help. Casual touch between them is so unconscious, and the prickly static reminder is probably contributing to the elevated stress levels in both of their vitals. She can’t imagine the two of them alone together for three hours not making physical contact at least once in other circumstances.
“Yeah.”
Some of the frown lines on Paul’s face ease as they open their tricomms and lower the personal isolation fields. Neither of them move for several seconds, until she raises her eyebrow at Hugh.
Here we go.
She watches as he covers Paul’s hand with his own, fingers twined together on his knee. Paul’s free hand ceases its perpetual fidgeting when Hugh kisses his temple, and he rests his cheek on Hugh’s shoulder in silence for a couple of minutes. Even though she expects it, Tracy’s still impressed when both of their cortisol levels decrease in real time.
Huh.
Hugh’s watching the readouts too, expression curious.
”Not what you were expecting?”
“Part of what took me so long to get to the two of you. Without breaking doctor-patient confidentiality,” Tracy summons a tired smile when Paul mimes covering his ears, including with the hand still holding Hugh’s, “the effects have been moderate to severe.”
Hugh calls up the medical reports, frowning.
”Elevated activity in the hypothalamus, dopaminergic and cholinergic receptors…hmm. Blood pressure increased and lowered inhibitions. Huh.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose.
“The rest of the landing party are affected, so how are the two of you not going at it like Risan marmots?”
”Linus?”
”He’s fine, but I’ve got him isolated just in case. You’re the xeno- expert, but it looks like this only affects mammalian species, or at least not Saurians.”
“We still don’t know what ‘this’ is,” Paul reminds them, “biofilters should have removed any pathogens, and there doesn’t seem to be any causative agent remaining.”
“You’re sure you don’t feel the urge to-?”
”I mean, he is the hottest man in the universe,” Hugh winks, “but I’m pretty sure you don’t want to see that right now.”
”Ever.”
Paul rolls his eyes at Tracy’s emphatic statement.
”…thanks.”
”I’m serious though, are you feeling any more…interested than normal?”
They make eye contact, and have a silent conversation consisting of head tilts and quirked lips.
”I’m feeling a bit…antsy,” Paul shrugs, “but it’s not- this is normal. Close enough, anyway.”
”You’re saying your baseline is the same level that makes everyone else act like-“ she tries to think of an appropriate comparison, “first year cadets who were accidentally exposed to Deltan pheromones?”
Tracy knows Hugh remembers which incident she’s referencing, and he chuckles. They’d spent the night with medical isolation suits on, until they identified the source of the dorm prank gone wrong.
“We do have some self-control, Trace.”
Her brain scrabbles for other theories and reminds her that there’s only one she didn’t already float past Aisha.
“I can’t believe I’m asking this. When’s the last time you two-“
”Got off?”
Paul’s groan matches hers, and he turns until he can press his face into Hugh’s upper arm.
“Tuesday.”
“Huh.”
Hugh’s smile widens.
”Were you expecting me to say this morning?”
Paul pokes his side.
“Hugh!”
Shaking her head, she taps a few notes into the record.
“It doesn’t seem to be contagious, so I’m sending everyone back to their quarters to…relieve any symptoms. Stay there, and check back in at zero-nine-hundred?”
Nodding, Paul climbs off the biobed.
”Tracy basically told us to have sex,” Hugh stage whispers, “are we going to argue?”
“I absolutely didn’t need to hear that.”
Totally normal.
Notes:
Hand-wavy scientific explanation: Paul and Hugh’s normal level of interest is the equivalent of other people being ridiculously horny 😉
Chapter 583: Spaghetti
Notes:
Set any time after the midpoint of Season Three, after an unspecified crisis is resolved.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The plate of pasta is slightly blurry, and she finds herself having to think about each motion in a way that’s probably going to be comical later on.
Fork down.
Twirl.
Lift- wait, there’s sauce falling.
Chew.
Swallow.
Tracy could be doing this back in her quarters where there’s no witnesses to her chasing spaghetti, but she’s in the mess hall for the same reason the rest of the exhausted crew is - connection. Around her, everyone else seems to be having the same issues of coordination, bleary-eyed stares and fumbled silverware everywhere. It’s been one heck of a week, and sitting down to soothe her jangling nerves with a meal before passing out (hopefully) uninterrupted for ten hours should be manageable.
”You know,” a voice cuts through her next attempt to not drip tomato sauce on her lap, “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a masochist.”
There’s a clunk as Reno drops her tray on the table across from her, utensils rattling. Wiping her mouth with a napkin, Tracy scrubs a hand over her eyes and sets the fork down.
”What?”
”Trying to eat that,“ she points at Tracy’s plate, “after- well.”
Reno looks marginally more energetic than Tracy feels, and she notices her tray contains finger foods that don’t require the coordination to hold a fork or spoon.
”Comfort food,” Tracy summons up a tired quirk of her lips, “habit.”
“Mmm.”
There’s nothing else said for a couple of minutes, and Tracy focuses on shoveling a few more bites into her mouth. Reno’s normally dexterous hands seem to be shaking, but she manages not to drop any of her cheese toast or cookies.
“Huh.”
”Hmm?”
”That,” Reno jerks her chin to Tracy’s left, “can’t decide if that’s cute or...”
She glances over, even though turning her head requires a disproportionate amount of effort. Beside her, Paul’s upright by virtue of both elbows braced on the table and leaning heavily on Hugh. They’re sharing the same tray, a bowl of what looks like asopao with two forks in it beside the scattered remains of a salad. It’s telling that he’s too tired to roll his eyes, Reno’s verbal bait dangling in the air between them.
“Whatever the other option is,” he mumbles.
Across from Hugh, slouched forward until their forehead is inches from the tabletop, Adira starts to snore. Tracy huffs out the ghost of a chuckle.
”That.”
Notes:
Apologies for the radio silence. We’ve had someone in my extended family pass away, and I’ve been exhausted from making arrangements to fly across the country + still doing work :(
I always love reading all of your generous comments, and hope to be able to respond soon.
Chapter 584: Synapse
Chapter Text
Love is a well-worn, familiar path in their brains.
Hugh's is sunlight-dappled, sky a particular stormy blue, cobbles worn smooth beneath a decade and a half of carrying memories to the special place in his heart marked 'Paul'. It's an overflowing vault, ever-expanding and piled to the lofty ceiling with laughter and special moments, with tears and understanding and joy. It's one he's traveled countless times before and will countless times again, smiling indulgently as the door refuses to close and contentment spills out around the silver hinges.
Paul's is a set of nested folders. His mind is an organized system of branching junctions, an attempt to impose order on the thoughts flying by just slowly enough to latch onto. Their moments are categorized by place, by time, by the fluttery feeling in his stomach and the ache in his chest. His heart spent so long apart, isolated and wounded, alone before a stranger annoyed his way past all of the barriers with a wide smile and kind eyes. The 'Hugh' label shines with golden warmth that lights everything within, marked by connection and trust and wonder and rightness.
Notes:
Got back home late last night, exhausted but very glad to have had a chance to catch up with family.
Chapter 585: Strengthen
Chapter Text
Alone, they are each complete.
Together, they are so much more.
Chapter 586: Spectacle
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The first time after coming to the future that Tilly notices a love bite on Paul's neck and the tiny smile hiding in his dimples, she grins so broadly that she has to turn her back and feign extreme interest in the blank paneling in front of the secondary plasma relays. Adira gives her an odd look, and she bites her lip to control her expression.
Two weeks later, she heads into the cultivation bay. Discovery is parked at Starfleet HQ, more people than she's seen onboard since before they entered the wormhole rushing through the corridors and working in open conduits to upgrade their ship with retrofits from the last 930 years. She’d forgotten about entering cautiously, and so is too busy frowning at the simulation results on her PADD to notice the blue jacket flung over the secondary environmental control console or the conspicuous white jacket tossed carelessly next to the condenser. Tilly's considering varying the phosphate input when a sound she hasn't heard in months interrupts her train of thought.
"-mmmhnnnnn..."
She stops in her tracks, head whipping up.
What?
A thud, followed by a low chuckle.
The hand holding her PADD drops to the side, and she cautiously pokes her head around a pylon to peer over the last hillock in front of the bulkhead.
Oh.
She's greeted with a sight that simultaneously makes her want to turn and flee and wrestle down the inappropriate urge to shout in glee. Paul has Hugh backed against said bulkhead, one thigh between the doctor's and hands cradling his face while he kisses him so hard that Tilly briefly wonders if it'll leave a mark. Hugh's arms circle Paul's waist, and one hand wanders down to grab his ass-
Tilly slaps her free hand over her mouth and stumbles back the way she came. By the time she reaches the doors, her giggles have settled into the occasional snort, and she wipes her eyes before checking the access settings. The bay is indeed restricted to all personnel besides Stamets and herself, and the reminder of him allowing her in while he was seeking solace in his mycelial forest while mourning Hugh's loss sobers her immediately.
With a sigh, she leans against the bulkhead for a moment, letting her feelings settle back into place. This unknown era is both exhilarating and terrifying, but the knowledge that her mentor and his partner are back to their old habits more than outweighs any sense of scandal at seeing them do so.
The first time Tracy walks in on Hugh and Paul in the 32nd century, she's just finished updating patient files and is headed to the supply closet to return the portable osteoregen unit.
Swish.
"-fuck."
Hugh had announced he was taking his lunch break 10 minutes ago, and Tracy makes a mental note to ask whether he's heading to lunch or lunch the next time. Really, it's been months since she's had to think about it, and can’t even find it in herself to feign long-suffering annoyance at finding Paul leaning over one of the storage crates with his jacket rucked up, Hugh pressed against him so close that a molecule would have issues passing between them, hands clearly down the front of Paul's unbuttoned pants.
"Seriously?"
"Umm."
She facepalms, more out of yearslong habit than anything. When she glances up again, Paul's face is so red she can practically feel the heat from his blush and Hugh's face is screwed up with what has to be barely controlled laughter.
Back to normal.
Setting the osteoregen back in its place on a shelf, she shakes her head and can't contain a chuckle as she heads back out.
"Lock the door next time, would you?"
Notes:
The "Shapeshift" saga is now it's own story! Please head over there for updates when they're posted.
Chapter 587: Soliloquize
Chapter Text
“Babe…” Hugh’s hand moves in gentle circles, rubbing Paul’s lower back, “come to bed?”
Paul frowns at the PADD, flicking another section of his presentation up to the holodisplay and using both hands to move things around. He gives a distracted hum, and Hugh reminds himself that his partner’s passionate scientific interest is one of the things that he loves about him.
It’s just that he turns into a prickly, cranky mess when he has a conference to present at.
He’s thankful it’s only a two-day affair, and looking forward to having his snuggly, sweet Paul back once the obsessive worry vanishes with the audience applause. They’ve got a full week together still, and he hates that he has to count the days until they’re apart again.
Never long enough.
Sighing, he starts to rise only to be stopped by Paul’s arm snaking around his waist.
“Love?”
”Mmm,” Paul mutters, tucking Hugh against his side, “hmm.”
His murmuring devolves into a conversation with himself about Planck’s constant, but his hold on Hugh doesn’t loosen even as he shifts equations and marks data on his tri-D charts.
Well.
Shaking his head, Hugh retrieves a throw with his foot and covers their legs. Paul’s arm relaxes when it’s clear he isn’t going anywhere, and he drops a distracted kiss on Hugh’s forehead as he rests his head on Paul’s shoulder and closes his eyes.
A nap can’t hurt.
Notes:
I know I’ve been MIA - spent all of last week preparing to give a workshop at a conference on the other side of the country, then flew out early Sunday morning. My introvert self has been exhausted at the end of the day from all of the socializing, so I probably won’t have any major updates until after I’m back home this weekend.
Chapter 588: Signification
Summary:
The language of touch.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul’s arms around him say, “you’re safe”.
A kiss on the back of his shoulder says, “I’m here”.
Palm cradling his cheek, fingers tucked carefully beneath his ear says, “I adore you”.
A hand at the small of his back says, “we belong to each other”.
An elbow and forearm clumsily shoving at his side says, “stop snoring”.
Fingers grasping his as Hugh holds Paul’s hands behind his back while they rock together say, “I trust you.”
A shaking hand reaching out to him amidst the terror of the mycelial network says, “I’ll never give up on you.”
Every single aborted motion and open posture that Hugh can’t help but notice when he does interact with Paul, stiffly and reserved, says, “I can’t let you go.”
Paul’s lips pressed to his, tasting of medical disinfectant and metallic soot, say, “I love you. I’m sorry. I forgive you. I’m yours.”
Notes:
Originally wrote this snippet to fit into a larger scene, but I think it stands on its own pretty well.
Chapter 589: Socratic
Summary:
A thoughtful conversation between Kovich and Admiral Vance.
Notes:
Set after the end of Season Four.
Companion to Chapter 552 (“Scion”) where Vance talks to Paul.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Admiral.”
Vance half-turns from the viewport, drink cradled in one palm, and gestures at a side table with the other.
”Please, help yourself.”
The invitation is an unnecessary formality, a courtesy that could have been long abandoned were it not almost a ritual phrase to open conversation. Structure, familiar things in times of chaos - they both recognize the need for them, even and especially for Starfleet’s C-in-C. There’s a quiet clinking of glassware during which Vance returns his gaze to the starships tethered inside HQ, then Kovich joins him, silently as ever.
Almost directly ahead of them, NCC-1031-A floats placidly, the angular lines amidst the curved silhouettes of the other vessel marking her as a ship from a bygone era.
And yet.
”You wanted to talk about Discovery.”
It’s not a question, delivered quietly but clear. Vance nods, taking a sip of whiskey before he replies.
”Sometimes I wonder if they really thought about what they were doing when they decided to time travel centuries before temporal mechanics were developed enough.”
Kovich hums, mouth ever so slightly downturned as he considers the admiral’s statement.
”Probably not. But do any of us really consider all of the consequences of actions taken during a crisis?”
”Fair point,” Vance admits, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Still…”
“Stings, doesn’t it?”
”What does?”
The barely-visible pinpricks of DOTs glide back and forth, repairing the hull damage wrought by crossing the galactic barrier.
”Their resilience. Despite having to learn nine hundred years of change, they’ve adapted. So have we.”
“Indeed.”
”Are you having doubts, Admiral?”
Vance turns his head enough to see the other man’s eyes still fixed on Discovery, and wrestles down a tendril of impatience.
“About Discovery?”
Kovich sets down his glass and fixes him with a look.
”And her captain. Yes?”
Exhaling, Vance offers a half-smile in response.
“Discovery managed to figure out the cause of the Burn and avert galactic disaster in the space of a year. I don’t think anyone is questioning their capability. Could we have done it without them? We’d given up trying to find the root cause because we were just trying to survive.”
”You didn’t call me here to rehash history.”
He turns away from the viewport, sinking into a chair a few steps away. Kovich follows, expression as unreadable as ever.
”A month before they arrived, you told me the ideals of the Federation wouldn’t survive another century. That the rate of fracturing was only going to accelerate.”
“Given what was happening and what we knew, it was inevitable.”
“President Rillak didn’t agree.”
”The President wouldn’t be the President if Captain Burnham and her crew hadn’t come here.”
Vance drains his glass, looking down at the melting sphere of ice. The ghost of his own reflection stares back, equally contemplative.
“Should I be worried?”
He can’t quite frame the question because it isn’t a question so much as a half-instinctive feeling that eludes full understanding.
“About?”
”Burnham.”
“Mister Booker made a series of bad decisions,” Kovich offers, voice mild, “admittedly, suffering from grief and likely partial dissociation, not to mention being manipulated by a genius with sociopathic tendencies, but on the whole aware of his actions. As a consequence, he’s been sent to make restitution.”
With anyone else, Vance might take it as an implication that he himself was critical of the decision. Since it’s not, he gestures for Kovich to continue.
”While the separation is understandably difficult, she also chose to pursue Mister Booker and strained the limits of her orders. Regardless of the outcome, that’s what’s making you uncomfortable.”
”We-“
”You’ve spent decades dedicating yourself to the survival of Starfleet. Trying to think ahead, how to preserve it against every possible threat. You’re used to your captains not questioning your orders the way she and Discovery do.”
That prickles.
“Are you saying I’m taking it too personally?”
Kovich takes off his glasses, producing a small cloth from seemingly nowhere and wiping the lenses.
“Are you?”
He’s worked with - and trusted - Kovich for long enough to know that the occasionally infuriating calmness isn’t an affectation. Socratic questioning has its roots over three and a half millennia ago on Earth, and its effectiveness withstood the test of time in a way so many other methods hadn’t. Not that it makes answering any easier.
”She has made some choices that I wouldn’t have. But that’s every Captain we have out there.”
”No one’s questioning the outcomes. You,” Kovich emphasizes the word with a raised eyebrow, “seem to be uncomfortable with the methods to achieve them.”
“I was a Captain long enough to know that some decisions don’t have a right and wrong, just the best way forward. Those are the ones that keep you awake at night, wondering if you could have done them differently.”
Kovich finishes cleaning his glasses, settling them back into place.
“And you think Captain Burnham might not. Interesting.”
It’s not a question. He can’t shake the sense that Kovich already knows the answer, even if he doesn’t know exactly what he’s asking. Sighing, Vance tries a different angle, something in particular that’s been bothering him.
“I’ve read the reports about retaking Discovery from the Emerald Chain, the crew debriefs.”
”I was under the impression that you were impressed with their actions.”
“I am.”
”But something stood out to you.”
Vance sets the glass of melting ice aside, wiping condensation off his fingers.
“It’s important - vital, that a crew trust their captain.”
”Was there something that suggested otherwise?”
“Commander Stamets’ report was surprisingly short.”
”He was under a neural lock for several hours.”
”I don’t…” he glances back out at Discovery again, placid and anachronistic. “Tell me what you think.”
He doesn’t add please, because he doesn’t have to. Kovich tips his head to the side, and Vance can’t help but feel like he’s being examined. It stretches on, until he finally replies.
”Captain Burnham’s words and actions say that she values autonomy, that she’s willing to trust her instincts. She’s challenged convention, but in ways that always lead to things contributing to a stronger Federation. Something more like what her crew came from.”
He pauses, gaze piercing as he continues.
“Discovery’s crew doesn’t have a rigid hierarchy, but the final decision is hers. For someone who values that ability, she didn’t give Commander Stamets that opportunity. I’d even go so far as to say subdueing him robbed him of any agency.”
”If she hadn’t, he might have fallen right into Osyraa’s hands,” Vance feels compelled to point out.
Kovich nods, but it doesn’t give the impression of conceding the point.
”Perhaps. We’ll never know. Should I keep going?”
This time, he does say it.
”Please.”
“Given the importance of the spore drive, and the fact that our only working prototype of an alternative was taken along with all of Mister Tarka’s notes and completely destroyed, you’re worried about Commander Stamets’ relationship with Captain Burnham.”
”Should I be?”
“He’s a unique individual.”
”And?”
”Based on what I’ve seen, no.”
Kovich regards him steadily, and he wonders how Kovich managed to reverse roles so smoothly that Vance is now the one asking the questions.
“Why not?”
”Doctor Culber.”
Clearly, Kovich thinks the name is an answer in itself.
”He-“
”Their relationship, not the one between Commander Stamets and Captain Burnham. You’ve read their files.”
“I can’t imagine everything they’ve been through.”
That’s not quite the truth. He has imagined it, recalls his own quiet apology to Stamets in the wake of Burnham’s promotion, the moment everything that wasn’t in the report fell into place.
”I doubt anyone could who hasn’t died and been brought back to life.”
“It’s related to Burnham?”
Kovich crosses his legs, the creases in his slacks perfectly aligned with the sides of the chair he’s sitting in.
“Doctor Culber, as far as I can tell, died in the twenty-third century because he was too good at his job and uncovered a genetically altered Klingon sleeper agent. Regardless of how he returned, he did.”
”Yes…”
“Consider this, Admiral. Most people who lose someone they love never have a second chance to face that pain again after living with the experience.”
Vance hasn’t been able to indulge in empathy, not when he was holding together something so fragile for so long. It’s a luxury he wouldn’t have, he realizes, if Discovery hadn’t come, if he wasn’t able to reunite with his wife and daughter. Her bright smile reminds him of being more than Admiral Charles Vance, and the burden that comes with responsibility.
“And?”
“Captain Burnham faced loss of that magnitude for half an hour. Direct comparison is of course not professionally advisable. I will point out though, that her…difficult decisions were made prior to that point. Far in advance, with regards to Mister Stamets.”
The pieces aren’t falling neatly into place, although judging by Kovich’s expression, they ought to be.
“But,” Kovich turns in his chair slightly, until he’s facing Vance directly, “I’d be more concerned with the…situational lack of self-awareness in a Captain in the context of emotional connection.”
“Perhaps what’s happened will change her perspective.”
There’s the slightest hint of a smile.
“Does that answer your question?”
“To be honest? I don’t know.”
“Neither do I. Not until the next crisis.”
Beep.
“You’ve got another appointment,” Vance surmises.
A nod, then Kovich stands, straightening his jacket.
“Look at the starship captains that history remembers - April, Pike, Archer, Kirk, Picard, Janeway - were any of them the heart of the ship? Or was it their crew.”
He taps his badge before Vance can respond, a millisecond of charged air heralding the transporter between one blink and the next. Kovich’s not-quite-an-answer lingers in his mind, and he packs it away to finish sorting out the nuances of their conversation until later. Checking the chrono, he takes one more look at Discovery before tapping his own badge.
Time for dinner.
Notes:
(Are we ever going to find out exactly what Kovich does?)
Writing a conversation between the two of them was challenging - not just capturing Oded Fehr and David Cronenberg’s patterns of speech, but genuinely considering what their characters would be thinking. We see Discovery through the eyes of her crew such that external perspectives are always ever so slightly out of place. In the course of it, this story grew to 1,600+ words from the original small bits of dialogue I wrote a few months ago, trying to reach a satisfying ending.
I’m really pleased with how this turned out, including the slightly loose ends Kovich leaves Vance with.
Chapter 590: Subarctic, Part One
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Mild frostbite and hypothermia,” Aisha’s voice is soothing, running a regen over the upper edge of their right ear, “just hold still.”
She checks on their toes when she’s done, making an approving noise at the readings on the portable unit.
”Give it about thirty more seconds.”
Adira blinks.
”Is something wrong?”
”No,” she assures them, “medical equipment this century is amazing, but I still like to let cells recover a little more slowly when it’s cold exposure.”
”But-“ they twist the edge of the thermal blanket between their fingers, “Paul? And Hugh?”
Adira can’t see past the partition, although they can hear Dr. Pollard talking quietly. It’s steady, but with an edge to it they haven’t heard before. The shuttle’s atmospheric controls are dialed to a temperature that’s probably uncomfortably warm for the other occupants. In the co-pilot’s seat, Saru is making a report back to Discovery, the measured cadence of his speech at odds with the fear gripping their stomach. The way Keyla keeps glancing over her shoulder despite the asteroid field she’s navigating isn’t helping either.
Please be okay.
Yesterday was a catastrophe of an away mission gone wrong, culminating in them being held captive in sub-zero temperatures for 15 hours while Discovery negotiated for their release. Adira spent the night wrapped in the one meager blanket their jailers had provided, tucked snugly with their head under Hugh’s chin and Paul’s warmth at their back. They’d been horribly cold, but emerged relatively unscathed once rescue came.
When Saru finally flung open the door to the tiny cell they were locked in, Adira was trying very hard not to give in to panic. Paul had stopped speaking an hour before, breathing shallow and labored, and Hugh’s increasingly slow replies were growing more slurred. Saru had asked Adira if they could walk, then picked up Paul with one arm as if he weighed nothing. Together, they’d supported Hugh between them and returned to the waiting shuttle as quickly as possible. Aisha had taken charge of Adira once they were safely onboard, pressing a mug of hot chocolate into their hands and setting up her equipment on one of the cargo modules in the back.
Now, they shuffle closer to the port side, programmable matter bench extending out further than usual to accommodate two occupants.
“They’ll be fine,” Aisha squeezes their shoulder, “just have to get them warmed up again.”
They're fairly certain there’s more to it than that, and ignore Aisha’s suggestion that they rest, moving to the main body of the cabin.
”Aisha,” Dr. Pollard calls, “I need your help with Hugh.”
Aisha brushes past them, seemingly unfazed by the tension in the air.
“I’m going to chalk this up to hypothermia scrambling your brain-“ Dr. Pollard pushes Hugh to lie down again, tugging the blanket back up, “otherwise I’m going to slap a restraining field on you.”
Saru makes his way over, and by the time he moves away, Dr. Pollard is working steadily, one white and one blue uniform jacket discarded on the floor next to four boots, two pairs of pants, and assorted socks.
”…s’fine,” they can just make out Hugh mumbling, “need…Paul.”
”I’m working on it,” Dr. Pollard’s reply is a little louder, and Adira pauses at the sharpness in her voice, “unless you want to lose your fingers and wait for new ones, stop that.”
Aisha peels back the edge of the thermal blanket closest to her, exposing Hugh’s alarmingly red feet and setting up the regen over them before circling to the other side. Adira shuffles closer, enough to see Hugh’s hands blotched red and abnormally pale as Aisha catches his wrists. He seems to be reaching for Paul, eyes slightly glassy but distress clear on his face.
“Quit that,” Aisha chides, “or we’ll move you to the other side.”
He’s closest to the bulkhead, and when Aisha manages to get him to lie flat, they finally get a good look at Paul beside him.
Shit.
He looks terrible. His skin is several shades paler than his normal complexion, lips a disturbing shade of purple-blue and eyes closed. There’s a small device pressed to the right side of his throat - extracorporeal circulatory warmer, one of Tal’s memories whispers - and Dr. Pollard is muttering something about cellular damage.
They nearly jump out of their skin when a long-fingered hand closes gently around their forearm.
”Let us allow them room to do their work,” Saru directs them closer to the conn, “I’m sure Doctor Culber and Mister Stamets will be fine.”
He settles them in the co-pilot’s seat, hands warm on their shoulders. Keyla’s head turns just long enough to make eye contact before returning to the asteroid display in front of her.
”Are you okay?”
”…yes? I gue- yeah.”
“Stamets and Doctor C were in pretty bad shape,” she manages to make it not sound accusatory, “but I should have us back to Discovery- hang on.”
The view of the debris field spirals dizzyingly as Keyla pilots them in a corkscrew around a particularly dense patch.
”Sorry. Should be back in forty minutes. Thirty if we’re lucky.”
”I have faith in you, Commander,” Saru’s voice is reassuringly calm.
”Thank you.”
It’s fifteen very long minutes spent trying to drink hot chocolate with their stomach tied in knots before Dr.Pollard finally waves them back again.
”Are they-?”
She nods, a wry smile in place.
”They’re stubborn. Probably won’t be up to a round of Velocity until tomorrow,” that seems to be directed at Hugh, whose head is resting on Paul’s shoulder, “but no lasting damage.”
Hugh’s blinking slowly, and Adira’s relieved when he lifts a much less frostbitten hand a couple of inches off the blanket. Dr. Pollard steps out of the way to let Adira take it, relieving them of their empty mug to recycle it.
”Hugh?”
”Mmm.”
”Paul…?”
”Just sleeping,” Aisha’s voice comes from over their shoulder before Hugh can answer, “they won’t need the medbay once we’re back.”
Relief starts to chip away at the edgy anxiety gnawing behind their eyes, the bubble of pressure inside their head slowly deflating.
”Thank you,” they blurt, “I…”
Paul stirs a little, falling still again after Hugh presses a clumsy kiss to his cheek.
”We’re okay,” Hugh murmurs, “more important…you are.”
”But…”
”Parental privilege,” he gives them a tired but genuine smile, “ours.”
Notes:
It was interesting to write Tracy from Adira’s perspective, and more challenging to use injury as a plot point when medical science has advanced so far, which is why they’re on a shuttle instead of Discovery’s medbay. Also gave me a chance to write Saru and Detmer into things :)
For those interested in “Terra Firma” Mirror!Culmets, I finally posted a new chapter of Survival! It’s only been sitting for 11 months 😬. There were three different directions it could have gone, and I think I’ve managed to iron out just one overall plot.
(Minor edits to the order of things to stay consistent with Hugh’s perspective in the next chapter.)
Chapter 591: Subarctic, Part Two
Summary:
Hugh's perspective of the events in the previous chapter.
Notes:
Assuming 32nd century uniforms use smart fabrics or otherwise build in some sort of temperature maintenance function, but that it wouldn't be suited for extremes of either direction.
Contains mild descriptions of frostbite symptoms.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
What is it with away missions you go on usually ending badly?
At least there aren't any hallucinogenic organic compounds, radiation, or sociopath-programmed countermeasures trying to expose you to the vacuum of space.
Just the cold.
"Hugh...m’tired."
He opens his eyes, doing his best to ignore the aching chill. His eyelids are a thin defense against it, but better than nothing. In other contexts, the drowsy murmur from Paul would be completely fine as he snuggles into Hugh's side. Right now though, they're huddling together for a much less enjoyable purpose with Adira a shivering bundle of too-thin blanket between them, spiky hair catching on his beard and nose scrunched into his sternum. The thinly padded surface they're lying on offers some insulation against the frozen environment, but not much.
"Sweeth'rt?"
His lips are going numb again, and he knows better than to lick them.
Moisture will just speed heat loss.
Paul's eyes aren't focusing, eyelids drooping.
"...Paul. Stay-yy awake f'r me, please."
Adira squirms against his chest, and he's glad to feel their hands still moving.
"Paul?" Adira's voice is small and high with fear.
"Shh," he mumbles, using his elbow to press their arm back down, "conserve...heat."
He (inadvisedly, he knows) tugs Paul's right hand out from his own left armpit, kissing the wrist and trying to rub feeling back into the deathly white fingers. His own feel like blocks of ice, and he stares at them, willing them to move correctly. There's really nothing he can do about the frostbite setting in though, and he makes the decision to sacrifice just a little of Adira's precious warmth for Paul's sake.
"Here."
He clumsily tucks Paul's hand between their stomachs, feels Adira wrap their own around it.
Should have come down in field suits.
"Hugh?"
Abuela's vegetable soup would be wonderful right now.
"Keep 'im warm."
At least you're too cold to be hungry.
He can still see the tiny puffs of air from Paul's breath, but they're smaller and further apart. Dr. Culber reminds him that depressed respiration isn't a good sign. It strains his neck, but he closes the last three inches between their faces until he can use his own cheek as insulation.
"Stay w'th me," he murmurs into Paul's too-pale ear, pretending he can't see the skin peeling, " 'kay?"
Dermal regen, level four, subcutaneous tissue damage.
A dozen shallow breaths, then-
“ 've you."
It's frighteningly final.
"Paul? Paul!"
He shakes him as much as he can without exposing Adira to the cold, hoping for an annoyed huff or twitch of his lips. The thinnest sliver of blue is visible beneath his lashes, but there's not enough light to see if his pupils are dilating.
Fuck.
Metabolic slowing.
Neuroprotective.
Even if he had sensation in his fingertips, he doesn't dare try to check Paul's pulse, not when slipping them beneath the nominal protection of his collar would chill the blood flowing so close to the surface.
Can't survive another twelve hours like this.
"Hugh?"
"P'nch his wrist."
Adira tips their head up enough that their forehead bumps his neck, the jolt of warmth it provides an indulgence.
"What?"
Hugh nudges their face back into the shelter of his chest, chin firmly planted in the hair at the top of their head.
"Hard. As y'can...'kay?"
"Okay."
He counts to twenty. Nothing.
"Further up. Harder."
The briefest bit of steam escapes Paul's nostrils, and that's more than enough for now.
He doesn't remember how they got wherever they are, but it's blessedly warm. Hugh stumbles, is caught by someone's sharp shoulder digging into his ribs.
"Almost there."
Adira sounds strained, but hearing them talk is good.
"Hugh?"
The world tips as he's unceremoniously dumped onto a horizontal surface.
Paul.
His eyes ache when he opens them, but it's to see Tracy's concerned face peering at him.
Where's Paul?
A flash of red.
Saru.
Paul's lowered down beside him with more care, and Hugh wraps his arms around him as best he can.
"Hugh, can you hear me?"
Of course he can, but his tongue isn't cooperating properly. It feels swollen in his mouth, clumsy.
" 'dira."
Tracy's hand is shockingly hot on his forehead, bioscan hovering in the air between them.
"They're fine, Aisha's looking after them."
" 'aul-"
She flicks the readings off to the side, then there's the hiss of a hypospray.
Shuttle.
"Tri-ox. He'll be okay. Let go, I need - great. I need to get you undressed."
"-wha?"
Hugh can't understand why she's moving so slowly, gesturing a portable device into existence from programmable matter and fussing with the settings. It takes effort that makes his head swim, but he levers himself up on one elbow, ignoring the paradoxical burning numbness in his hands. He leans over and presses his lips to Paul's blue-chilled ones, breathing warm air from his own lungs into his mouth.
Tracy shoves at his shoulder.
"I'm going to chalk this up to hypothermia scrambling your brain-" her comment is sharp, "otherwise I'm going to slap a restraining field on you."
Why doesn't she understand?
"Body heat. Mister Saru?"
Paul.
"Doctor?"
"Help me with their jackets."
His fingers fumble ineffectually at the zipper before Tracy moves them aside.
"Boots please."
Someone else tugs his boots off, jostling him as Tracy works Paul's jacket down his arms.
"...I'll take it from here."
"If you're certain?"
"Yes, thank you."
Hands - not Paul's? - peel his pants off and warm, humid air blankets his skin.
Tracy.
Right.
"Here."
Paul's wearing black underwear today.
Tracy maneuvers him towards the bulkhead, pressing Paul against him and covering them both with a thermal blanket. An alarm sounds and she makes a frustrated noise, lifting it to tuck a warming pad into his armpit before slipping another over Paul's groin, anchoring the end between his thighs.
Tracy won't want to see that.
"Yeah, I know..." Tracy mutters, "I won't tell him if you don't."
" 'sfine," he manages, "need...help Paul."
Warm him.
Internal?
Paul's cold, so cold, and far too still.
Tracy says something else, but he's not paying attention. Shaking his head is a terrible idea because it irritates the drum solo beating in his brain. Unable to manage words, he reaches for Paul again when hands grip his wrists.
"Quit that," Aisha's voice is firm.
On any other day, breaking free from Aisha's grasp would be simple, but Hugh is unable to resist her urging him to lie down again.
"-or we'll move you to the other side."
Away from Paul?
No.
The numbness is receding further from his fingers, the barely-perceptible buzz of the regen making his skin tingle.
"Have to- he's cold. Subcu...d'mage."
He can still feel Paul against his side, focuses on the point of contact at their hips.
"That's better," she continues. "Hugh, let me finish with your hands. You can hold him when Tracy's done. Standard hypothermic shock protocol, that's all."
He thinks he glimpses Adira's face, but it's hard to keep his eyes open.
"I'll give you the full treatment report tomorrow," Tracy adds, "let me work."
" 'dira?"
"Mild and fully regenned," Aisha dials up the heat on the pads, "Saru's watching them."
Okay.
Time passes without reference, until at last Tracy gives a satisfied hum and his arms are being guided around Paul's torso. Aisha helps ease him closer, until he can rest his cheek on Paul's bare shoulder. Heedless of propriety, Hugh buries his face in the side of Paul's neck, inhaling deeply. His pulse beats strongly against Hugh's lips, chest rising and falling under his arm.
Safe.
He hears Adira say his name, then their hand is holding his. It's small and warm and squeezing fiercely.
”Thank you,” they blurt, “I…”
What?
At the sound of their voice, Paul stirs a little, making a quiet noise in the back of his throat. Hugh kisses his cheek, mumbling a reply to Adira into Paul's hair.
”We’re okay...more important…you are.”
”But…”
Had to keep you safe.
”Parental privilege,” he gives them a tired but genuine smile, “ours.”
Notes:
I'm blaming time skips and any disjointed thinking on hypothermia.
Lunch break done, back to work...
Chapter 592: Subarctic, Part Three
Summary:
Paul’s perspective, following that trip through the freezer.
Chapter Text
If we make it out of this, you owe Hugh an apology for ever complaining you were cold in bed.
Being in bed with Hugh in the usual fashion would be amazing. This though, makes that time the environmental controls failed and they could see their own breath in their quarters feel like a balmy Puerto Rican summer. Even at their most uncomfortable - squeezed together on a mattress barely wide enough for one, leaning over the edge of the bed to lose his dinner from a horrible migraine, slumped against each other in the corner of the Starbase 12 medical ward while Hugh snatched a precious hour of sleep during the war - and with hyperbolic complaints, he’s never actually worried about freezing to death if he falls asleep.
The impulse to curl into Hugh, to burrow his face into his neck and hold on tight is only overridden by the instinct demanding that Adira needs to be protected. He hadn’t expected to become acquainted with that particular feeling as he rolled up on fifty, but it’s a privilege and responsibility he wouldn’t trade for anything.
Except Hugh?
Not a competition.
Hypothermia’s turning out to be far more introspective than anticipated. Adira’s claims about them communicating silently aside, Hugh’s eyes are mostly closed against the chill. Eye contact for the last few hours has only driven home the point that they’re in a fairly bleak situation. They’d all given up on sardonic humor over the situation roughly six hours ago, which is just as well. Talking takes too much energy and his lips and tongue keep refusing to shape words, so he’s unfortunately stuck inside his own head for company.
Aida’s quilt pulled up to their chins, barefoot and sharing a pillow.
Snuggling beneath the duvet until they’re too steamy warm to stay covered.
Complaining he’s cold until Hugh strips them both and proceeds to ‘warm him up’ with an orgas-
Adira makes a fretful noise, and he does his best to hold on just a bit tighter.
Nope.
No sexy thoughts allowed right now.
Paul’s hand is in the nominal shelter of Hugh’s armpit, for all the good it’s doing when his fingers are already a ghastly white. He hasn’t been able to wiggle his toes in his boots for a couple of hours, and really doesn’t want to consider how bad the frostbite will be by the time they’re rescued.
If you’re rescued.
When they’re rescued, he consoles himself with the thought of Tracy actually being unable to scold them for not being more careful.
Not when a supposedly peaceful and friendly society decided that a series of earthquakes and glacier movement coinciding with the Federation aid they begged for was some sort of sign of evil and locked you in a frozen cave for containment.
It feels like he’s turning to ice himself. Paul might have taken basic survival at the Academy decades ago, but the biologist in him knows they’re running out of time. It’s getting harder to stay awake with his eyes closed, but keeping them open is becoming increasingly difficult. He tries focusing on the familiar contours of Hugh’s face, or at least what’s visible across Adira’s hair. Hugh’s ears are reddened in a way he wouldn’t have thought possible yesterday, lips chapped and a permanent frown etched in his brow.
”Hugh…” he manages to rasp out, “m’tired.”
Stay awake.
Those gorgeous eyes open.
”Sweeth’rt?”
A tiny trickle of warmth stirs in his chest when Hugh dredges up a smile for him. It’s quashed by the numbness starting to spread inwards to his core, but he holds onto it as long as possible.
You can pilot a whole damn ship with your mind, Stamets.
Staying awake should be easy.
Focusing on Hugh’s face is hard when it keeps blurring into Hugh-colored blotches. He hears him saying something, then Adira‘s higher voice.
So cold.
The world fades as his eyes start to close. He can just make out the sight of Hugh kissing his wrist, rubbing his frozen fingers with his own.
Stay with Hugh.
It’s like watching a holo at one remove, separated and unable to interact, and he hates it.
Stay awake for Adira.
It’s not enough. Reality slips sideways and he drifts until he feels pressure on his face, hears Hugh whispering.
“Stay w’th me,” he hears, and he tries, he tries.
Tell him.
If this is it.
Tell him.
Time slows. It seems to take eons to wrestle the energy to form words, but he manages.
” ‘ve you.”
It’s never goodbye.
Paul slips under a peaceful ocean of darkness. Something prods at his mind, some sensation he ought to react to, but he’s just so tired. It happens again, stronger, and he thinks he might have made some sort of noise if he was still attached to his body.
Silence.
He’s honestly not expecting to surface again, and certainly not into a world that feels surprisingly normal. His toes flex, just a little, making a rustling noise.
What?
Something brushes against his cheek.
“-eetheart?”
Hugh.
“Paul?”
The feeling comes again, tickling him.
“Can you open your eyes for me, love?”
He’s warm, so warm.
“Can you hear me?”
He remembers having a voice, but it’s just out of reach.
“Are you awake? It’s okay if you need to sleep some more. We’re home. Adira’s safe.”
Safe.
“Also, you scared the living hell out of me. No permanent damage.”
That’s good.
Something presses against his forehead.
You have a body, right?
“You’re also not allowed to wear the ‘come fuck me’ underwear on away missions again, okay?”
That was supposed to be a surprise for later.
“Tracy’s permanently traumatized.”
Paul pours back into his body, rushing to fill the extremities with self.
“…whahh?”
He wrestles his eyes open. When they focus, Hugh’s there waiting for him.
”There you are.”
Gentle fingers smooth his hair back from his forehead. The pillow is familiar beneath his cheek, and more details crawl into his consciousness. They’re tucked in bed, the lights are on low, and since he can feel the sheets on his bare ass, they’re definitely naked.
”-ndry.”
“What’s that?”
”You. F’rgot. To do l’nd’y.”
Hugh frowns, and it makes his chest tighten in an altogether pleasant way.
”Thirsty?”
He reaches behind himself to retrieve a glass of water, holding Paul’s head up while he wets his mouth. The water tastes wonderful, cool on his throat, and he tries again.
”You forgot the laundry last week.”
“…mkay.”
His eyes are soft as he takes in the apparent non sequitur, and Paul busies himself with a few more sips of water.
“S’why I was…that underwear.
Accidentally having water dumped on his face is worth it, because Hugh’s laughter is everything.
Notes:
Umm. So Paul’s part in the beginning wasn’t supposed to drag on, but I kept thinking of more things to add and it turned into 1,000 words of not-quite-the-end. Stay tuned for the conclusion, which may
or may notinclude Culmets banter and sexytimes.Now posted! Epilogue in Chapter 595.
Chapter 593: Syntax
Summary:
More words that don't necessarily translate between cultures and species.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Before coming to the future, he wouldn't have ever thought delivering basic medical supplies and care would warrant an entire festival being thrown in their honor, but here they are. He watches with a smile as Tracy and Aisha sit in the middle of a group of the planet's healers, demonstrating equipment and discussing biochemical differences on the holodisplays in front of them. Zarrin, Perretta, and the rest of the medical team have their own sets of admirers too.
Paul finds him after he slips away from yet another clan come to thank him, apologizing and claiming a need to relieve himself. Pretense isn't something he uses often, but the constant press of attention is starting to wear on him.
"In one piece, dear doctor?"
"Don't say that too loud," he resists the urge to check over his shoulder, "I just need a break."
Healing is Hugh's job, his vocation, something every being should have access to. Part of him aches for a people whose technological and scientific achievements must have been great, based on the ruined structures and fragmented remains of information still stored on physical data chips. Their downturn happened before Discovery was even launched, a thousand years of adaptation to adverse conditions and the abandonment of dense metropolitan centers.
Nothing in the Federation databases or a priori observation over the last week suggests there are any cultural mores against public displays of affection, so he's more than happy to wrap his arms around Paul's waist and let his partner hold him up for a little while. For his part, Paul makes amused but understanding noises, swaying together behind a fountain.
"You're enjoying this," Hugh mutters into Paul's collar.
"Hmm?"
"All of...this."
Chuckling, Paul turns their idle movement into a dance of sorts, dipping Hugh backwards and reeling him in again.
"You getting your due and the recognition you deserve? Yes. Aaaand, here come some more."
He realizes too late that the sounds behind him aren't the fountain, but the approach of another clan elder. It would be the height of rudeness to attempt another escape, so he lets go of Paul and turns to greet them.
"Forgive our intrusion-"
"Not at all."
"Our ancient texts speak of healing coming from the stars," the elder gestures upwards at the luminous night sky, "and so you have."
"It's our honor and pleasure to help, Elder."
They - according to Adira, their species had no less than six genders, none of which translated correctly - perform an elaborate gesture of thanks with their hands, then look over Hugh's left shoulder.
"Your companion? Another healer?"
Ahh.
"This is Commander Paul Stamets," he introduces Paul, "a scientist. He's also my partner.”
The elder makes a sound that seems to indicate confusion.
”In what manner?”
”My…” Hugh tries to think of a word the universal translator might render less ambiguously, “my mate.”
”Mayyt.”
Their careful phonetic enunciation suggests that it still doesn’t quite translate.
"Some of our species are monogamous, and choose one other person to be with for the rest of their lives. He's mine."
”Forgive me, you are a breeding pair?”
Hugh blinks.
"Ahh. While some of our species do choose to be with the person who contributes towards gestation of their offspring, we are not physiologically able to do so with only our genetic material without extensive scientific intervention."
“You keep him for your bed?”
”He sleeps beside me, yes.”
"Your concubine?"
In his peripheral vision, Paul shifts his weight awkwardly and gives him a side-eye that says he's just as much at a loss even as his cheeks flush pink. The translator doesn't attach a derogatory connotation to the word, so he wracks his brain for a different way to explain.
"He's my equal. The person who...gives me the greatest joy, with whom I share a physical relationship and emotional intimacy, more than with anyone else. Without whom I hurt here," he places a hand on his chest (thankfully this species also has the equivalent of a heart in roughly the same location), "with a pain that could not be measured by a healer."
The elder abruptly claps their hands together, and he's struck with the familiarity of the gesture.
Hopefully it means the same thing here?
"I understand now. The-" the universal translator fails to render the set of tones into a word in Standard, "yes? Perhaps - the one who does not follow but walks beside you until your path ends."
Paul's fingers intertwine with his, and he squeezes gently.
"Yes."
"Your Paul is most welcome as well."
Notes:
Not the most polished, but one of the 50 or so unfinished snippets that have been lurking in my Drafts. Just a minor detour while I button up the end of the "Subarctic" mini-series, and work out the last plot points for "Sobrina" (which I may save for Chapter 600).
Chapter 594: Spousal
Notes:
Takes place during Season Two, prior to “Saints of Imperfection”.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Well, shit.”
Tilly looks up from the multivariate analysis she’s been running on the dark matter particles in her sample container.
”Commander?”
Reno’s been working on the secondary EPS conduit behind the spore cube for the last hour, mostly in silence save for pithy commentary that seems designed to rankle Stamets. Now though, she’s lying flat on her stomach, arm inside the bulkhead nearly up to the shoulder.
”Nothing.”
”Okay.”
She goes back to her graphs, but Reno’s in her peripheral vision and seems to be sweeping her arm back and forth while cursing.
“Actually,” Reno calls over a minute later, waving a standard de-magnetizer, “grab me a smaller de-mag?”
Tilly digs in the nearest equipment locker, retrieving one about half the size and meant for delicate work inside consoles. She crosses the bay and hands it over, but pauses before leaving.
”Thanks.”
“Can I help?”
Reno rolls up her sleeve and stretches out on the deck again, slipping her arm back into the open panel. It looks like she’s trying to reach behind the conduit without disturbing any of the auxiliary feeds running outwards.
”Nah, I got it- shit.”
“Commander?”
”Yeah… gotcha!”
There’s a tiny metallic ping, then Reno retrieves her arm before sitting up. Opening her closed hand, she plucks the ring from her palm and slips it back over her index finger.
”Oh.”
”Soyousian platinum,” Reno shakes her head, “just ferromagnetic enough to be annoying. Thanks, kid.”
Tilly returns to her station, resuming her examination of the scrolling figures. Something is poking at her brain, and she gives in a couple of minutes later, pulling up the Federation database on her PADD.
<<Soyousian platinum is a rare metallic element. Enriched with iron particles, it is traditionally used in rings signifying marriage.>>
Huh.
Reno’s never mentioned a spouse, not that she’s particularly prone to talking about herself. It’s enough to make Tilly even more curious though, and she checks Reno’s public file. There is indeed a marriage certificate appended, but she doesn’t make it past the annotation to open it before something else catches her eye.
<<Attachment: Certificate of marriage for D. Reno>>
”D?” Tilly frowns, murmuring, “that’s not right…”
A loud sigh.
”Ignore it.”
She nearly jumps out of her skin when Reno appears at her shoulder. Tilly immediately feels her face heat as if she’s been caught doing something inappropriate, and starts to stammer an apology.
“Commander! I- umm, that is…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to invade your privacy I just wondered because, well, it’s, and I-“
Reno doesn’t seem offended, just waves her hand.
“But…why, err, I mean, I’m sorry that’s none of my business-“
Reno shrugs.
” ‘Denise Reno’ sounds like someone’s boring aunt, am I right?”
While Tilly is still trying to formulate an appropriate response, Reno exits the spore drive bay a touch faster than her usual unhurried pace. At the next console, Stamets looks up. The frown that’s been perpetually etched into his features is accompanied by a hollowness to his cheeks that Tilly’s been trying to ignore.
”Sir?”
After a couple of breaths, Stamets makes a noncommittal noise, then his face drops back into the impassive mask she’s awfully tired of seeing.
Back to work, Sylvia.
Notes:
Inspired by the fact that early promo materials gave Reno’s first name as “Denise”. It’s my understanding that Tig herself decided “Jett” sounded more badass, so they changed it.
I may have been trying to do too many things with this one, but couldn’t find a better way to tie it all together.
Chapter 595: Subarctic, Part Four (Epilogue)
Summary:
Sweetness, silliness, and sexytimes.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
He must have fallen back asleep, because the sheets are dry and the lights in their quarters are beginning to mimic sunrise when he opens his eyes again. This time, his head is pillowed on Hugh’s shoulder, a hand rubbing idle circles on his back. A tricomm display hovers over Hugh’s chest while he scrolls through, and Paul realizes it’s his own medical file. He seems to be reading Tracy’s notes from yesterday.
-unresponsive.
Pulse 35 bpm, blood pressure 65/45, core temp 29.5°C. Minor arrhythmia with depressed respiration. Severe frostbite to both hands and feet, all digits.
Initiated standard hypothermia protocol - extracorporeal circulatory warming, external heat applied to groin, tri-ox, and glucose normalization.
Paul floats in that liminal space between slumber and wakefulness, Hugh’s fingers gradually working their way upwards to card through his hair. His own are resting in the ridge beneath Hugh’s right oblique, other hand comfortably tucked between them.
Circulation restored to extremities with minimal cellular damage following intensive regeneration. Vitals stabilized prior to discharge. Ongoing observation and monitoring by physician of record following treatment.
Hugh hums quietly, nodding to himself. The action rubs his beard against Paul’s forehead, and he squirms.
”Mmmphh…observing me?”
The world shifts as Hugh flicks away the display and rolls them onto their sides.
”Mmhmm. Good morning.”
”Hi.”
He leans in, then pauses when their noses are a few inches apart, waiting.
“Okay?”
Paul opens his mouth to find that it feels surprisingly fresh, the hand he automatically raised in protest hovering halfway between them.
”I cheated,” Hugh murmurs, lips twitching, “sorry.”
”…hmmm?”
The hand resting on his side flexes, thumb tracing his ribs.
”Used tech to clean your teeth while you were asleep because I didn’t think you’d appreciate toothpaste in bed.”
That pulls a quiet laugh from him, welcome after a horrible day.
“I’ll…forgive you. This time.”
“Thank you.”
Hugh’s lips are as soft and gentle as ever, and he doesn’t protest when one kiss becomes two, becomes a dozen, undemanding and slow. He sighs into it, the licks and nibbles, the tips of their tongues becoming reacquainted and his stubble catching on Hugh’s beard. These are sleepy kisses, the kind usually shared before falling asleep, but he can’t think of a single reason to object to them any time of day.
When they finally separate, he uses his thumb to wipe saliva from Hugh’s chin. The prickle of hair under his fingertips is a world away - and less than a day - since they were both numb with frostbite, and he’s more grateful than ever for advances in medical technology allowing full repair without the need for grafts or even replacement.
“So.”
”Hmm?”
Another kiss, this one on the end of his nose.
”We’ve got the day off.”
”Mmm.”
He nudges Hugh’s shoulder until he gets the message and lies on his back, Paul snuggling into his side again. Hugh’s stomach is warm beneath his hand as he idly traces the line of hair running down to more interesting places.
”Are you hungry? Or we could take a shower. Thought about sonicing us last night, but I was so tired I was afraid of dropping you.”
It takes his brain a few moments to process as he searches his memory. There really isn’t anything in the span between closing his eyes in that freezing room and opening them in bed a few hours ago, not even snippets of conversation or dreams.
Huh.
Hugh must take his silence as reluctance, because he continues in an earnest voice.
”Tracy stabilized your blood sugar, but I’d rather get real food down if you’re feeling up to it. It doesn’t have to be much-”
He pushes up his elbow, shaking his head.
“Coffee. Bath.”
Hugh’s eyebrows rise.
“That’s a new one.”
Paul swats at his chest, reveling in having his hands work again.
”I want a bath, with coffee.”
”In the tub?”
The smirk Hugh’s unsuccessfully hiding means he’s being teased, and backing down is never an option.
”Yeah. Thinking…we soak in café au lait. Casein is good for your skin, and we can absorb the caffeine. Dermal uptake is slow, so we’ll have to stay in for a while, and I bet you’d smell amazing afterwards.”
Hugh responds with an exaggerated thoughtful expression.
“Well. If you want efficient absorption, I could just pour coffee in your as- hey!”
He covers the nipple Paul just pinched with his hand.
”I want to drink coffee and take a bath, in water, with you, dear doctor.”
Hugh winks, and Paul rolls his eyes before climbing over him and off the bed. At least, that’s the idea until he’s astride Hugh’s hips and pushes upright, swaying with a sudden sense of nausea.
”Babe? Whoa-!”
Strong arms circle his waist, lowering him back down to the sheets. He swallows hard, forcing his stomach back down to where it belongs. Once his head stops swimming, he opens eyes he doesn’t remember closing to find Hugh hovering with a concerned frown, tricomm scan floating between them.
”Ugh,” he huffs, “that wasn’t great.”
“Benign paroxysmal positional vertigo. Feeling okay now?”
Normally he’d grumble about Dr. Culber appearing in their bed, but it’s difficult to be annoyed when Hugh is watching him with tender concern.
”Mmm. Think so.”
”Want to try that again?”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he nods. This time, he sits up slowly, cautiously waiting to make sure his body is onboard after being horizontal for so long. His stomach rumbles as he does, underscoring just how long it’s been since he last ate anything.
He waves Hugh off once they reach the bathroom doorway, going to program the tub and take care of other business.
“Babe,” Hugh’s voice cuts through the sound of the tub filling, “what do you want to eat?”
Finishing with the facilities, Paul washes his hands and considers the options.
”Surprise me?”
He slips into the tub when it’s halfway full, sighing at the contrast between the almost-too-hot water and literally freezing less than a day ago. Paul ducks his head under the water briefly, surfacing to see Hugh’s bare feet approaching.
“No drowning when I have my hands full.”
The tray he deposits beside the tub boasts crepes with fruit, sliced ham, and two steaming mugs. Paul immediately claims the one closest to him, inhaling the steam before tasting the cinnamon-swirled foam.
Nothing like replicators making your coffee at just the right temperature.
There’s a splash as Hugh slides into the water on the other side, chuckling as Paul happily drinks half of the cafe au lait and makes only slightly exaggerated noises of satisfaction.
”If that coffee makes you come, I’m going to be jealous.”
Licking his lips, Paul sets the mug back on the tray.
”I’m pretty sure we established that you’re the only thing that makes me come that doesn’t vibrate.”
“Mmmhmm.”
He busies himself cutting the crepes into bite-sized pieces before shoveling a forkful into his mouth. They’re delightfully tender and sweet, and Hugh definitely remembered to add whipped mascarpone this time.
”Thank you,” he leans across to kiss Hugh’s cheek while he chews, “this is perfect.”
Hugh scoots closer, helping himself to ham and fruit. His unoccupied hand glides over Paul’s thighs, the silky mineral water making it almost frictionless.
“Should we check that everything still works?”
It’s teasing banter with no expectation, and even after this long, Paul still revels in their understanding. Yet it’s also a reminder of just how perilous their situation had become, and he sets down the fork after another couple of bites.
“That was…” he trails off, folding one leg in to be able to face Hugh fully, elbow resting on the side of the tub.
Hugh drains his mug and mirrors his position, running his fingers through Paul’s damp hair.
”You scared me.”
His voice is steady, but the tiny tension lines beside his eyes are a greater tell than any words.
”I scared me.”
“You were so cold,” Hugh murmurs, resting their foreheads together, “I couldn’t keep you conscious.”
The steam from their bath leaves tiny droplets that cling to Hugh’s eyelashes and beard, and Paul steals another kiss.
”I tried. I couldn’t, and I- I needed to, for you and Adira, but it felt like I was being pulled away.”
”I’m bringing an emergency thermal on every trip now, even if I have to ask Tilly where she got her boot pouch.”
It’s said with a lightness of tone that Paul knows Hugh doesn’t feel, knows that he’s only half-joking.
”I’m glad Adira’s okay.”
”They were pretty shaken up. I think…well, I remember Tracy yelling at me for trying to help with you, and that probably didn’t help. You looked terrible.”
A tiny shiver accompanies the last sentence despite the balmy heat of the bathroom. Paul nudges Hugh backwards until he’s sitting again, then rises onto his knees and settles on his lap. It’s not a position he’ll be able to hold for long, but it lets him wrap both arms around Hugh’s shoulders and hold him close.
”I’m sorry I scared you.”
”Try not to do it again?”
That last is spoken into his sternum, Hugh’s cheek against his heart.
”I’ll do my best. And,” he tries to lighten the mood, “sorry for scandalizing Tracy. Again.”
That earns him a chuckle, and Hugh leans back enough to make eye contact.
“She had to put a heating pad on your dick babe, I think we probably owe her something nice the next time there’s shore leave.”
He winces, remembering the intention behind putting on that particular pair of underwear while Hugh was brushing his teeth, planning to take full advantage of their tendency to undress each other after an away mission.
”I thought it would make a nice after-dinner surprise.”
Hugh squeezes his left pectoral, thumb rubbing over his nipple.
”You wanted to get fucked over the table?”
The question is paired with a gentle bite to his neck.
“I- unnhhhh…”
The rest of the verbal response he was planning to make dissolves when Hugh pinches and tugs. Paul surges forward, water sheeting off his skin. The oooph Hugh makes when his back hits the side of the tub is swallowed up by the kiss, sweetness discarded for primal affirmation of life. Hugh gropes his ass, squeezing and kneading as Paul licks his way into his mouth, tugging at Hugh’s lower lip with his teeth and using the height advantage to take control of the kiss.
Paul knows full well what his occasional assertiveness does to Hugh, fondling his chest before slipping a hand between them to find him starting to harden. Had things not become quite so dire, he’s sure this would have happened last night in bed, possibly with Hugh pinning him to the mattress while he kissed and licked and sucked every memory of cold from his skin. As it is, he lets Paul do as he will, head tipping back to allow full access to his throat even as he returns the favor, hand stroking and coaxing him to catch up. His pulse judders as Paul scrapes his teeth over it, nipping at skin damp with the salty tang of their bath. The room echoes with splashing and low noises of pleasure, full of their love play.
The waterproof lube is in the shower, but Paul doesn’t think he’s up to a full fuck, never mind lacking the desire to pause long enough to retrieve it. Instead, he eventually pulls away, taking in Hugh’s kiss-swollen mouth and heated stare, stealing one more kiss before urging him up onto his knees facing away. Elbows braced on the edge of the tub, Hugh half-turns with a question in his eyes that transforms into understanding when Paul shifts his knees to the outside of Hugh’s legs, pressing his thighs together.
”Yeah?”
Paul slots himself between those thighs, pushing forward until his hips are flush with Hugh’s well-muscled backside.
”Mmhmm.”
He wraps his arms around around Hugh’s waist and Hugh grips the edge, pushing back to meet him as they find a familiar rhythm. The same minerals that cloud the water make the slide of skin on skin almost effortless, doubly so when he pulls back a little too far and slips into the cleft instead. Hugh’s back flexes against his chest, shoulders bunching as Paul leaves a line of love bites from the nape of his neck across and down nearly to his biceps. It’s a sign of how much healing took from their bodies that things aren’t over as quickly as they usually would be, post-danger lust tempered into a filthy slow grind. Every thrust across sensitive skin elicits a moan full of sensual satisfaction, one of Hugh’s hands disappearing under the water.
“…fuck,” Paul breathes into his shoulder, hips starting to rock faster, “Hugh…”
“Mmmmm- getting…ohhh, getting close, sweetheart?”
He manages a breathless gasp of affirmation, quickly followed by a cry of surprise when Hugh pushes off the side of the tub, turning to hoist him out of the water. His ass lands on the tile and he barely has time to register the cooler air on his skin before Hugh’s mouth is on him, hot and demanding. He’s vaguely aware of something clattering as his hands fumble for balance, slipping on the damp surface. Holding off would be impossible when he starts to hum, and Paul tumbles over the edge with a moan.
When he’s quieted to the occasional shiver, Hugh lets him slip out from between his lips with a final kiss. Paul opens his eyes to find Hugh resting his cheek on his thigh, giving him a satisfied smile that says Paul’s offer to return the favor would be moot. Still-
“Want me to…?”
Huffing a laugh, Hugh swishes his hand in the water.
”Took care of it while you were coming.”
Glancing to the side, Paul carefully nudges the tray a bit further away. One of the empty mugs is overturned, courtesy of his flailing hand, and he contemplates the remains of their breakfast with a lopsided smile.
“Bath, breakfast, and blowjob?”
Grinning, Hugh rises up, reaching across his lap for a towel.
”This is a full service establishment, Doctor Stamets.”
“Mmm. Tell the management I’ll definitely be staying here again.”
Hugh drapes the fluffy towel around his shoulders, using it to reel him in for a kiss.
”Lifetime reservation.”
Notes:
Accidental 2,400 word epilogue. Finally passed 450k words and I 100% blame Culmets for being adorkably hot.
Also working on the story of the first time Paul wore the sexy undies ;)
Thoughts on the fast-approaching Chapter 600: conclusion of “Sobrina”, finally finishing “Spirit” (Hugh communing with T’Vala’s katra), or…?
Chapter 596: Salve
Summary:
“…slumped against each other in the corner of the Starbase 12 medical ward while Hugh snatched a precious hour of sleep during the war…”
Notes:
Snippet based on a line from the “Subarctic” mini-series, describing uncomfortable places they’ve had to sleep. The title is used in the context of something that helps a wound heal.
Headcanon: Hugh was very happy to have Paul at Utopia Planitia, as far away from the fighting as possible. He’s run ragged, and T’Vala decides it’s time to intercede for the sake of Hugh’s ability to practice medicine and because she knows he needs Paul.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
>> Message from S'dar T'lhai T'Vala, LT, MED/SB-12 to Stamets, Paul, LT, SCI/UtoPlan
>> Priority: Urgent
>> Audio only
>> Begin playback
Greetings, Paul. I shall first assure you that Hugh is uninjured. He is, however, the purpose for this message.
Records state that the construction of Discovery is proceeding as anticipated. Given the current stage of assembly of the plasma manifolds, I calculate that there is an eighty-seven-point-nine percent probability that this will prohibit you from continuing work for seven-point-six days.
I wish to make a request of you that may at first appear illogical; thus, I ask that you reserve judgment until I have finished. I wish to ask that you travel to Starbase Twelve expeditiously. My reasons are thus:
First, while safety is paramount in times of war, the pattern of Klingon attacks suggests a break in hostilities. Based on prior data, this will require them to cease attacks in this sector for approximately five-point-two days.
Second, the U.S.S. Farragut will be departing Earth to bring supplies to Starbase Twelve eight-point-five hours after this message will arrive. Given the priority designation, I am confident you will receive it in sufficient time to request passage.
Third, you may provide as reason the attached document, which I believe to be self-evident.
Fourth, and perhaps that which will underscore the reason for this message: your mate is in need of your presence. While he has doubtless communicated something of his experience, prior knowledge suggests that he would consider such a request to be both selfish and dangerous. For the first, while his respect for your scientific dedication is praiseworthy, it will be greatly beneficial to his health and performance as a physician by means which medical intervention cannot reproduce. For the latter, I refer you to the first of my reasons.
Lastly, having witnessed the depth of your bond and its effects, it is my responsibility as his friend and colleague to ensure his continued health by any means reasonable.
If you are in agreement, please include a response in the affirmative with the Farragut’s message packet following their departure, and I will inform Hugh of your arrival.
Regardless of your decision, I wish you peace and long life. Should you not choose to travel, I will endeavor to ensure Hugh’s continued health.
>> End of message
>> Attachment:
Medical priority orders, superseding all previous: Temporary leave request for Stamets, Paul, LT, SCI/UtoPlan on medical grounds
Cross-reference: “Rights of Registered Partnership”, Starfleet Regulations 112-5 Section B
Immediate transport to Starbase 12 aboard the U.S.S. Farragut approved by S'dar T'lhai T'Vala, LT, MED/SB-12 as secondary physician of record for Culber, Hugh, LTCDR, MED/CMO-SB-12
“I can help-“
“Paul.”
T’Vala’s normally sharp gaze is dulled, eyes ever so slightly not focused on him. There’s a barely perceptible shake to her hands as she rapidly sutures- physically stitches - a gaping thigh wound closed layer by layer. The amount of fatigue and emotional regulation must be staggeringly awful for her to be anything but fully composed.
“Your offer of assistance and service is laudable. However,” she pauses to swab antiseptic solution on the neat line of stitches, “given your lack of formal medical training, your time would be best spent ensuring Hugh’s rest. The investment of your effort in allaying his fatigue will far outweigh triage.”
”I-“ he steps out of the way as someone heads their direction, “but-“
The base’s head nurse catches his arm in a firm grip as she passes.
”Stamets? Good. Go make sure Hugh sleeps for an hour.”
T’Vala’s raised eyebrow says ‘I told you so’ with pointed Vulcan commentary.
“Hugh needs you.” Her voice lowers a fraction even as her hands continue moving, “I have observed the quality of sleep he attains in your presence, and assure you that returning him well-rested is a task only you can perform for your mate.”
Paul finds Hugh stumbling his direction, uniform as far from pristine white as he’s ever seen it and eyes haunted. He still manages to summon a genuine smile as Paul’s arms close around his waist and he holds on just as fiercely, burying his face in the side of Paul’s neck. Starbase Twelve’s CMO becomes just Hugh Culber again, shoulders sagging beneath an invisible weight.
“You’re here,” he mumbles, “thank you. You shouldn’t…I…”
His lips are chapped, and Paul can smell the coffee and stimulants on his breath as they kiss.
”Shh. Come on…”
He ignores the metallic scent of blood and turns the embrace into a walk backwards until they’re in a corner as far away from the controlled chaos as possible. They sink to the deck, Hugh more like a puppet with its strings cut than anything. Paul unzips his jacket, easing the filthy fabric from Hugh’s arms and wrapping him in a thermal blanket before shedding his own jacket.
”You- what? Ahh.”
Hugh’s fretful whine and frown subside as Paul rearranges them with the blanket draped over both of their shoulders. He eases them back until they’re slouched against the bulkhead, his relatively clean jacket padding their heads, and wraps both arms around Hugh. His partner squirms, turning until he’s snuggled as close as possible into Paul’s side, one leg hooked over his own.
”Sorry…”
Paul shakes his head.
”Don’t be. You needed me, I’m here. Sleep,” he continues, tucking Hugh’s head beneath his chin, “I’ve got you.”
He holds on tight, making soothing noises and rocking them gently back and forth until the last of the tension drains away and Hugh is snoring into his chest.
“I love you,” he murmurs into Hugh’s ear, “you’re not alone.”
Notes:
Thoughts on T’Vala essentially leveraging a Starfleet regulation and her status as a doctor to ensure Paul comes to see Hugh? I considered Tracy ordering it, but it makes so much sense to come from T’Vala, particularly when Hugh would never ask for it himself.
Continues in Chapter 607.
Chapter 597: Soirée
Chapter Text
The ‘Fleet Gala in the 32nd century is smaller than the lavish celebration that she remembers. While the setting is gorgeous, completely surrounded by transparent walls at HQ, it’s not the high dome in San Francisco that generations of cadets stared upwards at in awe. The stars are dazzling, but she misses the sight of the Golden Gate out of the southwest portico, the lights of the old Presidio Yacht Club shining down by the water.
A few meters away, Nilsson is laughingly leading Bryce through a very basic waltz. Tracy can hear him bemoaning the ease of kitesurfing in comparison to ballroom, the friendly teasing from Rhys and Tilly as he stumbles over Nilsson’s boots. Not far from them, Gray seems to be tugging a reluctant Adira onto the dance floor, expression suggesting that the resistance isn’t completely serious. Saru and President T’Rina are sitting a very polite eighteen inches apart on the far side of the room, sharing conversation over hors d’œuvres, and Admiral Vance is watching over the whole proceedings with a smile of proprietary pride, his wife giving some sort of comment while Nhan seems to be teaching their daughter a traditional Barzan dance.
It’s a lovely evening altogether, and Tracy takes a short break for a drink, standing off to the side to watch for a while.
“Man,” a voice mutters beside her, fondness peeking through the criticism, “someone want to tell them to get a room?”
(“If they wish to engage in sexual intercourse and understand the desire to be mutual, is it not simpler to declare their intentions?”
Tracy sighs, setting down her cocktail and giving T’Vala a sideways look. In front of them, Hugh and Paul are oblivious to anyone else on the crowded floor as they tango, bodies moving in sync while they stare into each other’s eyes.
”This is them declaring their intentions.”)
For a moment, she misses their Vulcan friend so intensely it’s almost physical. Instead of T’Vala in her elegant formal robes, Reno’s lounging against the high table with a plate in hand, dress uniform collar unzipped and a mock-frown on her face while she eats olives off a cocktail stick. Tracy doesn’t have to follow her gaze to know exactly what she means, but does so anyway.
She’s danced salsa with Hugh, fast-paced and lively. Tracy’s also witnessed him use dance as flirtation, seductive and inviting with an attractive stranger long before that fateful visit to Alpha Centauri. Seeing him dance with Paul when his partner isn’t feeling self-conscious and they’re not feeling constrained by strictly formal obligations…is something else.
Paul and Hugh sway together, hands clasped between their chests and arms around each other’s waist. They’re not even sharing a particularly provocative dance - not a clear precursor to more horizontal dancing - or other innately passionate motion. Even so, there’s a primal sensuality to it, Hugh leading with his hips, subtle changes in posture and the hand resting at the small of Paul’s back guiding them.
”I’ve tried,” she offers in response, “believe me.”
Paul whispers something in Hugh’s ear as he rests his head on Paul’s shoulder, and the tiny smile it evokes feels obscenely honest and intimate, something not meant to be witnessed.
“You know…don’t tell them I said this.”
Reno’s voice is quieter than expected, and Tracy looks at her in askance, finding her expression contemplative.
”Hmm?”
”I remember being that obnoxiously in love.”
”Jett-“
A holo passes by with a tray of fresh canapés in hand.
”Would you look at that,” Reno abandons her empty plate, turning to follow, “still hungry.”
Tracy lets her go without further comment, attention returning to the others. The music changes to something faster and upbeat, more people streaming onto the dance floor. Paul and Hugh still only have eyes for each other, the effortless switch in leading between one turn and the next so smooth that she might have missed it otherwise, bodies relaxed but Paul’s thighs now communicating where they move next.
The tempo increases again a few minutes later, laughter and cheers as some of the cadets start showing off acrobatic moves. Aisha’s heading her way with a grin that says Tracy is absolutely joining the rest of the Med team, and she sets down her empty glass to follow. As she passes, Paul twirls Hugh, dipping him and letting him use their return momentum to lift Paul clean off his feet for a quarter-turn in front of Adira’s wide-eyed stare while Gray applauds.
”Yeah,” Tracy murmurs to herself, sharing a knowing smile with Aisha, “that.”
Chapter 598: Storm
Summary:
What was going through Paul’s mind at the end of “Project Daedalus” when Airiam dies?
Notes:
Angst. Angsty, angsty angst.
I somehow managed to get almost to 600 chapters without using "storm"?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Watching Airiam’s final, selfless, heroic sacrifice against the backdrop of Michael's desperate denial of a no-win scenario drowns Discovery's bridge in utter stillness. Captain Pike is left with his mouth open, frozen in the act of stepping forward, and Admiral Cornwell's face goes completely blank. Detmer grips Rhys' hand like a lifeline and beside her at ops, Owosekun's gasp reminds him of a wounded animal. Tilly's eyes are bright with tears - so caring, so compassionate - and Paul wants to reach out to give her comfort, because she's been so brilliant and brave in the face of so much uncertainty.
Instead, he closes his eyes against the storm of deafening silence. There's nothing he can say, nothing he can do. He can't reach out, can't touch, can't offer anything more than the clenched muscles of his jaw and nails digging into his own palms.
Can't connect.
Because the one person in the universe who understand-
He opens his eyes to see Nhan's readings flicker back to life.
Understood you, saw all of you and loved you-
He wonders if it's frozen in their minds, the view from Michael's suit the moment the airlock opened and Airiam was blown out into space like so much debris, clinging fiercely to the shreds of her humanity in the face of death.
He died because of you.
Captain Pike stumbles backwards into his chair, and Paul sees the Admiral briefly squeeze his hand. It seems to re-energize him, because he shakes his head sharply and begins to issue quiet but firm orders to beam Michael and Nhan back. Softer still, but with a steel that marks him as a starship captain, he asks if Admiral Cornwell will assist in locating Airiam's frozen body.
He was so cold.
It's something Owosekun or Rhys or Bryce or Tilly could and should do, but even in his own grief, Pike thinks of his crew first. The Admiral nods, first at Pike and then at Saru, who gently steers Tilly away from her station by the shoulders. Saru clears his throat, murmurs something about needing to arrange for services, moving as if in physical pain.
You buried him.
Detmer has her hand over her mouth, body shaking with suppressed emotion. Over the comm, he can hear Nhan's report, voice clipped and weak.
"Medbay - Doctor Pollard, Doctor Culber, we're beaming Burnham and Nhan directly to you."
He can hear an intake of breath that's so familiar it stabs at his heart, lances it through with memories.
You saved him and forced him into a hellscape in the network.
Tracy clears her throat, and he imagines her leaning into Hugh's shoulder.
"-Captain-"
"Commander Airiam has been lost."
"Understood."
The Admiral is busy at Tilly's station, hands moving adeptly. She doesn't criticize or question, and he sees guilt flash over her features. Her eyes are heavy with what has to be the knowledge that - despite everything else beyond their control - her mission is what led to this.
You could always see what he was thinking, everything he felt about you in his eyes.
Now, Airiam is dead. The admirals running Section 31, corrupt though they might have been, are dead. Michael could have cost the entire universe its very existence by her hesitation, and Nhan was forced to carry out an act he cannot imagine.
Paul closes his eyes against the pain that he expects to wash over him.
But there was nothing.
When it comes, it’s muted, a muffled clash of cymbals and tiny pricks of hurt, not the overwhelming sense of loss. He's drained, empty, exhausted.
He doesn’t love you anymore.
These days, Paul Stamets doesn’t feel much of anything at all.
Notes:
Revisiting Season Two feels like a punch to the gut, even knowing that our boys make it back to each other.
Chapter 599: Sequel (aka Side Effects)
Notes:
So I started writing this in May 2020, and it's September 2023 now. Oops?
Throwback to Season One, before "Into The Forest I Go".
Contains sexytimes ;)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first few days after The Tardigrade Incident (Hugh can’t help the mental capitals), he’d done his best to watch Paul for signs of negative side effects.
After repairing the punctured diaphragm - he has no idea how Paul was able to laugh with a lung on the verge of collapsing - and lacerated liver, thankful beyond belief that the rods managed to push aside his large intestine rather than piercing it, Hugh thinks he has a right to be worried. Worry translates to hovering, but rather than being annoyed by it, Paul seems to be supremely unbothered the majority of the time, turning a sweet smile Hugh's way. It brings out the beginnings of crow's feet beside his eyes, nose wrinkling in happiness when Hugh leans in for kisses. His public demeanor, guarded and tense ever since the war and Lorca ripped Paul from his secluded research lab, has drastically changed too. Paul's generally heightened mood isn’t a bad thing in and of itself, however unexpected and disconcerting it is for everyone on the ship.
Including Hugh.
Paul’s always been affectionate, at least away from prying eyes. The prickly exterior and social awkwardness melt away when it’s just the two of them, the habitual stiffness of his spine and focused frown relaxing into the familiar slouch forward (Hugh's forever reminding him that poor posture exacerbates his tense neck and shoulders). Harrington and his team from Deneva might know his dry humor and sense of scientific wonder, but the openness on his face, the unguarded enthusiasm...that's always been Hugh's.
And you're having a hard time sharing.
It's jarring enough without having to consider the possible downstream effects of horizontal gene transfer.
You, Tracy, and Aisha all examined the scans separately. There's nothing else to be concerned about.
Yet.
The stress of the last few months has been counterbalanced with comfort sex, by turns gentle exploration and passionate physicality as a bulwark against the universe. Their desire for each other hasn't diminished with the prospect of no expiration date on being together, the cuddles and snuggles and blowjobs keeping apace with their general levels of exhaustion. They've always enjoyed each other's bodies, teasing with words and glances, yet ever since The Incident, Paul's brought a new level of playfulness to their bed. It's another thing to get used to, and Hugh keeps reminding himself that maybe he ought not to keep examining the silver lining for hidden flaws.
Still.
Four days later, he’s stretched out on the bed reading, seven pages into a new procedure review for cardiac reconstruction when he hears the doors to their quarters swish open.
”Hi babe,” he calls out, flicking to the next page.
Silence.
That’s odd. Normally Paul would be taking off his boots with an audible sigh, dropping a stack of PADDs on the table, already complaining about the incompetence of the engineers he’s been forced to work with (pre-Incident) or talking a light year a minute about his latest new idea.
Did you imagine the sound of the door?
Hugh lowers his reading to confirm that yes, his partner is definitely home. Paul is also rooted to the spot, frozen in the act of taking off his jacket with both hands hovering over his collar. He’s staring at Hugh with slightly glassy eyes.
”Babe? Is everything okay?”
Hugh sets down the PADD and pushes himself up on his elbows. The movement makes his abdominal muscles flex, and the rustle of the sheets almost drowns out Paul’s sharp inhale. Frowning, he makes to climb off the bed, reaching for the tricorder on his nightstand without even looking.
”No! Stay. Right there. Please?”
The blurted command stops him as he sits up.
”Sweetheart, you’re weirding me out,” he mutters, but settles back against the pillows and untangles his legs from the covers in case he needs to stand quickly.
“You-“ Paul’s expression evolves from dazed to transfixed to faintly predatory in the space of a few breaths, licking his lips, “wow.”
”Oookay?”
Paul’s staring at his body, eyes roving over his skin and returning to focus somewhere just below his waist.
"Yeah."
"What?"
Hugh looks down, wondering what the problem is.
Oh.
He’d gotten distracted after his shower by the alert on his PADD of a new article being posted, and laid down in just his underwear. These are the shorter ones he wears off-duty, mostly because they cradle certain parts of his anatomy tightly, pushing things forward to create a rather prominent bulge under any pants he might put on over them. They’re also the most comfortable and supportive, but that’s irrelevant. It’s not like Paul hasn’t seen him in them before.
Or peeled them off you with his teeth, that one time.
Although...
He considers the past few weeks, each of them working past the end of their shifts and coming home to find the other in the shower or already dressed for bed. Paul hasn’t really seen him in anything besides his uniform, stark naked, or pajamas in that time.
"You...mmm."
Paul's breathing picks up enough that he can hear it, teeth worrying his lower lip in a way that says blood is being diverted below the waist. Despite the ever-present concern that shadows Hugh's every step, he can't resist a smirk. He wasn’t setting up for a seduction, but seems to have stumbled into it on accident. If he’d been planning on enticing Paul, there are a few more pairs at the back of the drawer, non-utilitarian and skimpy or transparent bits of fabric (Paul calls them Hugh’s “come suck me off now” underwear) he could have tucked himself into.
I can work with this.
He stretches, deliberately arching up off the sheets. Paul's eyes follow his hand as he slowly traces it over his own torso, reaching down to adjust himself.
“My eyes are up here.”
Paul finally finishes unzipping his jacket, tossing it in the general direction of a chair and missing by a meter, and kicks off his boots somewhere around the coffee table. It's as telling a sign as any, when his usually fastidious lover leaves things abandoned on the floor. Each bit of clothing removed brings him closer until he stops at the foot of the bed in just his pants, barefoot and waiting.
”Mmhmm.”
Hugh folds his hands under his head in a way that shows off his biceps, spreading his legs in a seemingly casual display. Paul’s still staring, and he flexes his abdominal muscles just to hear the sharp intake of breath and watch his partner lick his lips again.
”See something you like?” he teases, bending his knees to plant both feet flat on the sheets.
“Lots of somethings,” Paul replies, palming himself through his own pants and pressing the heel of his hand against the growing bulge. A spark of want travels up his spine, and he can feel his own groin tightening.
“Mmm. Going to share that?”
Paul doesn’t answer with words, just climbs onto the bed and crawls up Hugh’s body, eyes wide and expression intent. He drops his head to nuzzle at the front of Hugh’s underwear, rubbing his cheek over Hugh’s hip before pressing his nose to where his dick is just starting to get interested. Hugh shivers with delight as Paul inhales deeply, nosing at the bulge and dragging his parted lips over the outline of his shaft under the fabric. Warm hands settle onto his thighs, thumbs making themselves at home tracing the crease beneath his obliques and skimming ever-so-close to his groin. He smiles as Paul blows him a kiss, left hand working its way into Paul's hair to muss the carefully set style. Paul leans into the petting for a moment, eyes falling closed with a content hum as Hugh shifts against the pillows, making himself more comfortable.
When he opens his eyes again, they're dark with want.
"Hi."
"Hi sweetheart," he abandons Paul's hair to trace a thumb over his bitten-pink lips, "how was your day?"
Catching Hugh's thumb between his teeth, Paul suckles on it briefly, releasing it with a wet pop.
"It's always better with you."
The simplicity of the statement flutters in Hugh's chest, and he tucks it away for later in favor of letting the heat of Paul's body and his scent - tinged with traces of musk from sweat - rouse his own desire further.
"Me too. Are yo- nnngggghhhhh..."
Without missing a beat, Paul gives the evidence of his interest an open-mouthed kiss, tongue working the tip through the thin fabric as his lips take up an intimate massage. Already spread, Hugh's legs fall open wider, and Paul hums a quiet laugh that makes him moan. He hooks his fingers over Hugh's waistband, waiting for him to lift his hips off the bed before pulling the damp underwear off completely.
"Hugh?"
"...yeah?"
"Better hold on."
He has approximately three seconds latch onto both the pillow and Paul's hair before higher thought deserts him in favor of considering all of the filthy things he'd like to do to and with his partner. Hugh unashamedly loves sucking cock, but Paul has a way of making him feel like he’s worshipping with his mouth. Paul isn't quiet as he works, noises of enjoyment spilling out of the corners of his mouth and their vibration only adding to Hugh's pleasure. His eyes go unfocused and half-closed, a hint of blue peeking past his lashes, and a tiny frown takes up residence on his forehead, the same one that usually means he's deep in thought about a scientific quandary.
(If sucking him off rates the same amount of concentration as research, Hugh isn't going to complain at the compliment.)
Sometime later - minutes, surely - Hugh hears the sound of a zipper. The vanishingly small portion of his brain not occupied with what's happening between his legs realizes Paul hasn’t bothered to take his pants off, hand shoved down the open fly to fit inside his own briefs.
"-oh fuck...babe...let me-"
The resulting hum of negation nearly pushes him over the edge, the hand making a vague gesture offering reciprocation pinned to the sheets by the wrist. Paul Stamets on a mission is relentless and glorious to behold, and Hugh gives up attempting to do anything but enjoy the ride.
Close.
Paul breathes harshly through his nose with every thrust into his mouth, lips reddened, moaning as Hugh tugs on his hair. The hand not holding Hugh's is still busy inside his pants, shoulder bouncing against the back of Hugh's thigh. He knows the exact moment that Paul comes because his jaw goes slack and Hugh accidentally pushes in too far. It's too late to apologize - despite the cough, he doubts Paul actually minds - because orgasm steals his own ability to form words for several seconds.
When he opens his eyes, it's to find Paul gazing up at him with a suspiciously smug smile.
"Good?"
Chuckling, Hugh groans as he pushes up on his elbows, sheets sticking to his sweaty skin. He untangles their fingers, hauling Paul up for a kiss.
"Do you really have to ask?"
Paul's other hand grabs his bicep for balance, and they both pause as something squelches.
"Umm."
"Shower?"
He's being tugged off the mattress while the question mark still hangs in the air between them. His partner is a post-coital cuddler, and the burst of energy dampens the afterglow a bit as Hugh wonders whether it's yet another side effect. It's not negative per se, but it's something else he's going to have to get used to. On the other hand-
"Hugh?"
The lights of the bathroom stare back at him as he blinks, and he realizes that's he's stopped with one foot across the bathroom threshold. Paul's happy smile is starting to fade at the edges, and much as he's worried about the fallout from The Incident, there's no reason to spoil their evening.
"Sorry," he offers his best apologetic wince, "I think you sucked my brains out through my di- mmmpphhh."
Paul pulls back from the kiss and winks at him, momentary unease forgotten.
"Come on. Shower, then back to bed. After we brush our teeth," he amends, thumb stroking the back of Hugh's hand, "then I want snuggles, dear doctor."
It's difficult to hold onto concern in the face of Paul's earnest, simple request. Hugh very deliberately pushes away everything else but the moment they're in, and squeezes Paul's hand gently.
"I think that can be arranged."
Notes:
500ish words of sexytimes became 2,000 of slightly worried Hugh times, but I'm not mad at it.
Chapter 600 is next! 455k words, over 1,000 kudos, 69k hits, and literal thousands of comments...thank you all so much. I wouldn't have made it here without your support.
Chapter 600: Sobrina, Part Two
Summary:
What exactly does Tilly's weird dream have to do with reality?
Notes:
Picks up directly from Chapter 577 ("Sobrina, Part One"). Jumps between Tilly and Paul's POV.
I accidentally hit "Post Chapter" too early, apologies for any confusion on notifications last weekend!
I realize I reference wardrobes and dressers throughout my stories, even though no freestanding ones are apparent in Paul and Hugh's quarters / on set. Taking a bit of hand-wavy license - particularly because the closet next to the door seems way too small - I'm going to say some of the visible panels are actually furniture and storage that retracts into the walls :P
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
She’s not on until beta shift, but something lingers in the back of her mind. At first, Tilly writes it off as one too many shots of espresso and does her best to ignore it even as it prickles over her subconscious, like the dance of static before a thunderstorm. When she can’t focus on either reading or reviewing data though, she sits up and climbs off of her bed, getting dressed before setting off through Discovery’s corridors.
Following an instinct she can’t quite name, Tilly finds herself inside the cultivation bay. It's almost completely silent once the doors close behind her, and she lets her feet carry her between the rows of fungi. The opalescent capering of spores still makes her smile even after this long, takes the edge off whatever weirdness has been clinging to her all morning. She inhales deeply, smelling loam and the otherworldly essence of Prototaxites stellaviatori, watching as the irrigation system fills the room with a light mist.
Everything seems normal in the spore drive bay, and she sets up at an auxiliary console to review the set of readings from when Book used the drive last week. The spores interact with him much more directly than Stamets, but she likes to think the network recognizes her erstwhile mentor and welcomes him, versus being…compelled by Book’s empathic connection. Even if it's only in an academic sense - none of them are 100% certain of how the spores transmute human neural impulses into navigation - it's been part of a long-term project of hers to pursue. She gets the inexplicable feeling that it’s more like Book shouting in someone’s ear versus Paul pantomiming a request, and while the results are the same, there’s something different about it.
Maybe an hour in, she’s distracted by a small notification popping up over her left hand. Frowning, she opens a diagnostic window, then another.
And another.
Weird.
She takes a break to drink an espresso macchiato and have a bowl of oatmeal, sitting on the steps down into the bay and practicing a few techniques Hugh's taught her to clear her mind (or at least quiet her thoughts). Returning to the issue once there's only a trace of foam left at the bottom of her cup, she dismisses the diagnostics and starts a new series.
That's odd.
What...
Tilly accesses the common database, then the one solely devoted to all things related to the network, and frowns.
It shouldn't be doing that.
”Zora?”
Hello, Lieutenant Tilly.
“Are you seeing thi-" she shakes her head and waves a hand as if to erase the words, "sorry, of course you are.”
Zora’s interface coalesces at eye-height.
You wish me to direct my attention to the unusual levels of activity in the three canisters of spores captured yesterday?
Having a sentient ship's computer-turned-new lifeform definitely has its advantages.
"Yes, please."
I’ve already begun an analysis.
“Thanks. I swear they look like they’re forming a logarithmic spike, but we’ve never detected that kind of activity outside of a jump.”
They work in silence for a few minutes before Zora's interface blinks and quietly chimes. It's distinct enough to get her attention but not jarringly so, and always makes Tilly think of someone politely clearing her throat.
"Zora?"
I am detecting patterns corresponding to language.
"Huh..." she scrolls through the analysis Zora floats in front of her, "could it be a natural phenomenon?"
They significantly differ from regular repeated or statistically random frequencies. While it is impossible for me to be completely certain, there is a ninety-two point-seven percent likelihood that it has been artificially generated rather than a cosmological event.
Tipping her head to the side, Tilly studies the highlighted sections of the signal analysis. She hums in thought, nodding.
"Who's at Communications on the Bridge?"
Lieutenant Commander Bryce has just come on duty.
"Thanks. Tilly to Bryce."
"You're up early, aren't you?"
Shaking her head even though she knows he can't see her, Tilly taps her fingers on the console.
"Supposed to be on beta. Sorry, this is going to sound a bit odd-"
"On Discovery?"
The undercurrent of exaggerated incredulity helps settle some of the something prickling at her subconscious.
"Zora, could you please- thank you. Can you take a look at the readings Zora just sent and let me know if they correspond to any known language?"
A pause, then a thoughtful hum. Tilly's glad that Zora hasn't manifested the particular sentient characteristic of ego, no objection to her asking Bryce to apply human intuition to it.
"You know, you probably shouldn't have said that if you don't want to bias me."
"Sorry, do you want a four-move handicap the next time we play kadis-kot?"
Bryce chuckles, although she can can tell part of his attention is elsewhere.
"Make it five...and we'll call it- huh."
"Huh?"
A new display pops up in front of her, Bryce's annotations flashing green.
"There's a definite correlation in the patterns, but without the linguistic markers, I'm not sure about syntax- actually, wait.”
”Okay?”
“There’s a pattern…hang on. Repeated sets of- Zora, can you run a multivariate comparison against...Starfleet serial numbers and access codes?"
Certainly. Shall I limit the parameters?
"Bryce?"
"Just a hunch," he mutters, "Zora, set it for twenty-two forty-five to...twenty-three twenty."
Tilly crosses her arms, frowning.
"You think it's someone using information from our...from the past?"
"Like I said, a hunch. The frequency of spikes almost matches the universal Starfleet identification protocol. Well, the one before we left."
It will take approximately seventeen minutes to complete the process.
The data set must be massive - she does a quick mental calculation, grimacing as it starts to go exponential - to take that long. Nodding again, she pulls Bryce’s results closer.
Shall I contact Commander Stamets?
The same feeling of something nudging at her brain skitters over her subconscious, gone again before Tilly can make sense of it.
”…no, I’ll do it. Although-“ she chews her lip, “he worked gamma.”
There’s no doubt in her mind that he would want to be woken up for something this unusual, but experience also tells her that he won’t necessarily be happy about it.
Prepare for cranky Stamets.
"Tilly to Stamets."
Consciousness drags him unwilling from sleep. Paul pulls half of his face out of the pillow and yawns.
”…yes?”
”Sorry sir,” she sounds genuinely contrite, “but there’s something…interesting happening you’ll probably want to see.”
“ ‘Interesting’ how?”
"The new samples of spores are, well, we're still figuring that part out."
Sighing, he scrubs a hand over his eyes, rolling onto his back within the circle of Hugh's unconscious embrace and keeping his voice low.
"Tilly..."
”So…I had a weird dream last night. And I think this could be related?”
He hasn’t heard Cadet Tilly’s uncertainty from her in a while, and isn’t quite sure how to parse it. Hugh, roused slightly by either the motion or noise, rubs his cheek on Paul’s shoulder before falling still again. He cuddles further into the arms draped loosely around his torso, fingers idly tracing Hugh's knuckles.
”A dream.”
"May was there, and there was someone- I can’t remember all of it. Just. Paul,” Tilly’s voice has an odd wobble to it, “this feels important. I don't know why, but it does.”
Beside him, Hugh stirs again, groaning quietly. The fingers fisted in Paul’s pajama top flex, tickling his stomach, and he peels one eye open to check the chronometer.
”Can you send the readings up here?”
”I don’t- just. It’s resonance through the network. Zora and Bryce think it could be a message.”
That makes his eyes open the rest of the way.
“Someone’s using the network to communicate?”
”…I’m trying to stabilize the signal while Zora sees if she can translate. But it's got a-”
Paul nods even though she can’t see him, sitting up and gently detaching Hugh’s hand from his shirt. Tilly's intuition is sharp, so it's really a foregone conclusion anyway.
”Be there in ten. Stamets out.”
He kicks down the covers and rolls off the mattress, grimacing as his hip twinges.
Have to remind Hugh I don’t bend that far anymore.
“…babe?”
Hugh’s voice is rough with sleep.
”Sorry,” he bends down to kiss his temple, “I need to go to Engineering.”
The half-asleep frown he gets is adorable.
"Wha?"
"Tilly found something."
"Mmm."
Gripping the pillow, Hugh sits up and starts moving towards the edge of the bed. The uncoordinated flailing is in complete contrast to his usual deliberate movement, and affection settles into Paul's joints like a balm. It's a lovely sight for other reasons too: Hugh's still completely naked. Paul hadn’t even gotten as far as putting pants on before falling asleep after a bit of goodnight playtime either, but he's not planning to go down to Engineering in his pajamas anyway.
”Hugh?”
”Going to make sure you don’t walk into a bul-“ he pauses to yawn, “bulkhead on the way.”
They both stumble into the bathroom for a quick teeth cleaning (Paul still thinks using technology more advanced than a sonic toothbrush somehow feels like cheating) then back out again. He reaches for the first pair of non-lounging pants in the wardrobe, letting out a hiss of annoyance as they tangle around his ankles before realizing he's skipped a step.
"Babe."
He moves aside automatically at the gentle nudge to his hip, lets him retrieve a few things from the dresser and catches the underwear Hugh tosses at him. Yanking on a long-sleeved undershirt, he shoves his feet into his boots and mutters as his hastily-donned socks snag when he tugs the zippers up. Hugh’s in a DISCO T-shirt, incongruous with last night’s uniform pants and boots, and follows a half-step behind as Paul exits into the corridor.
In the turbolift, Paul yawns again and looks on in bemusement as Hugh chuckles.
"What?"
Still smiling, Hugh reaches up and fusses with Paul's hair, smoothing it down.
"Bed head."
Tilly and Bryce are both in the spore drive bay when they arrive, Harrington at an auxiliary console.
"Sorry Commander," Tilly gives him a look that's both vaguely abashed and brimming with scientific curiosity, “oh, Doctor-?"
Beside him, Hugh shrugs good-naturedly.
"Decided to tag along."
He’s a bit closer than strictly professional as they make their way down the stairs, but Paul doesn’t mind.
”Tilly?”
”This is what we have so far.”
Rubbing a hand over his face, Paul approaches the multiple floating displays. A few he recognizes as readings from Discovery’s prior jumps, mentally dismissing them for the time being. He holds up his hand, grateful for having a few minutes to peruse the data even though he can feel Tilly and Bryce practically vibrating with excitement. As he circles one of the models, running through the stages of filtering, it becomes more clear exactly why. Coolness washes over him, more awake and intent on solving the problem in front of them.
“That…shouldn’t be possible.”
He can see Hugh in his peripheral vision, hip propped against a console and watching them all with a look of indulgent fondness.
”But-“ Tilly bounces on her toes.
”-exactly,” Bryce interjects, “it shouldn’t be possible, but there’s a signal-“
”-we think. And if Zora can figure out the right parameters-“
Zora’s interface chimes.
I apologize, Lieutenant Tilly.
She pauses with her mouth half open, closes it, then opens it again.
“Sorry?”
I’m afraid I have only been able to narrow down potential ‘keys’ to seven-point-six by ten to the twelfth power. There isn’t sufficient data to reduce it any further.
Paul hums thoughtfully.
"Are they still 'broadcasting' as it were?"
Both Tilly and Bryce nod.
"It's really slow. What we've got so far is an aggregate, but it could be- you know, days before we compile enough to help."
Their current argon-xenon environment reduces activity as a means of preventing decay.
“Rendering them mostly inert,” Paul mutters, “but if we expose them to normal ship’s air, we only have so long before they start to oxidize.”
“At least four hours. That’s enough time to take more readings, right?”
“Worth a try.”
Hugh shifts, turning to lean fully on the console. He still looks half-awake, but clearly has been listening.
”Should you maybe just use a portion of them? So you don’t lose them all?”
”Zora,” Tilly collapses his display back down, “can you amplify any signal we detect if we only use one canister?”
I believe so.
Paul makes eye contact with Bryce and Tilly, nodding.
”Great. Are we ready?”
“Yep.”
”Yes.”
She carefully removes a canister from the wall, the faint hiss of pressurized discharge as she pulls it from its mooring. It fits neatly into the aperture in the spore drive console, clicking as she twists to lock it into place.
”Commander?”
At the next console, Stamets looks up. She’s never going to be used to seeing him out of uniform, even less so when he’s in mismatched clothes, sleeves pushed up his forearms and neck oddly vulnerable without a collar.
”Tilly.”
”Do you want to-?”
He shakes his head, giving her a half-smile.
”You found it. Go ahead.”
The caffeine is making her hands just a little shaky, or maybe it’s the familiar but no-less-thrilling rush of trepidation mixed with anticipation.
“Okay. Here we go…”
It takes a moment for the transfer to start, but soon sparks of luminescence start filling the cube at the center of the room.
“Bringing the oxygen saturation up,” she announces, “...and, there. Normal ship’s atmosphere.”
Despite the multiple displays floating around her, she stares at the spores themselves, unsure whether there would be anything visual to discern regardless of their activity. Bryce is doing the same thing, focused on the spores, as is Hugh. Stamets seems to be having a muttered conversation with himself as fresh data feeds into their systems. The tiny specks of light swirl within the cube, iterations of Zora's analysis blinking every minute or so, but it's slow going.
Twenty minutes in, Hugh is perched on an equipment crate that he's dragged over beside Stamets, back resting on the bulkhead behind them. His expression suggests he's having trouble staying awake, head nodding as Stamets carries on his one-sided conversation with occasional asides to Zora.
After an hour, Bryce gets called back to the bridge. He departs with clear reluctance, and really, Tilly gets it. There's no reason he can't continue to stay involved from his duty station, but there's something about physically being in the room where things happen that's different.
Another two hours pass, and her initial adrenaline boost has settled. Her neck muscles are tight, and she rolls her head a bit to ease the tension. As she does, she notices Stamets is reading reports, his usual restless motion oddly absent.
Wait-
Oh.
Hugh's clearly dozing, head on his partner's shoulder. She wonders how long Stamets is willing to hold still before his feet get tired. At the same time, Tilly also considers just how comfortable he's become with her around. In the grand scheme of things, the current situation hardly seems significant, but there's an indescribable difference between kissing and holding hands and cuddling (all things they've done in her presence) and the innocent intimacy of Stamets being used as a pillow.
That's really sweet.
Tilly reins in those thoughts before they can travel further down the tangent, bringing her focus back to the data surrounding her. Zora's been able to reduce the number of possible correlations by seven orders of magnitude, leaving somewhere in the tens of thousands of serial numbers to match. Assuming Bryce is correct - not that anyone else has a better lead - she can't imagine who would think to use the network to send a message through time itself.
More to the point, who would even know how?
Admiral Vance's search when they first arrived at HQ confirmed that every trace of Discovery was either classified, rewritten, or removed from Starfleet records. Some of Stamets' team had elected to stay in the past, but she doesn't think any of them would be able to access the network. At best conjecture, maybe someone's left a message for them as it were, counting on it surviving long enough and arriving in the right location for them to find and decode it. Best case scenario, there's no guarantee that it's maintained fidelity, but-
Chime
She shakes her head, attention turning outwards again.
"Zora?"
I've narrowed the possibilities to three hundred and forty-one potential serial numbers.
"That's- well. Better than five and a half trillion combinations. Anyone stand out?"
Yes.
Across the room, Stamets carefully shifts Hugh until he's resting against the bulkhead and moves towards her.
"Who?"
The serial number and command codes include those used aboard Discovery by Captain Christopher Pike.
Notes:
This mini-series took on a life of its own while working backwards to determine how to plausibly connect plot points. I wanted to post the entirety of the conclusion to celebrate 600 chapters, but work has been absolutely exhausting and I'm still working out a few final details. Hopefully this 2,750 word cliffhanger is worthy of that milestone!
Chapter 601: Saoirse
Summary:
Tilly can tell it's going to be a bad day.
Notes:
In "When Sorrow Turns to Joy", I gave Lieutenant Harrington the first name of Saoirse.
Set during the beginning of Season Two.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It's going to be a bad day.
It takes less than two minutes after her shift starts at 0800 to figure that out. She's just set down her personal PADD on the console and called up the results from the overnight diagnostic, noticing Stamets and Harrington behind one of the auxiliary stations. Tilly's gotten to know the others on the team better over the course of the last several months - has it really been that short a time? - and knows that Harrington is one of those who came from Deneva when Stamets and his life's work were forcibly uprooted to service the machine of war. The lieutenant is competent and calm, wry humor and a ready laugh when it suits, and completely comfortable heckling their section chief in a way Cadet Tilly never would have dreamed of.
Ensign Tilly still can't, even with Stamets' tears staining her sleeves and his halting monologues of grief that he sometimes shares.
Today, Harrington's kit is spread over the deck at the edge of the mezzanine, and she's leaning on the bulkhead with an expression somewhere between understanding and frustration. They're not touching, but she's inside the chilly bubble of personal space that few people on Discovery have seemed willing to breach around Stamets, Dr. Pollard and Dr. Culber being the two other notable exceptions.
She ignores the data filling the screen in front of her, peering between the columns of floating numbers as Harrington says something too quietly for Tilly to hear. It's followed by Stamets shaking his head once, sharply, mouth pinched in a way that's become even more pronounced since they returned from the Terran universe.
Since he woke up after losing Hugh.
Harrington sighs and looks like she's about to say something else, but Stamets beats her to it.
"Saoirse."
It's not just the fact that Stamets doesn't use first names on duty, even with those he's known for years. He'd always referred to his own partner as 'Doctor Culber' when in uniform, still does as far as she's seen outside of the humid sanctuary of the cultivation bay. More than that, it's the clipped syllables forced out past clenched teeth, raw and harsh and pleading.
He doesn't turn his back on Harrington, doesn't give her the shoulder he puts between himself and Reno when her needling hits a tender spot, doesn't walk away. Instead, he seems to be waiting for something.
What?
If their attention wasn't so clearly directed at each other, she's sure they'd feel the weight of her own rather inappropriate stare. She can't look away though, figures continuing to scroll in her peripheral vision. At last, Harrington nods, and her mouth moves in a way that could be 'yes' or 'yeah' or 'well' or even 'Paul', Tilly's not that great at reading lips.
Stamets offers up the ghost of something resembling a smile, the barest upturn that fades after a moment. Then he looks up, and Tilly snaps her head down, feigning intense interest in the graphs until she hears his boots moving towards his private lab and the door swish shut behind him.
"Tilly?"
Harrington's voice makes her raise her eyes. The other woman is kneeling on the mezzanine, carefully slotting tools back into place.
"Lieutenant?"
Whatever Harrington is planning to say doesn't make it past her throat. The silence lengthens, heavy, then she sighs and shares a look with Tilly that says it all before disappearing into an open bit of paneling.
Tilly lets out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
Yeah.
Definitely not a good day.
Notes:
Totally have not been meaning to wait so long between posts! I wanted to get the conclusion of "Sobrina" finished, but realized that there are other stories demanding out of my head in the meantime.
Paul leans on Tilly for solace (and asks her to use Hugh's name) in the "Suffering" chapters.
Chapter 602: Systole
Notes:
Some fluff to make up for the previous chapter :)
Systole is when the heart muscle contracts to pump blood outwards to the body.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh loves holding Paul’s hand during sex. He loves holding hands anytime, but there’s something devastatingly intimate about their fingers tangled together, palms damp as they gasp and moan and sigh and the hair on the back of Paul’s hand is slicked down with sweat. Their bodies are joined, points of contact from kiss-swollen lips, chests pressed against each other and Paul’s legs wrapped tight around his waist. And yet…
(It’s different than the playful grasp when Paul’s on his knees for Hugh, eyes smiling up at him when his mouth is full, or the thousand and one other touches they might share throughout the day.)
He can feel Paul’s pulse, his heartbeat in his own knuckles, and he pauses, hips stilling as he’s buried deep. Without breaking eye contact, Hugh brings their entwined hands to the heated space of their shared breath. Paul gazes up at him, patiently impatient, cheeks flush with desire as Hugh delicately brushes his lips over each fingertip.
”Hugh?”
Something soft shines in Paul’s eyes as Hugh loosens his grip long enough to kiss the underside of Paul’s wrist, completing the circuit from lips to fingers as life flows between them, guided by Paul’s steady heart.
“Oh.”
It’s barely a sound, an exhale full of understanding and love.
“Sweetheart…”
Paul’s other hand curves along Hugh’s jaw, thumb caressing his cheek and rasping over his beard. Then his fingers move, tracing his ear and down the side of his neck, pausing at his throat. He lingers there for a few moments before his hand continues its journey until Hugh’s heartbeat is cradled in his palm.
And isn’t that it, though? His heart in Paul’s clever, capable, careful hands.
He squeezes his fingers, and Paul squeezes back, and his hips give an involuntary twitch, and Paul moans and the moment passes. Hugh buries his face in the side of Paul’s neck, murmuring disjointed words that Paul understands perfectly. The mattress sways beneath them, the rhythm of life and love and connection.
Hugh knows, and Paul knows, and they don’t have to talk about it, not out loud. Not with words.
Notes:
You know how sometimes a scene comes to life in your head so vividly that it brings words to life and not the other way around? That happened here.
Paul’s perspective is in the next chapter.
Chapter 603: (Dia)stole
Summary:
Paul’s perspective.
Notes:
Diastole refers to when the heart relaxes, allowing it to fill with blood.
Can be read as a companion to the prior chapter, or taken on its own.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul loves holding Hugh’s hand in bed. Loves their palms slipping together with the sweat of their exertions. Loves Hugh’s fingers waiting for him across the sheet as they drift towards sleep, bridging the space between them. Loves how they can communicate with squeezes and fingertip caresses and the occasional pinch.
Hugh’s body is open to him, for him, for his pleasure and comfort and play. His lips part for Paul’s tongue, inviting him in with a teasing lick. His arms fit around Paul’s waist perfectly, holding their bodies together.
He was empty for so long, a year that felt like an eon, until a millennium passes them by.
Now, he’s full again, so far beyond the sheer physical as they chase orgasm together. Hugh’s voice fills his ears, his laughter and sighs and sweethearts. Hugh’s scent fills his lungs on every inhale, musk and citrus shampoo and the salty tang of sweat. Hugh’s love fills his heart, reminds him of fourteen years of stolen kisses and comm chats and walks in the park, of Christmases and nieces and joy.
He kisses Paul’s wrist, the prickle of his beard against delicate skin and Paul’s pulse under his lips.
They’re so alive.
Notes:
I still haven’t made a dent in the backlog of 50+ unfinished chapters here. Oops?
Chapter 604: Se (Parler)
Summary:
Culmets conversation in the middle of sexytimes, because you *know* they totally talk in bed.
Notes:
Se parler means to speak to each other.
Chapter Text
“…I was- mmmm…I was thinking…”
Hugh’s voice is slightly muffled by the pillowcase, but Paul hears him all the same and leaves off sucking a love bite into the tender skin beneath his ear.
“…hmm?”
The hand previously clutching the sheets reaches back and taps his thigh. He eases up off his partner’s back enough that Hugh can pull his face out of the pillow, turning his head to look over his shoulder.
“I was thinking-“ he gives Paul a mock-glare when he continues to rock slowly into him, “nnnggghh.”
Paul trails his fingers up Hugh’s spine, scratching gently at the base of his neck. The love bite is only partly finished, barely noticeable, and he considers whether he ought to get back to work or pick somewhere else.
“Yeah?”
He doesn’t bother to keep the smugness out of his voice as Hugh shivers beneath him, eyes going unfocused when he hits a particularly good spot. The poke on his knee a few moments later isn’t sharp, but he gets the message and stills.
“I was thinking,” Hugh continues as if Paul isn’t kneeling between his spread thighs, “shore leave next month.”
Paul blinks.
”What about it?”
Pushing up on an elbow, Hugh frowns.
”Actually. Can you-“ he squirms a little, and Paul takes the rest of his weight off Hugh’s lower back, tugging the pillow out from beneath his hips and letting him lie flat, “sorry.”
Since he’s slipped out, Paul takes the opportunity to pick the lube up off the floor and slick himself up again.
“Shore leave?”
”Mmhmm.”
Paul waits for him to elaborate. In the meantime, he shuffles back on his knees, lifting them over Hugh’s legs and coaxing him to move them back together until he’s straddling his thighs.
“Good?”
Hugh nods, sliding his arms under the pillow and getting comfortable again.
”Yeah. You…” his voice trails off as Paul carefully slides back inside of him, “fuuuuuck. Have I mentioned how much I love your dick?”
Huffing a quiet laugh, Paul uses his knees to nudge Hugh’s thighs closer still.
“A few times.”
That earns him a wiggle and deliberate squeeze of Hugh’s perfect backside. This position doesn’t let him go as deep, but he can’t complain when Hugh crosses his ankles and makes himself even tighter. Paul’s moan is breathy, and Hugh chuckles.
“Like that?”
He pinches Hugh’s right ass cheek.
“Obviously.”
Bending down, he nuzzles Hugh’s shoulder then rests his chin on it. Hugh twists enough that their lips meet in a lazy, messy kiss, and he sets up a slow rhythm with his hips, drinking the sighs and gasps it evokes.
When his own back starts to protest the position, he reluctantly straightens again.
”…Alpha Centauri.”
It takes a moment for the seeming non sequitur to process, Hugh picking up the thread of conversation as Paul rocks into him a little faster.
”You want to go?”
“Mmhmm. Was thinking…yeah, right there…thinking we could visit. A certain. Café.”
Despite Paul essentially sitting on his thighs, Hugh’s still able to push back and meet him. One of Hugh’s hands reaches back, fingers hooking behind Paul’s bent knee. It’s slippery with sweat, but neither of them mind. The other hand slides between Hugh’s body and the bed, and Paul can picture exactly what it’s doing.
”Think it’s-“ arousal coils tighter, “ahhh. Still there?”
Hugh doesn’t answer immediately, and Paul lets himself be distracted by the muscles flexing. Pressing his thumbs into the dimples above Hugh’s ass, he tips his head forward and lets his eyes fall shut.
“…checked. Yeah.”
Hugh’s breath is hitching, shoulder bouncing as the hand he’s using to stroke himself speeds up, and Paul doesn’t bother to think about the wet spot it’s going to leave on the sheets.
“Close?”
Hugh nods into the pillow, back arching just a little more. Paul’s panting now, knows he won’t be able to maintain the near-frantic pace they’ve built up to for long, knows he won’t need to. Beneath him, Hugh throws his head back, chin towards the headboard as he comes with a drawn out cry of satisfaction. Paul tumbles over the edge after him, no less loud.
It’s easiest to collapse forward afterwards, sprawling over Hugh’s back and propped on his elbows to give them both room to catch their breath. Eventually, he pulls out and Hugh heaves himself over so they’re face to face.
”Hi.”
He kisses the tip of Hugh’s nose, his chin, and finally his lips.
”Hi yourself.”
”Was that yes?”
Paul groans theatrically as Hugh wraps his arms around his waist, tipping them onto their sides.
“Do you have to ask?”
Hugh’s too relaxed to make the intended smirk much more than an affectionate smile.
”Just did.”
”That was a rhetorical question.”
He flails an arm behind him until he snags the towel from his nightstand, helping Hugh spread it over the worst of the mess.
“Mmmhh,” Hugh rolls onto his back, squirming over until he’s lying on the towel and wiping his hand on it, “so, yes?”
Paul bites his shoulder.
”Yes.”
Chapter 605: Sororal
Summary:
A late night (not) conversation between Tracy and her best friend.
Notes:
'Sororal' means 'sisterly', which isn't quite how Tracy and Hugh's friendship works, but it's close enough.
In my headcanon, Tracy and Hugh went to med school together and have been best friends for decades. Hugh sleeps on Tracy’s couch for a while after his resurrection because even though he’s not sure of who he is, being alone is too difficult. “When Sorrow Turns to Joy” explores this in greater depth.
Takes place during the second part of Season Two.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The quiet susurrus of fabric moving over fabric is loud in the silence of Discovery's night cycle. Beneath the covers, pile of pillows arranged just so,Tracy sighs. It's well past time that she ought to be asleep when she's on alpha shift, but she can't until she's certain the other person in her quarters is finally resting as well.
Even if I have to hypo him.
The long-suffering tone to the thought makes her almost smile.
"You know, I didn't stay up all night helping you cram for your xenoanatomy practical just to indulge insomnia."
She pitches her voice as gently critical, concern bleeding around the edges. Tracy waits for a response from the figure slumped on her couch, resisting the urge to get up.
"That was twenty-two years ago, aren't you over that yet?"
It's quiet, with more than a hint of roughness, but she'll take it.
"Nope."
Hugh folds his legs up, heels on the cushion and arms wrapped around his upraised knees.
"Sorry."
She sits up in bed.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Not really. I- fuck."
Starlight shadows his face, but she’s never needed to look at him when she can hear it all in his voice. He’s exhausted, scared, and hurting in ways Tracy isn’t sure how to handle.
"That's fine. But, if we're going to not talk about it, can you at least get over here to brood?"
Despite what might seem like a slightly insulting demand to anyone else, she knows Hugh understands what she's actually saying. He turns to face her, dropping his feet onto the floor.
One step at a time.
"You should be sleeping," he offers, running a hand over his face, "I'm fine."
No matter what semi-miraculous scientific improbabilities delivered her best friend back to her, Tracy has zero problem being honest right now.
"Bullshit."
That earns her the hint of a laugh, some of the tension leaving the room. When a reply doesn't seem forthcoming, she pats the duvet beside her in invitation.
"Get over here. That backlighting is making my eyes hurt."
Tracy's nowhere near as certain as she sounds, and is pleasantly surprised when Hugh pushes himself to his feet and starts moving towards the bed. She scoots closer to the edge, leaving plenty of space on the other side where he can sit without any danger of them coming into contact, and doesn't comment on the way he immediately tucks his legs up again, arms wrapped around his knees. It's a defensive posture, but it also screams don't touch me in a way that's so very foreign. Dr. Culber’s reassuring touch and understanding were nothing on Hugh’s tactile nature, his physical expressions of affection in casual touches and hugs. Now, he shies away from contact, body radiating discomfort when anyone so much as looks at him.
At least you seem to be on the list of people he can tolerate within a three foot radius.
True to her word, she doesn't try to talk to him and just lays down again, careful not to elbow him as she rearranges the covers and stuffs a pillow in the middle of the bed. Even though he's on top of the duvet, she suspects rolling into him might trigger something much more serious than being sleepily shoved back to her side. It's hardly the first time they've sat together on one of their beds after something difficult, but this time she knows goading him into talking won't solve everything. Having his heart trampled by a cruel breakup, losing a patient, even the horrors of war, are all things she’s offered her shoulder and an open ear to him for. This…
Eyes closed, she tries the old Med trick of reviewing emergency kit contents to try and send her mind to sleep. It's probably a lost cause.
Before last week, she would have laughed at the suggestion that Hugh could be restored to life, bitter with the sense of loss like an open wound. Even though it's been nearly a year since she'd helped Aida hold Paul as he wailed in heartbreaking despair while Hugh's casket was lowered into the ground, she couldn't break the habit of reaching for her comm or PADD to send Hugh a message, ask a question, offer pointed commentary on one of their patients. Now, it's all she can do to keep herself from hugging him constantly, not wanting to let him out of her sight. She'd seen Paul's desolate emptiness ice over into haunted detachment, then for a few hours the fiercest happiness she'd ever witnessed, holding Hugh's hand and wrapping his arms around him whenever Tracy hadn't shooed him away for a scan, kissing his cheek and murmuring things into Hugh's ear that she tried very hard not to hear, a litany of relief and apology and promises.
Of course Paul tried to smother him with love.
Part of her is angry with Paul for taking his relationship with Hugh for granted. Even as she thinks it, she knows that’s unfair. Hugh gives (gave?) his heart completely, giving himself in service to those he cares for without hesitation. And his love for Paul meant he gave everything. All of his compassion and understanding, his patience and concern and empathy, his passion and creativity and joy. She remembers Aida telling her how relieved she was that Hugh had finally found the one person who deserved him, and forces back the burning in her eyes and tightness of her throat as Hugh shifts on the other side of the mattress.
He and Paul were meant to be together for the rest of their lives. She knows that as surely as her physician’s oath, their love something more solid than neutronium and steady, so steady. Tracy would take back every mock-serious complaint, every time she kicked Hugh out of their shared hotel room when Paul arrived to spend time during conferences, every long-suffering lecture when she walked in on them because they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other, if it would make a difference.
"I don't know what to do."
Hugh's admission is nearly a whisper, but it brings her out of her own thoughts immediately. She's almost certain he isn't talking to himself while thinking her asleep, so she turns her head on the pillow to address his silhouette.
"About what?"
"All of this. Me. Other people...Paul."
Tracy doesn't have a solid road the travel there either. It's not exactly a common occurrence for alien entities residing in a supra-dimensional network to reconstitute a body for the mind - the soul? - of a deceased person who only happened to be trapped there accidentally by his genetically altered partner.
"What do you feel?"
He exhales hard.
"I wish people would stop asking me that."
"I'm not 'people'," she reminds him, "I'm the person who knows all of your secrets, has seen you naked too many times, and still loves you."
She hadn't meant for that last part to slip out in such a serious tone of voice. Beside her, Hugh stiffens.
Shit.
"...I know. I just don't know if that's who I am now."
Tracy resists the urge to say 'of course it is' or something equally reassuring and empty. A yawn catches her by surprise, and she only manages to half-stifle it.
"Sorry."
Hugh meets her eyes for the first time in the last 24 hours. Despite his doubts - and everyone else's - she can still see Hugh Culber in there, even if he wouldn't believe it.
"Go to sleep, Trace. I'll...yeah."
She nods, tugging the covers up a bit higher.
One thing at a time.
"Goodnight, Hugh."
Notes:
My last chapter received over 400 hits, which is...mind-boggling. I know I keep saying it, but thank you for your kudos and comments and silent views! They all matter so much.
Chapter 606: (Kama) Sutra
Notes:
Just some silly fluff to make up for the emotional whammy in the last chapter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The bed in Deck 9, Section Gamma, Cabin 4 had borne silent - and laden - witness to countless sexy romps between the sheets, exciting moments of experimentation, and one or the other of its occupants tied to the headboard and moaning. Tonight though, the air is filled with snorts and giggles that gradually taper off only to start up again moments later.
”…H-Hugh-! I don-hah!” squeak squeak , “Think. We, hooohhhh,” squeak squeak squeak, “don’t bend that way. Anymore.”
From his position dangling over the side of the bed, hair nearly brushing the floor, Paul’s treated to the sight of Hugh’s upside down face as he frowns at the diagram floating in the air next to them.
“Just-“ Hugh licks his lips, wiggling his foot beneath Paul’s ass on the mattress. It tickles, and he squirms.
“Hah! Hugh, wait-“
The action destabilizes Hugh just a little, the calf Paul’s gripping twisting enough that he loses his balance and starts to slide even further off the bed.
“There,” Hugh gives him a triumphant, upside down smile, reaching for Paul’s left foot, “so now we…”
THUD
“Oww!”
THUMP
“Whah- ouch!”
BANG
Silence reigns for a few shocked seconds, then two groans - one pitched slightly higher - harmonize with each other.
”…fuck.”
Amidst the tangled limbs, Paul’s somehow managed to land with his nose pressed into the back of Hugh’s knee. Peering around the joint, he spies the pile of PADDs that one of their flailing arms must have knocked off the nightstand. There’s a steady drip-drip from his overturned water glass onto the deck.
”Hugh?”
”Yeah.”
He sounds muffled, and Paul twists around to see. It’s not a great idea, because it strains something in his lower back, and flinching in reaction nearly results in his foot connecting with Hugh’s chin. Defeated, he bites the underside of Hugh’s thigh.
”So…”
Hugh’s hand finds his elbow, groping its way down his forearm until their fingers meet. They’re still slippery with lube, which is probably why Paul vaguely remembers his elbow sliding right out of Hugh’s grasp.
Oh well.
“Are you okay?”
He considers shrugging, then decides not to in favor of trying to roll his torso over.
“Probably?”
The movement is successful insomuch as he’s now mostly on his back, staring directly at parts of his partner that are decidedly softer than they were a few minutes ago.
“Okay, just let me- oww!”
”That’s my elbow.”
”Obviously. Just…hold still?”
Groaning again, he tugs his other arm free from under a well-muscled backside before letting Hugh figure out how to un-pretzel them. When at last all of their limbs are more or less straightened, he finds Hugh peering down at him, expression a mix of concern and self-deprecating amusement.
”Hi.”
“So…”
Paul heaves himself into a sitting position, surveying the rest of the scene. Both duvet and top sheet are in a pile on the floor at the foot of the bed (although he thinks they were kicked off earlier), the bottle of slick has somehow managed to roll halfway across the room, a small puddle forming near the coffee table, and the cause of the whole incident still floats serenely above their heads.
He and Hugh pull each other to their feet before collapsing back on the bed. His right shoulder still smarts from hitting the deck, but at least nothing seems to be sprained or broken.
“Umm. Sorry?”
Hugh’s side eye is genuinely apologetic, and Paul grabs his wrist, tugging until Hugh’s lying half on top of him.
“Lets leave the bedroom gymnastics for the young?”
Chuckling, Hugh pinches a nipple.
”We’re not that old.”
Paul bats his hand away, smiling when Hugh laces their fingers together.
”Speak for yourself. Fifty-one is too old to be trying to…whatever that was.”
“Well…oh!”
He narrows his eyes at Hugh’s sudden excitement.
”What?”
”Next time we can turn down the gravity.”
The mattress shifts beneath them as Paul rolls until he’s on top.
”Remember what happened the last time we tried zero-G sex?”
“Mmm,” Hugh’s eyes are heavy-lidded with fond remembrance, “glad the cleaning DOTs could reach the ceilin- mmmphh.”
Paul hums his amusement into the kiss, and it’s several minutes before they finally surface.
”So…”
Hugh smiles up at him, and Paul wipes a smear of lube off his cheek.
How did that get there?
”Hmm?”
”Want to finish what we started? Without the sex book.”
That earns him a swat on the ass.
”You’re not going to let me forget this, are you?”
”What do you think?”
Laughing, Hugh pulls him back down for another kiss.
Notes:
I have no idea exactly what position they were attempting, but I can imagine ;)
Chapter 607: Salve, Part Two
Notes:
Follows on from Chapter 596 ("Salve") with Paul being summoned by T'Vala to Starbase 12 to take care of Hugh's emotional wellbeing.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul expects to doze off eventually, stress and his own foreshortened sleep in the rush to get Discovery spaceworthy outweighing the bustle of the medical ward. More than that, he's missed Hugh with an almost physical ache, subsisting on his partner's scent clinging to the shirt folded beneath his pillow and subspace messaging, and he can feel the loneliness uncoiling with every moment that Hugh is in his arms. Yet, sleep remains elusive, although he tells himself that it's only because he needs to stay awake to guard Hugh's slumber against any disturbances.
You've waited to hold him again for months, no sense in wasting time unconscous.
He shifts them slowly, letting Hugh’s weight on his body ease them both towards horizontal while moving his folded jacket with them so his own head isn't resting on bare metal. Eventually, they’re more or less lying flat on the deck, or at least Paul is; Hugh is half on top of him, sandwiched between the bulkhead and Paul’s body, blanketing his left side in more warmth than the thermal fabric nominally covering them could provide. His head is resting on Paul’s chest, and his grip hasn’t subsided in slumber, the hand slipped beneath Paul’s undershirt a welcome and beloved companion. He rests his cheek against Hugh's forehead, breathing him in and keeping one hand moving in slow circles across his back.
At least he doesn't have to will his body not to react as it normally would to Hugh's nearness, because as much as he's longed to touch him far more intimately, that's not what either of them needs right now. Instead, he channels every bit of attention into re-mapping Hugh's back and shoulders with his fingers, kissing the frown-lines on his forehead that are so much more pronounced than before this awful war began. He sighs with the realization that Hugh's body is still carrying so much tension, muscles tight with stress rather than their usual bulk maintained with time spent at the gym. Paul could kick himself for only now realizing that Hugh would be spending any spare moment resting, surely missing the meditative focus from working out that he'd always described to Paul in passing.
People pass by, and even with his eyes closed he can tell it's orderlies and other medical personnel from the air displaced by their brisk stride. He tugs the blanket a little higher, a token barrier against the rest of the universe. He's glad that the influx of injured seems to have stopped for the time being, mostly for Hugh's sake in that he might not be needed after only a half hour of rest. There's no telling when the next ship might be limping into port, and he hopes that T'Vala's prediction for a lull in hostilities isn't gainsaid.
A few minutes later, he can hear the quiet, even tread of boots approaching. They stop a couple of meters away, and he peeks over the edge of the blanket, half-expecting that someone needs Starbase Twelve's CMO.
Huh.
T’Vala lowers herself to the deck with slightly less grace than Paul’s used to seeing, a polite distance from them but nonetheless closer than he might have expected. Her expression is calm as ever, but he notices that it takes two tries before she's able to successfully unzip and remove her boots before assuming a posture he recognizes as a basic meditation. He watches her features smooth even further, breathing deepening, and he can't help but notice the shadows beneath her eyes, the hair coming loose from its simple knot at the base of her neck. That more than anything tells him the stress the staff must be under, visible hairpins rather than the usual neat braid coiled around the crown of her head that she's always worn on duty. In fact-
"I must convey my gratitude at your expeditious arrival."
She doesn't open her eyes, and Paul wonders how she knew he was awake. He's not exactly sure how to respond; 'you're welcome' hardly seems appropriate, particularly when he ought to be thanking her for a more or less formal reason to be here.
"On reflection," T'Vala continues, "my methods, while logical, were...high-handed, as I believe the human saying goes."
That draws a quiet chuckle from him, and she turns her head to look at him.
"I'm not arguing," he replies, "not at all. But, it's been...bad?"
T'Vala studies him, and Paul's not sure what she's looking for but seems to find, nodding fractionally.
”I believe we may be afforded a few more hours of rest. Should you wish to return to Hugh‘s quarters-“
He shakes his head.
”A bed would be nice, but I don’t want to disturb him for now.”
It's hardly the most comfortable place they've snatched a nap, but he'd rather avoid even the few minutes it would likely take to move them somewhere else. Around the ward, he spots other members of the medical staff doing the same as they are, moving wearily into corners. Some lean against consoles, while others are wrapped in their own blankets, and he wonders just how often they've had to do so as there's a minimal amount of shifting before sleep claims them.
A console beeps nearby, and Hugh stirs. Paul's heart twists as he can see his body fighting the instinct to wake at the sound of whatever alert that might be, is grateful when it's quickly silenced.
“Shh,” he murmurs, kissing Hugh's forehead, “go back to sleep.”
Someone starts crying, breath hitching around moans of pain. Paul watches a woman in Operations bronze, her arm in a sling, take their hand, soothing her shipmate or friend or complete stranger in desperate need of comfort.
War is the best and worst of us all.
Even as the cries taper off, the man in his arms stiffens, ever-present frown reappearing as he opens his eyes. They struggle to focus, and Paul knows better than to resist as he clumsily pushes up on an elbow, the doctor in him overriding physical exhaustion. Paul's Academy ring slides on its chain, rolling out from under his collar and landing against Paul's chin.
“…I-"
”Triage is complete,” T’Vala’s voice is low but steady, “all critical cases have received trauma care. It is logical to continue to avail yourself of Paul’s presence and its beneficial effect.”
Hugh freezes, blinking.
“Paul?"
"I'm here."
He can almost see the wheels turning, memory trickling back in.
"Sweetheart?"
It's not hard to find a smile at his favorite endearment, freeing a hand from the folds of the blanket to caress Hugh’s cheek, fingertips tucked beneath his ear as he guides his head back down onto his shoulder. There are things he’d rather not identify streaking Hugh’s skin and hair, but it hardly matters.
”Sleep,” he repeats, stroking the bristles of Hugh’s beard with his thumb. “I’ll wake you up when you’re needed.”
He follows the gentle command with a kiss, tipping Hugh's chin up long enough to brush their lips together. Hugh sighs, but most importantly, settles back into place and closes his eyes again.
"…m’kay.”
Paul scrunches the folded jacket beneath his head into a more comfortable position, returning his hand to Hugh’s back, this time beneath his undershirt. Hugh makes a content noise in response, barely audible over the sound of equipment and a hundred breathing people, but it settles warm in Paul’s chest. He waits until he’s sure Hugh is sound asleep again, until the creases in his brow smooth before moving to slip the gold ring back beneath Hugh’s undershirt.
”T’Vala?”
She's been watching them with a very familiar curiosity, one he hasn't been bothered by in years.
”I shall wake you both at necessity. However, I will endeavor to allow Hugh uninterrupted sleep.”
”What about you?”
"This shall suffice."
When she doesn't immediately resume her meditation, he frowns.
"Okay?"
A microexpression passes across her face too quickly for him to catch.
”The proximity to your bond is…restful. Perhaps it is illogical to ascribe the experience as such, but in times of need, one does not protest against things which provide succor.”
That's not even on the list of things he might expect to hear, but it also sounds a lot like a compliment.
"Umm. Thank you."
T'Vala closes her eyes, and after a moment, he does the same, pulling the blanket up again.
Think about it later.
This is definitely on his top ten list of least wonderful places to sleep. And yet, despite the war raging, the senseless violence and horror, being able to hold Hugh in his arms, to feel his heartbeat and his breath gusting over Paul’s throat, brings an unshakable calm. Snuggling closer, he kisses Hugh's forehead again. He hopes he’s offering as much comfort as he feels, giving relief to Dr. Culber’s exhausted body and Hugh's caring heart.
Notes:
My posts have slowed as there are two major work projects I'm trying to move to the next phase before heading to the U.K. for vacation on Wednesday. There should at least be some short snippets while traveling, but I'm not sure if I'll be able to make major progress on writing for a bit.
Chapter 608: Smelling
Notes:
Outtake from Chapter 570 (“Spinach, Part Two”).
Chapter Text
“What can I say, he smells nice.”
Hugh makes an ambiguous waving gesture that Keyla seems to read as an invitation. Leaning in until her nose is about six inches from Paul’s shoulder, she inhales.
”Huh.”
”What the- Hugh!”
Paul’s face is going pink again, and he holds his fork up as if to ward Reno off when she offers her opinion.
“Not terrible.”
His self-consciousness transforms into an offended glare.
“Not as nice as Doctor C, but-“ Keyla pauses, eyes widening, then closes her mouth with a snap.
Adira side-eyes Tilly, who seems supremely unconcerned.
Adults are so weird.
Chapter 609: Shins
Summary:
Shower sexytimes and Paul being unintentionally hot :)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh Culber is a man of discerning taste with a weakness for blunt, brilliant, blue-eyed men who study mushrooms and can still leave him achingly aroused without even trying to all of these years later.
Technically, that’s just one man in the entire universe, but who’s counting?
He is, therefore, more than justified in pinning Paul to the shower wall, bodies molded together front-to-back from neck to knees. If he takes the opportunity to make sure that Paul is quite aware of the reaction his impromptu striptease caused by humping the most beautiful backside he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing…well, Hugh’s sure he’ll thoroughly enjoy any ‘payback’ Paul demands.
“Babe…”
His voice is lost beneath the sound of his partner pacing back and forth, gesturing with his hands in a mix of frustration and scientific enthusiasm, absently undressing as he carries on a monologue about quantum resonance that Hugh’s only half listening to.
”-and if that’s the case, it should have had a sinusoidal waveform with a higher order frequency, but then H’Kria’s theory of convergence wouldn’t apply-“
Paul’s socks are flung onto the laundry pile as he stops to go on a tangent about said theory, pausing in unzipping his jacket to swipe open his tricomm and pull up a model.
”See? The variance correlates with the amplitude spikes here. But when we did a curve fit, the R-value isn’t quite close enough, so maybe-“
The display precedes him as he leaves his jacket open, still talking as he works on the fastener of his uniform pants. When he raises his arms to sketch out a shape, the hem of his undershirt rides up, exposing the slight curve of his belly.
“Reno said she thought it was the Beuler-Xhayes effect. But that doesn’t take into account-“
Hugh grins and settles back against the headboard to enjoy the show.
“…then it shouldn’t produce the Lagrange equation’s eighth solution, although-“
Paul’s eyes are bright and intent, the tiny frown parked between his eyebrows utterly adorable, and Hugh falls in love again for the millionth time.
Mine.
Stepping out of his pants, Paul runs a hand through his hair, mussing the already-loosened style. He swipes the display closed and sets his tricomm on the nightstand before discarding his jacket.
“-while there’s enough degrees of freedom to allow for that result, it seems unlikely to be the case.”
He pauses with his undershirt half-off, one sleeve bunched up with his elbow folded against his ribs. The light catches on the near-invisible hairs leading down into the waistband of his briefs, eminently lickable.
Perfect.
Belatedly, Hugh realizes he’s actually waiting for some sort of response, and makes a noise of agreement. It must be enough, because Paul starts moving again, tugging his undershirt over his head.
“It’s going to take Zora at least seven hours to finish. And…I’m sorry I missed dinner.”
The look he gives Hugh is a mix of apology and imploring him to understand. Since they’re no longer in the middle of a war, Hugh’s willing to let the occasional late night slide - they both are - so he just nods and offers an understanding smile.
”It’s okay.”
Clad in only his briefs, Paul stretches, spine popping quietly. The gusty sigh that follows does nothing to help Hugh’s growing desire to pounce (not an unusual state of affairs when Paul’s fired up about something), and he unsubtly adjusts himself through his pajama pants. Paul doesn’t notice, too busy peeling his underwear off to catch the appreciative stare that follows. He absently scratches high up on his right inner thigh, thumb brushing his balls.
“Gonna shower.”
”Okay.”
Hugh waits until he can hear the water start, rising and rapidly tossing his own clothes aside. He idly strokes himself a few times, bringing the arousal born of Paul’s scientific rant up to a simmer before moving into the bathroom with a vaguely predatory smile. Once inside the cubicle, he watches for a few long moments, enjoying the sight of water running off Paul’s skin.
”How was your day?”
”Mmm.”
Paul’s busy shampooing his hair when Hugh takes a step closer, waiting for him to tip his head back and rinse the suds off. Then he crowds forwards, trapping Paul between the wall and his own body, one hand out to keep Paul’s nose from bouncing off the tiles.
”…hi?”
”Hello.”
His partner squirms, wet skin against wet skin.
”Is that a hypospray in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?”
”This,” Hugh laces their fingers together, bringing Paul’s hands down to their sides even as he presses closer, “is completely your fault.”
Tipping his head back as Hugh nips at his neck, Paul makes an interrogative noise.
”Oh? Not that I’m complaining.”
”That mouth of yours,” he murmurs, biting an earlobe, “is trouble.”
A pause, and he can almost see the indicator light flashing over Paul’s head as he connects the dots.
”Is it?”
Hugh can hear the amusement in those two syllables and nods.
”Yes.”
”Sorry,” he sounds anything but, “are you going to…punish me?”
Hugh releases Paul’s hands and leans back, tracing his thumbs over the dimples at the base of his spine. Hooking his fingers around the prominent jut of hipbones, he pulls until his partner takes a step backwards before using one foot to nudge his legs shoulder-width apart.
”Yes. You missed dinner, and I still want to eat something.”
The shower floor, while warmed from the water and bodies within, is solidly unyielding beneath his knees, and he knows they’re going to be a bit tender once he stands again. It’s more than worth a few aches and pains, all things considered. Above him, Paul’s skin is flushed pink with heat and arousal while he moans and whimpers a litany of praise and obscene appreciation as Hugh indulges his oral fixation on his (completely edible) backside.
“…fuuuck. Hugh, you- nnnnggguuhhh.”
Grinning, he makes sure to hum his approval of the commentary. It makes Paul gasp, one hand leaving its desperate hold on the wall only to be intercepted before it reaches its destination. Tsking, Hugh pulls his mouth away long enough to reply.
”That’s mine.”
Paul cranes his head back to look over his shoulder and tries to glare, but the effect is ruined by his blown pupils.
”Then hurry up and touch me, dammit.”
Returning to give a long, leisurely lick, Hugh chuckles against very sensitive places.
“Isn’t that’s what I’m doing?”
He lets the words vibrate into damp skin. Paul responds with a full-body shiver and resists just a little, tugging against Hugh’s grip on his wrist. It’s not a serious attempt to escape, so he directs the wayward hand back to his own head.
”If you can’t keep your hands to yourself…”
Fingers work their way into his hair, pulling his head forward again.
”Huuuugh-“
He bites the left cheek before continuing, being sure that his own sounds of enjoyment are loud enough to be heard over the falling water and Paul’s own delightfully erotic racket.
“You…just like that, please, more. More! I- fuck, h-have I mentioned? How I…much I love your…mmm. Your mouth?”
He nods even though he knows Paul can’t see him, letting the tickle of his beard do the work. Paul’s fingers tighten in his hair, hips rocking backwards faster.
When his jaw and tongue eventually tire, Hugh takes pity on his mewling lover, wrapping a hand around his neglected erection. It doesn’t take long before Paul is moaning out his pleasure, legs shaking. Hugh grips Paul’s thighs, using his own shoulders to make sure Paul doesn’t slip until he’s remembers that he’s still nominally standing. When his knees seem to be operating again, Hugh wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and gives his right cheek an affectionate kiss before climbing up from the floor. As anticipated, the popping of his knees when he stands reminds him that while forty nine might be barely middle-aged, even his new body is still subject to wear and tear. His shins ache, and he’s glad Paul can’t see his grimace, uninterested in dampening the afterglow with concern.
He kisses Paul’s shoulder and steps out of the shower to dry off and brush his teeth, watching in the mirror as a hand emerges from the cubicle to retrieve a towel. Hugh bends down to rinse and finds Paul lounging against the wall behind him when he straightens, a lazy and thoroughly satisfied smile on his bitten-pink lips.
”Hi.”
The single syllable is a little rough, laced with affection, and Hugh returns the smile.
”Hello, sweetheart.”
He boosts himself up to sit on the counter while Paul brushes his own teeth, ignoring the cold counter beneath his bare ass. Once he’s done, Paul moves to stand between Hugh’s knees, rocking up on his toes for a more thorough kiss.
“Can I do,” his hand lands far too casually on Hugh’s half-hard interest and squeezes, “anything for you?”
”If you’d like.”
Winking, Hugh lets himself be led out of the bathroom. Paul kisses the back of his neck, wrapping his arms around Hugh’s waist in a loose embrace.
”Any requests?”
”I- mmmph!”
The shove is gentle but unexpected and all the more exciting for it. He pulls his face out of the duvet as the mattress dips beside him, starting to roll over but stopping at the hand on his hip.
”Babe?”
Paul thumbs a stray droplet of water off Hugh’s temple before groping his exposed backside.
”Thought I might return the favor.”
Shimmying up the bed until he can fold his arms underneath the pillow, Hugh settles in and spreads his legs.
”No argument here.”
Notes:
Posting from Cardiff, Wales. Nice to be back in the U.K.!
Chapter 610: Subtle
Notes:
How have I not used “subtle” already?
Chapter Text
Love for some is grandiose gestures, showy setups or public performances. Hugh wouldn’t have minded if that’s what Paul liked, but his partner would much rather never be the center of attention unless there’s a scientific issue at hand. Instead, he much prefers subtle, things going unremarked by others but oh so significant and secret for just the two of them.
Hugh’s hand resting on his knee under the table at dinner, squeezing gently in response to something he’s said in conversation.
A barely-there touch at the small of his back while in the turbolift, a lifetime ago when Paul was wound tighter than a coiled spring during Lorca’s tenure as Captain.
Blue eyes sparkling with mischief as Paul slips off his boot and traces the inseam of Hugh’s uniform trousers with his socked toes, climbing higher and higher on his inner thigh while T’Vala gives a briefing.
”Dear doctor” on Paul’s lips and a promise of safety in his arms.
Transferring all of the brussels sprouts off Hugh’s plate and onto his own without comment during a diplomatic dinner.
Hugh kissing his shoulder under cover of the blanket they’re sharing, curled together on Aida’s couch during Christmas.
Paul’s Academy ring heavy on its chain and gold gone body-warm beneath Hugh’s uniform, the weight a comfort during the bleakest days of war.
Throwing Hugh’s laundry in the refresher and folding his clothes while his partner is on duty, just a week together before they’re parted for months.
The backs of their hands brushing when they walk down Discovery’s corridors a polite distance apart.
Listening with his face full of compassion before inviting Hugh to walk through a field of flowers when a universe-destroying superpower has pushed them both to the limit.
Hugh coming home after a late double shift to find Paul asleep on Hugh’s side of the bed, warming the sheets for him.
Two slow blinks that say “I love you” before beaming down on a potentially dangerous mission.
An understated “it’s good to have you back” and Hugh’s hand stroking his temple, stitching the broken pieces of both of their hearts back together again.
Chapter 611: Stipple
Notes:
Culmets + sweet and sexytimes of the oral variety. Messy in the best way :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first time Paul comes on Hugh’s face is almost an accident.
They’ve just gotten back from their fifth real date, stumbling through the door of Paul’s flat on Deneva with their mouths fastened together. The teasing kiss Hugh had meant to give his lover in the lift had turned scorchingly hot the moment Paul whimpered when the tips of their tongues met, short-circuiting every higher brain function not otherwise devoted to making him make that noise again. (Later, they’ll tease each other about it, cuddling in the afterglow and laughing over barely making it inside before hands delved under shirts and down the front of Paul’s pants.)
Hugh’s been half-hard for what feels like days, ever since he’d looked up from the table to see Paul approaching. He’d come straight from the lab, perfect hair mussed from tugging at it in thought. Hugh had found himself on his feet with no memory of standing, tasting coffee on Paul’s tongue and breathing in the scent he’s rapidly growing addicted to, citrus and smoky musk. When they’d pulled back, Paul’s eyes had been mostly pupil, just a thin ring of blue above kissed-pink lips. The rest of dinner was torment of the best kind, the sort of easy conversation that’s marked every interaction interspersed with teasing glances.
Now, he turns his two-handed grope of Paul’s lovely ass into lifting him off his feet, swallowing the gasp of surprise. Paul’s legs lock around his waist as Hugh carries him the dozen paces from the door to his bedroom, and Hugh nearly comes in his pants at the thought of his bare thighs gripping Hugh’s sides while Paul moans beneath him. He manages to hold off, biting his own tongue sharply, then deposits them both on the bed with minimal bouncing.
“…fuck.”
Paul sounds as breathless as he feels, uniform jacket half-off one arm and undershirt rucked up nearly to his armpits.
”The things you do to me,” Hugh murmurs into his ribs, kissing his way down Paul’s torso, “missed you. Want you.”
He goes to help Paul push off his clothes, laughing as their hands collide. By mutual agreement, they separate just long enough to undress themselves, boots and socks and shirts landing in an untidy heap at the foot of the bed. Hugh finishes first and pounces, divesting Paul of his briefs and stealing another kiss before straddling his lap.
”Sweetheart…”
Paul bites Hugh’s neck just hard enough that there’s probably going to be a mark.
”Mmm. Hmm.”
Thumbing a nipple, he moans as the action makes Paul’s hips jerk upwards, rubbing them together.
“Yesss. You- you.”
”Me?”
”What…fuck, how do you want me?”
For all they’ve discovered exactly how compatible they are in bed, Paul still seems a bit shy in asking for things. Hugh’s more than comfortable offering, but he can’t shake the thought that Paul would happily go along with his wishes rather than ever voicing his own. He doesn’t press, just keeps on nuzzling and licking and kissing while he waits for a reply.
”I- your mouth. Please.”
Paul doesn’t have to ask twice. Grinning, he shifts back, sliding off the bed to kneel at Paul’s feet. He tugs him a bit further forward, shouldering his knees apart before resting his chin on a delightfully hairy thigh.
”Want to fuck my mouth?”
That evokes both a blush that spreads down Paul’s chest and a hitch of his breath that says he’ll answer with a yes someday (hopefully soon).
“I…”
The last thing Hugh wants is to make him uncomfortable in bed, so he softens the question with a wink and sets to work without further prompting. One hand curves around the back of his neck, its tentative pressure grounding rather than demanding or controlling as he licks and sucks and hums. He admittedly loses track of time, utterly focused on pleasuring Paul but also mindless with his own enjoyment of the act. It’s not until he hears his name gasped in rough arousal that he relaxes his throat and prepares to swallow.
Paul’s overly considerate, and Hugh would love to keep him in his mouth rather than letting him pull out in a misguided attempt to be polite. Others have been far less concerned with his comfort, but memories of their behavior fade into obscurity as he gazes up at Paul’s beautiful face slack with impending orgasm. One last flick of his tongue-
“Hugh!”
He’s halfway successful, but too distracted by Paul’s uninhibited cry to do more than ineffectually grab at his thighs as Paul tries to push his shoulder back. Paul slips from his mouth with an obscenely wet pop, and Hugh grabs for his hand before he can finish himself, using his own fingers to stroke out the climax and smiling as pulses of heat paint his cheeks and chin.
Paul’s probably going to be embarrassed and apologize, even though it’s not necessary at all. Hugh thinks he’ll be able to convince him otherwise eventually, but until then, he licks his lips in satisfaction and waits.
Notes:
This was supposed to be a naughty “five times” five-line snippet, but it took on a life of its own.
Posted from the train somewhere between Reading and London.
Chapter 612: Siblings
Summary:
Adira shows up at Tilly’s door unannounced.
Notes:
References Chapter 28 (“Shirtless, Part Two”).
Dialogue-only.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Swish.
“Adira?”
”Umm. Hi? Can I, I mean…”
”Are you okay?”
”Yes? I just- can’t talk about it here.”
”What?”
”You know…here.”
”Oookay. Come on in.”
Swish.
”Thanks.”
”So…”
“Umm.”
”Want to talk about it?”
”…”
”What've they done now?”
”Huh? Oh. Umm.”
”-wait, they weren’t, you know…”
”No! No no, nooo.”
”Oh good.”
”Tilly…”
”Mmm?”
”It was weird.”
”Did I ever tell you about the time I had to drop off a report with Stamets and Docto- Hugh answered the door? In just his undies?”
”…no.”
“Was it that bad?”
”No, I mean, they had clothes on. They were…dancing. And both just stopped and looked at me when I came in. And smiled.”
”That sounds nice to me.”
”Tilly?”
”Adira.”
“I just- I don’t. I don’t know?”
”It’s family.”
”Family?”
”Mmhmm.”
“Oh.”
”Yup.”
Notes:
Mostly written on the train somewhere between Clapham Junction and Waterloo.
Chapter 613: Salut, Ante Meridiem
Notes:
Set early in Season Three.
Title is Latin for “before midday” AKA morning / AM (and the French “salut” in greeting).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As a general notion, waking up facedown pinned by a heavy body and being deafened by snoring isn’t a great way to wake up.
Paul’s never been one to conform to general expectations. Certainly not when making the leaps of innovation (never alone, always with Justin to bounce ideas off of, and oh that still hurts) that steer a ship through an extra-dimensional network, nor entering said network to retrieve his protégée and finding his heart. Not after losing said love again, then reconstructing a suit capable of allowing its wearer to pierce time itself. In fact, the only thing that might be predictable is falling in love with one Hugh Culber, but that was somehow inevitable the first time the man’s eyes lit up at Paul’s prickly snark.
But…
For the first time in far too long, he doesn’t dread reentering the waking world. Doesn’t resist opening his eyes for any reason but lingering drowsiness. Doesn’t have to wish that the other side of the bed isn’t cold and empty.
Although to be fair, Hugh is mostly on Paul’s side anyway, draped over his body and drooling just a bit onto the back of his collar. A heavy arm is slung over his waist, Hugh’s snuffling directly into his ear, and Paul’s going to have to move soon to deal with his bladder. His pajamas have managed to bunch up almost uncomfortably around his groin and it’s a little difficult to breathe, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.
For the universe.
For anything.
Notes:
Good morning from Mayfair.
Chapter 614: Spin
Summary:
Consent is sexy, especially ongoing in the middle of playtime.
Notes:
Culmets bed banter, playfulness, and a lot of trust and love.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As far as evenings go, this is shaping up to be a good one. Lazy handjobs while tucked in bed reading turn into lazy lovemaking, pajamas still tangled between them and Hugh’s hips propped up on a stack of pillows as they rock together. Their rhythm is easy and unhurried, exchanging occasional kisses, but mostly just nuzzling into each other’s necks. Paul’s happily floating in that in-between space amidst arousal and satiation when he feels Hugh’s fingers - previously drawing random patterns on his back - move downwards.
“What are you up to?”
His awareness sharpens as they tease down the cleft of his own backside, delving purposefully deeper. He squirms, making a noise of mock reproof before pushing up on an elbow until they can make eye contact. Hugh gives him a lopsided smile, affectionate and more than a little mischievous.
“Hmm?”
“Behave,” he drops back down and nips Hugh’s earlobe, “or…”
Beneath him, Hugh arches up off the mattress, wrapping his legs more tightly around Paul’s thighs and grinning.
”Or what?”
He slips a hand between them, groping Paul’s chest and pinching a nipple.
”Or I’ll- hey!”
Hugh surges up, trying to reverse positions and wrestle him down to the sheets. Paul pulls out, already missing the slippery heat, and kicks off the pants tangled around his ankles. He catches Hugh’s mouth in a messy kiss and his arousal in a firm grip, tongue and hand stroking as they roll. It’s enough of a distraction to let Paul slip out from under him and promptly straddle his ass. Then he tugs Hugh’s shirt off, tossing his own onto the floor beside it, and catches Hugh’s grabby hands before triumphantly biting a bare shoulder.
”Mmphh,” Hugh doesn’t sound terribly displeased at the turn of events, “that didn’t go as planned.”
”Nope. You’re all mine now.”
Peering back over his shoulder, Hugh winks.
”Thought I was already? Not that I’d object to you…proving it.”
The air between them goes sharp, the last three syllables accompanied by a darker, hungrier look. They stare at each other for the space of a few heartbeats, still breathing hard from the playful struggle. Then-
“Oh, I can definitely do that.”
Paul punctuates the promise by pushing back in, reveling in the moan it evokes. He pulls both of Hugh’s hands behind his back, biting his lip as the action causes a full-body shiver against and around him. Any sense of physical control by him is an illusion, but they both play into it, Hugh letting go of his hands and tugging against Paul’s grip on his wrists with enough strength that it takes just a little bit of force to keep them in place.
“What are you going to do to me?”
Hugh’s voice is anything but innocent, hips grinding back, and Paul takes the opportunity to bite the other shoulder.
”Whatever I feel like.”
”Oh?”
”Mmhmm. Better hold on.”
He sets a more rapid pace than before, watching the (probably deliberate) flex of Hugh’s biceps and back muscles as the mattress bounces. The line of love bites grows each time he slows to catch his breath while Hugh makes impatient noises, trailing from one shoulder to the other. It also gives Hugh a chance to struggle again, the appreciative moans when Paul drops his weight onto Hugh’s pinned wrists vibrating through them both.
He’s getting close when Hugh’s fingers curl up, tapping at the heel of Paul’s hand insistently. His body responds before his brain catches up, immediately releasing his hold and hips stuttering to a halt.
”Hurts?”
Pulling his face out of the pillow, Hugh gives Paul a definitive head shake followed by a lopsided smile over his shoulder.
”No, just…”
Hugh trails off as they both try to catch their breath. Getting off together is good no matter what position they’re in, so he rubs gentle circles on Hugh’s palms, waiting and letting his heart slow.
“Changed my mind? Sorry,” Hugh quirks his lips, “I know I started it.”
Paul goes to shift his weight off, stopping when Hugh’s heels meet the backs of his thighs.
“Hugh?”
”We don’t have to stop, just-“ Hugh retrieves his hands and pushes up on his elbows, “stay like that…”
In a ridiculous display of just how flexible the new body is, he manages to get his knees beneath him and then swing one leg past Paul’s chest and face while rolling over. Paul slips out as Hugh’s back hits the sheets, but he’s beyond impressed.
”Fuck.”
”-hi.”
Also really turned on.
“That’s…wow.”
Slightly smug is a good look on Hugh, especially when paired with miles of sweaty skin and a half-hard erection.
”Yeah?”
He tries to glare, but fails miserably judging by Hugh’s smile widening.
”Been practicing that? Actually no, that doesn’t sound right.”
Chuckling, Hugh wraps that leg around Paul’s waist.
“Maybe. Get back here.”
”I suppose I could do that.”
Hugh reaches down, squeezing him.
”Hope it’s not too much of a…hardship.”
This time, Paul succeeds in narrowing his eyes.
”I’ll show you hard.”
The hand not otherwise occupied curves around his jaw, tugging him down for a kiss that’s even softer than the ones they were sharing earlier.
“Poor word choice,” Hugh murmurs when they come up for air, “raincheck on hard?”
Blinking, Paul nods.
”Sure.”
Hugh guides him back in with a satisfied sigh, tucking his heels against the inside of Paul’s calves.
”Like this?”
“Mmm,” he slips an arm beneath Hugh’s shoulders, feeling his chest rise with each breath, “can’t argue with the doctor’s orders.”
Bumping noses, Hugh laughs quietly.
”Since when?”
Paul nuzzles his cheek.
”Not in bed.”
Notes:
Happy birthday to me (well, tomorrow the 22nd) and an early birthday to Anthony :). I wish I could have seen his show in SF since it’s only an hour away from home, but it’s been four years since I last visited the UK and I’ve missed it.
Chapter 615: Stimulus
Notes:
Dialogue-only fluff.
Chapter Text
“Babe, you’re on my side.”
”…”
”Sweetheart? I need you to move so I can get in bed.”
”…mmuhhh.”
”Thank yo- a little further? And leave me some covers.”
”Nnnuhhh.”
”Scoot over.”
”-s’nuhtherside.”
”Can’t, your pillow is too soft.”
”S’not.”
”Paaaauul.”
”Whah was that for?”
”Got your attention, didn’t I?”
”Hrmph. Fine.”
“I- hey, what’s that look for?”
”What?”
”You're pouting.”
”M’not.”
”What’s wrong?”
”Sheets r’cold.”
“If you move and give my pillow back, I’ll suck you off tomorrow.”
“Oh?”
”Mmhmm. Nice and slow.”
”…fine.”
”Thank you.”
”Mmmrrphhh.”
”Love you, sweetheart.”
”-v’you too. Night.”
Chapter 616: Shades (of love)
Summary:
When an orgasm is much more than that.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul comes harder with Hugh than he ever has before.
…more gently, sweet and overwhelming.
…laughing - more than once.
…mid-sentence, words drowned in pleasure.
…in tears, twice: once, when Hugh comforts him after the mission to the Glenn when Justin’s loss is visceral and raw; again, when they make love for the second first time, joyous and whole.
He feels more, deeper, safe with Hugh.
He trusts.
He feels.
He loves.
Notes:
I’m not projecting again…
References Chapter 230 (“Sanctuary, Part Two”) post-mission in Context is for Kings.
Chapter 617: Shuttle
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Shuttle rides used to be full of anticipation, hours and days spent in transit with the promise of reuniting soon, or the reluctant frustration of separation. (It’s never ideal, but they made it work enough to sustain themselves until the next time.)
Discovery changes all of that, coming home to each other with a bed that’s both of theirs to share. Life happens, death happens, and neither of them are the same man they were. The future becomes the past, becomes history, and they find each other again.
So many things change, shuttle rides included.
“Hey,” Paul’s voice is quiet as Hugh blinks himself out of a light doze, “I love you, but I’m going to make you sleep on Tracy if you keep snoring.”
”Absolutely not,” Tracy fixes him with a glare, “he’s your problem.”
”…he’s right here,” Hugh mutters, then more loudly, “are we there yet?”
At the helm, Detmer smiles.
”Two more hours.”
Nodding, Hugh closes his eyes again and snuggles into the arm Paul wraps around his shoulders. He drifts back to sleep as the shuttle continues on, taking them back to Discovery.
Back home.
Notes:
Somewhat random snippet while waiting in London traffic to head to the airport. I couldn’t come up with a perfect transition, and hope it works.
Chapter 618: San Francisco
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh takes him out on Thursday evening, all starched suits and (replicated) leather shoes.
He doesn’t question when Hugh lays out clothes that have been in their closets for years, just tosses his uniform jacket and pants onto the laundry pile. Hugh watches him in comfortable silence while he skims off his undershirt, trading Commander Stamets for Paul as he steps into crisp trousers and reaches for a belt.
“I love seeing you like this,” Hugh finally murmurs when Paul finishes buttoning his shirt, hands resting warm on his hips.
Paul smirks.
“Getting dressed?”
Shaking his head, Hugh steps around and helps him shrug on the jacket, smoothing the lapels beneath his palms and straightening the cuffs. The luster of the raw silk sets off the mischievous spark in stormy steel eyes as he gazes back, tugging Hugh’s collar open just a fraction more until his hands are caught, fingers twining together. Paul sighs as warm lips press against the inside of his right wrist.
“When it’s just us. Before you step outside, partially undone. I love that you let me see it.”
Their toes are nearly touching already, and he’s leaning forward the last couple of inches before he even realizes it, rubbing the tips of their noses together.
“Only for you.”
Hugh’s smile goes softer, and he can feel it lingering on his lips as they kiss.
“Ready?”
He nods, stepping back and following him out of their quarters.
“Where are we going?” he asks once they exit the turbolift. “Dressed like this?”
“Holosuite H.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No?”
There’s more than a hint of teasing behind the reply, and he reaches over to pinch Hugh’s backside. It’s late and Discovery’s corridors are sparsely populated, and Hugh’s laughter fills the empty space between bulkheads. The sound is open and honest, inviting Paul to share in it.
“You’ll like it,” he offers, reclaiming Paul’s hand, “I promise.”
The dubious noise he makes in response only makes Hugh’s smile widen.
Swish.
“What- oh.”
They step out of the brightly lit corridor into a mild San Francisco evening. Paul’s words catch in his throat, and he blinks back the sudden moisture in his eyes as Hugh’s arms encircle his waist from behind, chin resting on his shoulder as he takes in the view.
All around them are the the sights and sounds and smells of SF in the mid-23rd century, down to the old-fashioned streetlights highlighting the groundcars as they pass by. In the near distance, a graceful white and silver pillar rises, emblazoned with a caduceus. Beyond it, the Golden Gate is just peeking through the fog rolling in.
Something ever so slightly off balance rights itself inside of him.
Now he understands why Hugh chose these outfits. Their suits are centuries out of date beyond the holosuite, but perfect for the little jazz club eight blocks from Hugh’s old flat near Starfleet Medical. It’s the first place they danced together, a spur of the moment detour on the way back from dinner in the old Presidio. He’d been reticent then, never fond of the crush of strangers, but already willing to let Hugh coax him beyond his own comfort zone.
(“Trust me?”
It’s said lightly, but there’s more beneath Hugh’s question than Paul dares to hope for.
”Okay.”
Hugh’s answering smile is brilliant.
They have drinks and dessert, then Hugh leads him onto the dance floor. It takes four songs, but the stiff nervousness leaves his shoulders, lets him respond to Hugh’s fluid grace. Two a.m. arrives in the blink of an eye, music winding down to leave them on the sidewalk, hand-in-hand.)
“This-“ he swallows around the lump in his throat, “it’s…”
“I don’t remember exactly what they used to play,” Hugh says quietly, “but-“
Shaking his head, Paul leans back to brush a kiss over Hugh’s cheek.
“This is perfect.”
Strings of lights twinkle from the trees on the patio, the buzz of voices and clinking of glassware from other patrons blending with the mellow notes spilling from the open doors. They’re not completely alone, but there’s few enough holographic others who remain a polite distance away that it doesn’t feel crowded. Paul looks up from draping his jacket over the back of a chair to find Hugh waiting with his hand extended. His skin glows in the warm yellow light, a hint of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes as he smiles.
“May I have this dance?”
The nervous excitement of sixteen years ago is nowhere to be found, replaced by calm certainty. Paul tips his chin down for a moment, gazing up through his lashes before taking Hugh’s hand, bodies fitting together effortlessly.
“Always.”
There’s a fountain in one corner of the patio, and the sounds of splashing water form an accompaniment to the smoky-voiced singer. The arm around his waist is strong, and Paul closes his eyes as they sway together, trusting Hugh to guide them around the others.
Time passes without reference, one song flowing into the next until they take a break for drinks. Sleeves are rolled up, ice melting in a shared glass of whiskey forgotten on the table as they take to their feet again. He laughs as Hugh dips him, catching him in a quick kiss as he straightens.
“Want to lead?”
And isn’t that just their relationship - the easy flow of offer and opinion and decision between them, switching roles without fuss.
“Sure.”
The curve of Hugh’s lower back fits his fingers perfectly, thumb tucked into one of the dimples there. He charts them a course around the edge of the patio, meandering over the cobbles with no destination in mind. They’re not dancing anything in particular, but that’s never mattered as Hugh’s body responds to the press of his hips and thighs, following without hesitation.
“You miss it too.”
Hugh’s statement isn’t a question, for all that it’s offered in a quiet, even tone. Paul hums acknowledgement, and Hugh gives him space while he considers a reply.
“I think,” he begins, “I know I never could have imagined where we would go. And,” he chuckles softly, “I’ve imagined more than most.”
“Mmhmm.”
Pulling back enough to see Hugh’s face clearly, he continues.
“And…yes. I miss the places we’d made our own, the people we left. I miss the Starfleet we knew, and I miss my hip not aching if I sleep on it funny.”
That makes the man he loves smile.
“Yeah.”
“I love that we can visit again anytime, here, any place.“
Their feet have stilled, but Paul doesn’t notice, focused on the prickle of Hugh’s beard against his palm and chasing any lingering taste of whiskey from his mouth.
“Thank you for choosing this, Hugh.”
“I’m glad you liked it.”
Hugh leads them backwards with only the briefest glance to confirm where he’s going. Still exchanging kisses, he guides Paul around him to sit on an empty chair before climbing onto his lap.
“Computer, delete other patrons but keep the music playing.”
The few remaining holograms vanish.
Kisses eventually lead to necking, no rush for anything more as there would be on other nights. It would be easy enough to replicate anything they might need here if they choose to do otherwise, but even the inevitable arousal is an undemanding slow simmer.
Deft fingers unbutton Paul’s shirt, then Hugh’s right hand slips beneath the placket. Body-warm fabric slides over his knuckles as his palm comes to rest over Paul’s heart. There’s no seduction in his touch, just a firm and steady presence. In return, Paul teases Hugh’s shirttail up, tucking his own fingers beneath waistband and belt. He nibbles Hugh’s lower lip, tongue soothing after each playful tug while they share breath.
Eventually, they settle into cuddling on the empty patio. Hugh’s cheek comes to rest on his shoulder, the tip of his nose and exhales tickling Paul’s neck.
“This was perfect,” Paul murmurs again, Hugh’s weight grounding him in his own body.
“Happy birthday,” comes the whisper, words felt as much as heard, “sweetheart.”
Notes:
Written in honor of Anthony’s birthday on 10/26 (how is a man with so much youthful energy 52?) from 40,000 feet somewhere over the Northwest Territories / Saskatchewan. Still catching up on sleep from the time zone change, but finally got around to editing and posting.
Chapter 619: Strive
Summary:
Sometimes love means you don’t necessarily like each other.
Chapter Text
“Love,” his grandmother’s voice is gentle but firm, “does not mean you’ll always like each other.”
”But-“
She shakes her head and continues, refilling their glasses of iced tea.
”Love isn’t permission to hurt each other. But, in the course of it, you’ll make mistakes. There will be disagreements, arguments, no matter how much you love each other. Worse, even, because of it.”
”But yo-“
Aida holds up a hand, and he closes his mouth.
”Those we love the most are most able to hurt us. And we them in return. It’s what you do when that happens that makes a difference. Goodness knows,” her eyes go distant for a moment, “your grandfather and I didn’t always like each other.”
”I don’t understand.”
She sighs, but it’s accompanied by a small smile.
”Antonio and I disagreed on things. We argued, sometimes. The longer you’re with someone, the easier it is. You’re not afraid to lose them, the way you are when everything is new. But never go to sleep angry, Hugh. At the very least, tell them you need time or space to think about whatever it is. Don’t bring anger to your bed.”
Aida was right, as ever.
Looking down at the cold remains of dinner and his own empty wine glass, Hugh reluctantly admits that he doesn’t like Paul very much at the moment.
He knows what is ultimately to blame, beyond both of their control, but he sometimes wonders why Paul even bothers to say he’ll be home for dinner when they both know it’s more than likely he won’t be back until well after Hugh’s asleep. The same drive and obsessive nature that makes his partner a brilliant scientist also means that Hugh’s finding himself in competition with discovery - pun unintended - and not coming out first. It’s not fair to resent that, not with war and the lives of countless others are in the balance. Paul isn’t choosing his work over his love lightly. He knows that, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
Exhaling in an attempt to bring his own pique under control, he resists the urge to leave the second plate with its uneaten meal sitting out as a passive-aggressive accusation. Instead, he recycles the steak and carrots with mushroom marsala, dialing up a simple grilled cheese sandwich and bowl of tomato soup from the synthesizer, something easier to digest after a long day. He sets a stasis lid in place over the tray, making room for it on the desk beside a stack of PADDs.
Hugh stretches, sweeps a few crumbs off the dining table, then heads into the bathroom. Brushing their teeth together still feels special, getting ready for bed and seeing Paul’s hair gel next to his own razor in the cabinet, a reminder that this is their home. Resentment forms a hot knot behind his sternum when he reaches for his toothbrush with Paul’s sitting dry in its cup, his reflection frowning back at him in the unforgiving vanity lights.
”This whole damn war can go to hell,” he mutters, “fuck.”
His hand hovers over his PADD after he climbs into bed, indecisive. It would be so easy to type out a hurt response to Paul’s earlier message, the one that promised he’d be home by 2100. He thinks his grandmother would understand his own frustration about it, the dull ache that’s all the worse because he doesn’t want to feel this way at all.
Eventually, after typing and deleting, he finds something that doesn’t sound like he’s trying to pick a fight.
[Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Going to bed now. There’s food on the desk if you’re still hungry when you get home. Love you.
It’s harder to fall asleep when the other side of the sheets are empty, but he manages. Paul’s scent is strong beneath the covers, and if he closes his eyes, it’s easier to pretend that Paul’s just gotten up to use the bathroom and will be coming back to bed soon.
Regardless of everything else, his first reaction to the mattress shifting as Paul slips under the duvet is always to reach for him. Sleep-clumsy, he grasps Paul’s hand when his arm wraps around Hugh’s waist, cuddling into his embrace. In the liminal space between waking and slumber, the day’s frustrations are at one remove, and he focuses firmly on the simple pleasure of Paul’s body pressed against his.
”I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
Hugh reluctantly releases his remaining hold on sleep, rousing himself enough to speak.
“Time’s’it?”
A sigh gusts over the back of his neck.
”Oh-two-thirty?”
” ‘kay.”
”Thank you for making me dinner.”
”Mmm.”
He’s glad the darkness hides his reflexive frown at the reminder. Paul picks up on it anyway, or maybe it’s the stiffness of his shoulders, because his fingers tighten around Hugh’s, hand curling.
“I’m sorry,” Paul’s voice is rough with fatigue, “I know I keep- I meant to come home, Hugh. I did.”
Blinking into the pillow, he does his best to keep his tone even.
“…I know.”
Paul’s toes twitch against his calves.
“You’re mad at me.”
It’s not a question.
Hugh considers turning on the lights or at least turning over to have this conversation face to face, but his body likes Paul spooning him too much to move. He takes his time in answering, hearing the ever so slight slick of wet skin telling him that Paul’s chewing his own lip. It’s tempting to draw it out, to use his own silence as some sort of punishment, but that’s hardly healthy either.
It’s bad enough the mornings he wakes to find Paul slumped over the couch or desk chair, PADDs pillowing his head. Worse is finding him still working, or that he’s not even come home at all. This…dinner aside, Paul’s home, in bed with him, and apologizing.
Never go to sleep angry.
“I’m…” he sighs again, thumb rubbing over the back of Paul’s hand, “I just want you to be honest, okay? I know you want to, but if you can’t, please just tell me.”
Paul lets out a breath he must have been holding.
“I…”
He raises the hand he’s holding to his face, tucking it between his cheek and the pillowcase.
”I miss you, Paul.”
For a moment, he can feel Paul’s forehead pressed to the back of his shoulder. Then he pulls Hugh even closer, fitting their bodies together completely.
”I’ll try. I promise I’ll try.”
It’s the very best he can do, Hugh knows that. He very carefully rolls up his irrational disappointment and shoves it away, and nods.
”Okay.”
He turns his head for a goodnight kiss before closing his eyes again with a yawn that Paul echoes. Sleep comes easily with Paul’s arms around him, and he surrenders to it.
Notes:
Side note: Hugh’s niece Nella is named after her great-grandfather (Aida’s husband). When I picked her name to begin with, I didn’t know that yet, and didn’t mean to end up with something that close to Anthony’s name.
Chapter 620: Strive, Part Two
Summary:
Paul doesn't like breaking promises, but he really doesn't have a choice.
Notes:
Paul's perspective leading up to the events in the previous chapter.
References the first time Hugh brings Paul home for Christmas and he meets Aida in Chapter 107 ("Shovel Talk").
Chapter Text
09:45 [Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Lunch? Aisha is on flex today, I could probably step out at 1300 or so.
09:51 [Stamets-Paul-LT/SCI-ENGR] I don't think I can. We're running a full test on the new model, and it's probably going to take seven hours.
10:02 [Stamets-Paul-LT/SCI-ENGR] Sorry :(
10:05 [Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Okay. Try to eat something besides protein cubes, please?
10:06 [Stamets-Paul-LT/SCI-ENGR] Yes, dear doctor.
10:23 [Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Tell Saoirse happy birthday from me?
10:30 [Stamets-Paul-LT/SCI-ENGR] She says you owe her a drink the next time we're on shore leave.
10:31 [Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] :)
15:46 [Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] How's the test going?
15:50 [Stamets-Paul-LT/SCI-ENGR] Don't ask.
15:50 [Stamets-Paul-LT/SCI-ENGR] Initialization failure in stage five.
15:50 [Stamets-Paul-LT/SCI-ENGR] It's going to take forever to debug.
15:57 [Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Ouch. I'm sorry.
16:21 [Stamets-Paul-LT/SCI-ENGR] Going to be late.
16:40 [Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Will you make it for dinner?
16:45 [Stamets-Paul-LT/SCI-ENGR] Yes.
16:58 [Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Are you sure?
18:08 [Stamets-Paul-LT/SCI-ENGR] Sorry. Yes, be home before 2100 if you don't mind dinner late?
18:15 [Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Of course not. You sure?
18:18 [Stamets-Paul-LT/SCI-ENGR] You already asked that.
18:19 [Stamets-Paul-LT/SCI-ENGR] I promise.
18:20 [Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] I'll be waiting :)
By 20:05, Paul's optimism about making it out of Engineering before 2100 is rapidly fading. He'd hoped the diagnostic would either be complete or in a state to be left on auto, allowing him to sit down with Hugh for dinner for the first time in the last week and a half. Around him, the disassembled components of the drive shunt promise otherwise, their burnished edges taunting him. With luck - which has been in short supply lately - he might be finished at 2300, assuming no unexpected issues rear their head. He's already dealt with a Ventaxian virus decimating one crop of stella and endured one of Lorca's 'I expect you to make this work for the war effort' speeches in the last two days alone, which isn't reassuring.
And maybe a miracle will happen, and the next cadre of cadets Command assigned him will suddenly be able to help more than hinder his work. Cadet Tilly, at least, seems to be catching on quickly, even if her verbal filter seems to be nonexistent. It won't get him home in time for dinner tonight, but it's something to hope for.
Hugh's not going to be happy.
Reaching for a decoupler, he wonders if it's possible for some sort of medical emergency to come up in the next 45 minutes that will require Discovery's CMO. He certainly doesn't wish harm on anyone, but short of an injury of some sort, he can't think of any other way to avoid admitting that he's going to break yet another promise to Hugh. Hugh will understand - he always does - but Paul's not so oblivious that he can't see the disappointment every time he creeps back into their quarters well after he's supposed to be home. It's not that he's been anything but supportive either, listening to Paul ramble on about whatever the latest challenge is, massaging the tension out of his shoulders, providing snuggles and the pleasures of his body without demanding anything in return.
That's the problem, Paul chews his lip as he starts to deconstruct the secondary bypass relay, he just wants to spend time together, and here you are screwing that up.
He's started keeping a mental tally of sorts, the number of times he comes home late or skips lunch or ruins a quiet evening in with work, versus how often they share breakfast or steal away time in the middle of the day for a little necking in one of the supply closets. It's tipped far too much in favor of the former, but not so much that Hugh's going to snap at him for it.
He hopes.
Of course, Murphy's Law means that two of the plasma relays blow while Harrington is busy making sure one of the cadets doesn't accidentally delete a terabyte of code, the engineers sent to fix it manage to disconnect the backup energy matrix, and Landry shows up to stare silently at him for five minutes. By the time Paul's relatively certain the power surge won't fry the entire system, it's after 0100, and he realizes with a guilty start that he never even messaged Hugh.
Shit.
Harrington casts a sympathetic look his way, which he absolutely doesn't need, but in all fairness she's been stuck babysitting three of the most incompetent junior engineers they've ever met and not losing her temper when dealing with all of this on her birthday probably means he's not allowed to be annoyed about it. She hands him his personal PADD on her way out for the night, and he realizes that he's been staring at it while snapping orders.
He thumbs it on to find the half-expected string of notifications is just one message.
22:30 [Culber-Hugh-LTCDR/MED] Going to bed now. There’s food on the desk if you’re still hungry when you get home. Love you.
At face value, someone who didn't know them would probably think it's perfectly fine. Paul knows better, and the lack of complaint is actually worse than Hugh calling him out on his broken promise.
He doesn't message back, because if Hugh's managed to fall asleep, he doesn't want to wake him. Instead, he uses the ambient starlight to navigate their quarters, removing his boots as quietly as possible. There's no movement from the bed, but he sees the faint blue glow of a stasis lid on the desk once he's done undressing and headed for the bathroom.
Steam rises from the dishes when he deactivates it. He hasn't eaten in hours, and the grilled cheese and soup are just what he needs. The warm appreciation for Hugh's thoughtfulness as he takes his first bite is tempered by another wave of guilt that tightens his stomach.
("Take good care of him, Paul," Aida's voice is quiet but no less stern for it. "Hugh will give you everything if you ask.")
Paul finishes the food quickly, covering the tray with the napkin to wait until morning in case the chime of reclamation from the synthesizer disturbs Hugh's sleep. A quick shower later, he brushes his teeth and pulls on pajamas, padding barefoot back out to their bed. He pauses on Hugh's side, using the barely-there illumination to watch his partner sleep.
Hugh's curled up facing the edge of the mattress, one arm stretched under the pillow and the fingers of his other hand splayed loosely on top of the duvet. His nightstand is its usual tumble of half-empty water glasses and PADDs, and Paul spares an amused thought for how often stirring in his sleep leads to him accidentally knocking over some precariously piled object. He brushes the backs of his fingers over Hugh's cheek, then rounds the bed and slowly lifts the covers. If he's careful enough, he can make it in without waking Hugh up, snuggle close to him for the rest of the night.
He'll apologize over breakfast.
Chapter 621: Strapped
Summary:
What happens in the medbay when Discovery literally crashes into the 32nd century?
Notes:
Takes place at the beginning of S3E2 leading up to the scene in the medbay with (a very shirtless and adorably woozy) Paul and Hugh.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
…Discovery shuddering under enemy fire.
…unable to worry about it, too busy putting someone’s insides back together.
…lights starting to flare, and his hands continuing to work without the need for sight as he glances over one more time at Paul’s unconscious form haloed and still.
Almost there.
…time stretching, thinning to a single molecule thick.
…clinging to consciousness, mentally reciting the physician’s oath as grayness rolls in from the edges of his vision.
…time resuming its normal flow with a thunderclap of lights and sounds and sweat running down the side of his face and crimson soaking his sleeves to the elbow.
…struggling for breath as he closes the wound, feeling like his head is caught in a vise.
…fighting against fluctuating internal dampeners as Saru’s call to brace for impact rings out.
…Tracy calling for restraining fields over the biobeds.
Paul.
…mag locks initializing, immobilizing equipment carts on the deck.
…glossy bubbles forming around most of the beds, medical staff throwing themselves over the remaining patients, fastening emergency restraints, then latching on to whatever they can hold.
Paul.
…manual straps securing thighs and hips, refusing to connect at the shoulders.
…knotting the trailing end around his own waist, wrapping both ankles around the biobed support.
…. hands clutching the headrest, protecting Paul’s fragile heart with his own body.
…proximity alarms blaring.
…pressing a kiss to Paul’s forehead and closing his eyes.
Paul.
Hugh blinks particulate out of his eyes, takes a moment to take stock of himself.
Senses working, check.
All four limbs attached.
Breathable atmosphere and gravity.
“Well,” Tracy’s voice rises above the wailing alarms and moans of pain, “rough landing. Everyone okay?”
Aisha coughs, wheezing.
”Where-“
”Did we-“ Peretta’s hoarse, “when…?”
To his left, Nilsson groans, untangling herself from an unconscious cadet. He smells burnt electrical wiring, singed duranium, disinfectant, and sweat, tastes the metallic tinge of blood. There’s medical implements everywhere, anything unsecured come free, but their patients seem to have weathered the landing. About half of the biobed displays flicker back on as the secondary generators kick in with life support functions, while others - including Paul’s - remain stubbornly dark.
”Comms are down,” Nilsson adds, “EPS grid must be fried.”
Looks like we’re on handhelds for a while.
Paul’s nose is digging into his collarbone, and his own chin is sore, Paul’s head the probable cause of his bitten tongue. He forces his fingers to open, wills his heart back down from his throat as he sets both feet on the filthy deck and dares to look. So many things can happen to a human body subjected to intense G-forces on impact. Whiplash, blunt force trauma, broken bones.
Broken necks.
Paul.
He doesn’t see the soot and superficial cuts, or the blood matting blond hair. Instead, he tucks two fingers beneath his jaw, feeling for a pulse. He fumbles for the scanner somehow still in its holder on his hip, confirming that Paul’s none the worse for wear for someone who’s recently undergone rushed heart surgery. Paul’s lips are pale and cracked, but parted around an exhale that makes Hugh’s knees weak as he breathes it in.
Safe.
Lightheaded, he indulges his own feelings for a moment and sags towards the deck, grimacing as the restraining strap digs into his ribs.
”Hugh?”
That’s Aisha, a patient’s arm draped over her shoulders.
”Fine,” he reassures her, unknotting the restraint and straightening, “I’m okay.”
Nodding, she continues onwards.
”Perretta,” Tracy calls, “grab some antigrav stretchers and see if you can patch into comms for pickups. Everyone - let’s get all these stabilized and out. Probably injuries on all decks from that, clear the biobeds. Go!”
He catches Tracy’s eye, sees her eyes flick down to glance at Paul. For a brief moment, she smiles, then Dr. Pollard is back calling for updated triage reports and supply levels.
Dr. Culber nudges Hugh aside, checks the readings again before determining that his patient is still in serious condition but most likely doesn’t require the biobed any longer. Unfastening the emergency straps, he lets himself rest a bare hand in the center of Paul’s chest just below his sternum. The incision sites are healed enough for him to be moved, although the rushed job means he’s going to require auxiliary cellular regeneration. It would be easiest to maintain sedation and transfer him, but he’d rather bring him back up to confirm conscious brain function.
Admit it, you also want to be sure he heard what you said before you put him under.
A quick look around assures him that he’s not needed elsewhere for the moment, at least until the walking wounded from other decks arrive. Nilsson is directing a couple of cadets to clear the deck of hazards, setting sterilizers and regens back on to charge and passing out old-fashioned disinfecting packs. He hoped to have seen the last of those after the Klingon war ended, but accepts one gratefully to swab Paul’s surgical site one more time and using the other side to wipe his chest and face free of blood.
Task complete, he reaches for a hypospray and the correct vial of stimulant to reverse the medical coma. Paul’s probably going to have a migraine-level headache and possible temporary amnesia until his system clears the rest of the sedative out. How he wakes up is important, so he lets Dr. Culber’s mask fade as the hypospray hisses.
Hugh strokes his temple and waits for him to wake up.
Notes:
Started in December 2022, wrote Hugh’s recollection of things, and unexpectedly lost momentum for eleven months. Sigh.
I realize the episode shows Paul all nicely cleaned up except for ruffled hair and scar, but in the midst of battle I find it hard to believe they had time to do that. Ergo, a bit of license with canon to give Hugh an excuse for a little more touch.
Chapter 622: Stanzas
Summary:
This is their story.
Chapter Text
This is how it starts:
On Earth, a doctor with a generous heart gets taken for granted and hurt, over and over.
On Alpha Centauri, a brilliant but lonely astromycologist sits down in a cafe to review his notes before a conference.
The doctor sits down beside him.
This is how it grows:
Daily comms stretch into all hours of the night, conversation easy and engaging.
They kiss for the first time, and it tastes like joy.
On their third date, Hugh holds out his hand.
Paul takes it.
They fall in love and weather weeks and months of separation, sustained on subspace and shirts tucked under their pillows.
Their reunions are full of passion and rightness.
On Deneva, in a field of flowers, Paul asks Hugh to be his partner.
Hugh says yes.
This is how it changes:
Paul’s life’s work is uprooted to feed the machine of war, the promise of an entire starship not enough to outweigh his doubts.
Starbase Twelve needs a CMO, and Hugh goes.
War is hell.
Discovery is built and launches, and Paul and Hugh finally have a place to call home together.
They brush their teeth and climb in bed and smile at each other.
The war continues.
Hugh wakes to find Paul never came to bed at all.
Secrets and disappointment and guilt and frustration weigh them down.
Hugh dies.
Paul forgets how to live.
This is how it almost ends:
Paul finds Hugh and brings him back to life, brings him back home.
Love is too much when they’re both so broken.
Hugh starts over.
Paul doesn’t.
The universe is threatened, and Discovery fights back.
They don’t say goodbye.
This is how it doesn’t:
Nine hundred years looms between them, too far a distance to ever cross again.
Paul is impaled through the heart.
Hugh saves him.
They go together.
This is how it is:
Hugh wakes up snuggled in Paul’s arms.
They shower and have breakfast together, share a goodbye kiss at the door.
Hugh heals others and learns to let go of guilt.
Paul gains a brilliant child with centuries in their eyes.
They kiss each other hello and have dinner with the family they’ve built.
Hugh leaves his wet towel on the bathroom floor, and Paul lines his PADD up perfectly with the edge of the nightstand.
Paul falls asleep with his head resting on Hugh’s chest.
Notes:
This one came out of nowhere, built up from the juxtaposition of Paul falling asleep being held by Hugh, then waking with their positions reversed. The rest sort of wrote itself.
Chapter 623: Sommeil, Part One
Notes:
Takes place several years before Discovery, while Hugh (in my headcanon) is at Starfleet Medical.
Title translates to sleep or slumber in French.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Swish.
Inky darkness descends as the door closes behind him. Paul lets his eyes adjust while he takes off his boots, blinking until the faint traces of San Francisco’s lights are visible through the shades covering the living room window. Just to be on the safe side - because stubbing his toe or knocking something over is an actual hazard - he taps the screen of his PADD, letting its blue glow help navigate the narrow gap between couch and dining table and avoiding the stray running shoe just outside the bathroom door. He checks the chrono one last time, sighing as it blinks back 0247.
Paul taps the screen off, leaving the PADD and his bag on a chair along with his unzipped jacket. He almost laughs at the nervous excitement replacing frustration in his stomach, the additional hours after his intended arrival forcing a change of plans. Shaking his head, he reaches out to open the old-fashioned bedroom door and creep across the threshold.
There’s more light in here, windows mostly uncovered. He skirts the untidy laundry pile next to the door, coming to a halt at the side of the bed. Paul can’t help the smile curving his lips as he breathes in musky citrus and spice and feasts his eyes on the sight of a soundly sleeping Hugh Culber.
Hugh’s sprawled mostly on his stomach, one arm beneath the pillow and the other tucked against his chest. He’s shirtless, the sheets pooling low at his hips suggesting he hasn’t worn anything to bed at all. The firm planes of muscle that Paul loves to run his hands over are slack with slumber, and it takes all of his self-control not to pounce, fingers itching to reacquaint themselves with every inch of warm skin. Instead, he finishes undressing, then drops to kneel on the floor.
”Hugh?”
He pitches his voice low, then louder when there’s no response. Hugh sighs, nestling his face deeper into the pillow, and Paul’s smile widens as he spots grey fabric beneath his cheek. The shirt he sent last month is due to be replaced anyway, and knowing Hugh, he’ll happily take the undershirt Paul’s spent the last eighteen hours wearing as he hopped from shuttle to spaceport to transport.
According to the comms they’ve been exchanging, his partner’s worked double shifts for the last week to make up for short staffing, so it’s really no wonder he won’t be roused. Paul brushes the backs of his fingers over Hugh’s jaw, then leans over to steal a kiss. It’s not like Hugh will mind waking up in the morning with Paul magically in his bed, but he’d been hoping to arrive early enough to surprise him and offer a massage before (eventually) sleeping.
Levering himself up from the floor, Paul slips out again to use the bathroom, retrieving his toothbrush and PADD. The former he leaves in the cup next to Hugh’s when he’s done, the latter going on the nightstand on ‘his’ side.
Someday, it’s going to be our bed, not just mine or his.
The sheets are cool, warming as he works his way closer to Hugh’s heat. He barely stirs as Paul fits himself perfectly around his body, although he does make a quiet, content noise when Paul’s arm wraps around his waist. Hugh’s as gloriously naked as Paul had hoped, and he spares a thought for certain parts of his anatomy nestled up all cozy against Hugh’s backside and what the morning might bring. More than lust though, having Hugh in his arms brings a deep sense of peace that he savors. Paul tucks his toes beneath Hugh’s nearest calf, lets his hand drift across his stomach to caress hip and thigh before returning. He kisses Hugh’s shoulder, burying his nose at the nape of his neck and inhaling medical disinfectant (Hugh must not have even bothered to shower before bed, so he adds that to his list of morning delights), traces of cologne, and the warm scent that means love.
Snuggling closer, he lets the rhythm of Hugh’s breathing lead him down into sleep.
Notes:
To be continued in the next chapter, wherein Hugh wakes up to find he’s not alone in bed :)
I’m now making the rounds of other languages when so many stories center around sleeping, beds, and snuggling.
Chapter 624: Sommeil, Part Two
Summary:
Hugh wakes up into a dream.
Chapter Text
Hugh wakes up slower than usual. He keeps his eyes closed against the light, bracing for the mental fog of a caffeine hangover from all of the coffee he’s spent the past two weeks downing in order to remain functional. Not dragging himself from bed at 0530 to make it on shift by 0615 feels like a huge luxury, but he's sure his body is still going to be wound tighter than a spring, on the tail end of metabolizing the chemicals that carried him through the last 30-hour shift. (There are synthetic stimulants, of course, but he'd rather rely on the time-tested combination of double-strong café con leche followed by what feels like gallons of water to move it through his system faster.)
Tracy had stumbled out of the surgical suites around the same time as he had last night, her own eyes bleary but with the same satisfaction of a job well done - lives saved - that he knows is showing on his own face between the yawns. They'd roused T'Vala from her meditation in the on-call room, then leaned on each other all the way out of the 'Fleet Medical complex. To the uninformed, they probably looked like a couple of cadets weaving their way home from the bars after drinking one too many Warp Core Breaches, reeling each other in from falling off curbs and pausing to re-orient themselves.
("Should've done the site-to-site," Tracy mumbles into his shoulder as they rest for a minute against a wall, "could've been home."
"...bit late now," he sighs, " 'sides, just another couple blocks."
Her groan is less theatrical than in other circumstances, nodding as they right themselves and continue onwards. He sees her to her front door a dozen floors down before climbing back into the lift and trying to stay upright long enough to reach his own bed. Remaining awake for even another two minutes to stand in the shower seems like too much, and he collapses onto the rumpled sheets, clothes strewn across the floor. A stray thought brings a brief smile to his lips, imagining what Paul would have to say about him leaving his bed unmade.
His partner's shirt is half-buried beneath the pillow, and he hauls it out. Eyes closed, he tugs the sheets up partway, tucks the wrinkled grey fabric beneath his cheek, and surrenders to sleep.)
Instead of the expected drum solo in his forehead and temples though, he feels oddly refreshed. Hugh's suffused with warmth and contentment, muscles still aching from tension and a low-level buzz behind his eyes but without the beginnings of a migraine. There’s no way he ought to be this relaxed, but he’ll take what he can get, burying his face further in the pillow and letting his mind drift.
The covers have tangled around him, almost like being held in Paul’s arms. He knows it’s wishful thinking that Paul’s scent is surrounding him, barely any left in the shirt. Hugh needs to ask for a new one soon, needs to launder this one and wear it for a full day before sending it by standard 'Fleet parcel to Deneva.
Sighing, he contemplates just going back to sleep. There's no smell of fresh-baked croissants and coffee, so Tracy must still be out too.
It is her turn this time, right?
After the fortnight they've had, they're probably both off the hook anyway. Something tickles his nose, and he opens his eyes to squint at the stray hair on his pillow. It's nearly transparent, and he idly wonders how one of Paul's hairs managed to surface when it's been over three months since they were last together in person. He raises his hand to scratch at his nose, then freezes as what he previously assumed to be the sheets tightens around his waist, weight shifting behind him on the bed with a sleepy murmur.
...what?
He has to be dreaming, but the sensations feel so real. Now that he's thinking about it, he can just feel a heartbeat against his back, a chest moving with each breath. There's the tickle of leg hair against the back of his calves, a bony ankle poking his left shin, and a stubbled chin parked between his shoulder blades. Looking down, he finds a very familiar hand resting on his stomach, pale fingers with short nails, cuticles frayed from being chewed in thought. It's the most pleasant dream he's had in a while, even if the ones featuring Paul tended towards the more physically intimate. Cuddling with Paul after the stint he's had would be exactly what he needs, if only it were real.
His stomach chooses that point to rumble, twisting in a reminder that the last thing he put in it was protein cubes sometime yesterday afternoon. He can't remember ever actually feeling hungry in a dream, but surely not... Slowly, Hugh eases his shoulder back and turns to look over his shoulder, blinking against the sun streaming in over the bed.
Can't be.
A familiar blond head is sharing the pillow. All he can make out without craning his neck even further is bed-mussed hair and one freckled cheek, but it's enough.
"Paul," he whispers, feeling the grin stretch his lips.
Notes:
Loooooooong work week, couldn't get my brain in gear to write :( Headed to my local coffee shop today and finished this chapter with the help of a chai latte and raspberry almond muffin.
"Warp Core Breach" was the name of a cocktail served at Quark's at Star Trek: The Experience in Las Vegas. It was a giant blue-green bowl with dry ice, meant to be shared. I was there with my mom to celebrate my 21st birthday far too long ago and didn't have a chance to try it, but The Experience closed before I could make it back there with friends. (I don't drink much anyway, but would have gotten it for the novelty.)
This was originally supposed to be a two-parter, but I came to a natural stopping point here. Conclusion on the way!
Chapter 625: Sommeil, Part Three (Conclusion)
Summary:
Réveiller :)
Notes:
Deneva is in the Kappa Fornacis star system, which is approximately 72 light years from Sol. It's technically a bit too far away to arrive in the 18 hours referenced in Part One, but umm...let's ignore the logistics of that.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh's cheeks ache from how hard he's smiling. His joints feel creaky, but he manages to slowly roll over without waking the man asleep in his bed, easing Paul onto his back. He smooths the wayward blond hair back down, running his fingers through to untangle the strands. It’s rumpled with hardly a trace of styling product, and Paul looks like he hasn't shaved in a couple of days. Sighing, he nuzzles his cheek, brushing a kiss over his forehead before settling down again on the pillow, drinking in the sight and scent and skin pressed up against him.
You're here.
His partner is a heavy sleeper, but the not-quite-snoring and slightly puffy eyes speak to the fatigue of travel. Lifting the sheet a little, Hugh inhales deeply and gives a thoughtful hum. Rather than being shower-fresh, he can smell sweat and the subtle metallic odor of engine coolant, suggesting Paul's spent at least half a day on a shuttle. Without looking away, he casts a hand behind himself, retrieving his PADD from the nightstand. He taps it awake, then quickly scrolls through the transit logs.
Deneva to Vulcan on the Yorktown, to Jupiter Station on a Vulcan transport, sub-light shuttle to Earth...
Hugh winces even as the thought of his partner coming all this way to surprise him makes his chest feel pleasantly tight. There's no messages unread, so he'll have to wait for Paul to wake up to get the full story.
It's hardly an onerous task.
Paul sleeps soundly, not even stirring as Hugh pets his hair and rubs idle circles over his chest and shoulders. He loses himself in the feeling of warm skin gliding beneath his fingers, the way Paul's stubble tickles his lips when he leans in to drop kisses on his cheeks. Hugh counts the freckles dusting his nose, traces the beginning of frown lines between his eyebrows and lets himself imagine waking up beside him in ten years, twenty, forty, even more beautiful with blond hair gone silver and smooth skin starting to wrinkle. There's nowhere Dr. Culber needs to be and nowhere that Hugh would rather be than snuggled up next to the man he loves.
Eventually, his bladder reminds him of the sheer amount of liquid he drank yesterday, and he reluctantly cedes that he really ought to get up. Hugh detaches himself from Paul's side and levers his body upright slowly, gritting his teeth when the buzz behind his eyes makes his sinuses throb. The chrono on the nightstand reads 1028, much later than he can remember sleeping in in quite a while, and he groans quietly as he shuffles into the bathroom.
The shower tempts him, but he'd much rather share one with Paul later. He's just finished brushing his teeth when he hears movement in the living room. Dropping his toothbrush back into the cup next to Paul's, his eager rush stalls when he spots a white paper bag and two steaming cups perched on the coffee table.
Oh.
"…morning," he rasps, noting with amusement that his guest has managed to clear herself a place to sit on the couch beside his mound of clean but unfolded laundry. "Umm, Trace..."
Dr. Pollard is nowhere in sight, the sleeves of Tracy's oversized Starfleet Medical sweatshirt pushed up to her elbows and hair loosely wrapped in brightly colored fabric. She raises her hand in a distracted wave, then digs in the bag for a croissant.
"Hmm?"
"So. I love you, but-"
Tracy turns to look at him, raising her eyebrows and pointedly not commenting on his nudity as he searches for something to cover himself with. She takes a large bite, and he watches a bit of pastry flakes off and drift down to land on the cushions.
"What?"
Hugh glances over his shoulder, then carefully closes the bedroom door behind him.
"I sort of woke up with Paul in bed this morning."
Oddly enough, Tracy doesn't seem surprised.
"I wasn't planning on staying."
He pauses, one of the kitchen towels bunched in front of his groin.
"...what?"
"Just dropping off breakfast. Figured you two would need it," she adds in a tone that manages to be both teasing and long-suffering, "although it doesn't look like he's mauled you yet."
"Wait, you knew?"
"Sent me a comm yesterday morning to say he would be coming in late, asked when you would be off shift. Anyway," Tracy sighs and climbs back to her feet, "that's for you two."
She’s halfway to the door by the time his brain catches up.
"Thanks, Trace. Seriously."
Tracy waves him off with the half-eaten croissant, smirking.
"I'm going back to bed. Let me know if you two want dinner later? And try not to cause any noise complaints this time."
Swish.
The door closes before Hugh can respond, and he laughs quietly before dropping the towel and rounding the couch to peer inside the bag. Inside, there's two more croissants and what looks like a bioplastic container of fruit. He steps into the kitchenette long enough to dig out a tray, then carries both the bag and the two coffees into his bedroom with a brief detour to the bathroom cabinet.
Hugh sets the tray down on the headboard, using his foot to nudge the clothes strewn over the floor towards the laundry pile. Paul’s uniform is folded neatly on the dresser, and Hugh eyes the undershirt on top of the stack. Eighteen hours of being next to his love's skin... he bends down to sniff approvingly, then replaces it with one of his own shirts that he wore to the gym last week, still waiting to be washed. Pleased with his foresight, he rolls up the dark fabric and carefully tucks it inside his pillowcase.
Paul hasn't moved, although he stirs a little when Hugh climbs back under the covers. His stomach grumbles again, and he debates the merits of watching Paul sleep a bit longer versus the likelihood that he won't be able to stay long. If the latter is the case - much as it always is, unfortunately - he'd rather they spent it awake together. He leans over Paul to tap the PADD on the other nightstand, disappointment prickling over his shoulders when he sees the notification of confirmed passage from Utopia Planitia at 2200. It's not a lot of time, but he can hardly begrudge the hours spent asleep in Paul's arms, his body responding to his presence with relaxation and restfulness.
Someday, we won't always be leaving.
Hugh draws a lazy heart with the tip of his index finger over Paul's chest and carefully peels the covers down, admiring the flat stomach and sharp hipbones in view. He lets his hand drift downwards, following the slightly darker line of hair running from navel down to Hugh's favorite toy (still sleeping, like its owner), giving a gentle caress before tugging the sheet back up. Then he snuggles close again, reaching up to cradle Paul's cheek.
"Sweetheart?"
No response. He lets his fingers curl, gently scratching at the tender skin below Paul's ear, and tries again.
"Sweetheart, time to wake up."
Paul's right foot rubs against the sheets briefly before he inhales deeply, sleepy blue eyes opening halfway.
”…mmmpphhh.”
"Good morning," Hugh murmurs, kissing the tip of his nose.
A drowsy but very self-satisfied smile curves Paul’s lips.
"...hi."
Arms wrap around him, and he returns the hug, throwing a leg over Paul's thighs. His body is sleep-warm, muscles lax as their bodies fit together from neck to knees. Paul’s fingers are splayed over his back, spanning between Hugh’s shoulderblades, the other hand giving his ass a friendly squeeze.
"Imagine my surprise waking up with the most gorgeous man in the universe," he chuckles into the side of Paul's neck, "mmm. Missed you so much."
Paul kisses his temple, lipping at his earlobe.
”Missed you more.”
He starts to pull back, pausing when Hugh’s arms tighten.
”Where’re you going?”
Paul gives him a lopsided smile, pushing gently at his chest.
”I want to kiss you.”
Hugh reaches over their heads, finding the edge of the tray and retrieving the small cup of mouthwash on it.
“Will that work?”
Paul’s expression of surprise is adorable. He accepts the proffered item, pushing up on an elbow long enough to swish and spit before setting it on the nightstand and rolling on top of Hugh.
”Yes.”
The minty tingle adds an extra spark to the kiss, both of them sighing into it. Paul's lips are slightly chapped, both hands framing Hugh's face as they let their mouths become reacquainted. Hugh melts into it, wrapping both legs around Paul's thighs and arching up at the teasing scrape of teeth over his throat. Lust is starting to coil bright and hungry low in his stomach, but he ignores it in favor of letting his hands wander while Paul works what’s probably going to be a spectacular love bite just below where the collar of his uniform sits. He's sure the fatigue of travel coupled with his own remaining exhaustion is why they aren't devouring each other yet, more interested in the sheer joy of touching.
He winces when Paul goes to bury his nose in Hugh's armpit, rolling them back onto their sides. Paul pouts at him, cheeks flushed pink, and he kisses him again soundly.
"I need a shower, love," he grins when Paul grips his bicep as if to wrestle his arm upwards.
"You smell good."
"You probably need one too."
That earns him a Stamets stare that completely fails to have any effect.
"Are you saying I smell?"
He pulls them both upright, laughing when Paul wraps arms and legs around him.
"Nooo..."
"You- hey!"
Paul's hold tightens with a yelp as Hugh rocks forward and off the bed, steadying himself on the headboard while he finds his balance with Paul still attached. It's the perfect excuse to give his backside a two-handed grope, and he pivots to head towards the bathroom with only a slight wobble.
"Don't make me drop you," he winks as Paul relaxes into the hold, rearranging his arms until he can lean back a little.
"Hmmphh. I'm sure it wouldn't be a rough landing, what with all the clothes on the floor..."
He deposits Paul on the bathroom counter with a little more force than necessary.
"Are you calling my place messy?"
Paul's heels drum on his lower back.
"Yep. And I still love you."
"I love you too, sweetheart."
The teasing slips away, and then Paul's looking at him with an impossibly tender expression tinged with just a hint of sadness.
"I wish I could stay."
Hugh sighs, leaning forward until their foreheads are resting against each other.
"I know."
"Justin came down with the Andorian flu, so I'm headed to Arcturus Prime to give his talk."
"You know I'll take however long we have," he murmurs, reaching out to tap the controls and start the shower, "waking up with you...it was perfect, sweetheart."
He steps back and lets Paul hop down from the counter, following him into the steamy cubicle. The shower isn't meant to hold two adult humans, but they've always made it work.
"I needed you," Paul rests his cheek on Hugh's shoulder, "figured after the week you've had, it was as good a time as any."
Hugh pours shampoo into his palm and starts massaging it into Paul's hair, nodding.
"Tracy brought us breakfast."
"Well," he can hear the smile in Paul's voice even as he closes his eyes to stick his own head under the water, "I had to make sure you weren't going to sleep on her couch last night."
"Perish the thought. Although," Hugh waits for Paul to finish rinsing, schooling his face into a thoughtful expression, "should we have sex on her couch?"
The answering fit of giggles sets him off too, and he has to lean on the shower wall when Paul's knees buckle.
"H-Hugh...she'd kill us!"
"Nah."
"Has she ever threatened to snip your balls off?"
"I could reattach them. She wouldn't," he adds as Paul's eyes open wide, "babe, she likes you."
"Which is why she's terrifying, Hugh. You're not serious, right?"
He winks even as he starts soaping up Paul's shoulders and chest.
"About the couch? Or your balls."
Paul steals the bottle and lathers up his own hands, rearranging their elbows so he can start washing Hugh's groin.
"Both."
The playful smile says he knows Hugh's joking, eyes fluttering shut as Hugh nudges his feet further apart to return the favor. Things are starting to wake up, thickening and twitching, and he feathers his fingertips over sensitive skin.
"Should I- mmmm. Demonstrate how much I like them?"
"Well, we do have...ten hours."
It's said lightly enough, and Hugh knows they're both trying not to think about the expiration date on their time together.
Never enough time.
He drops an almost chaste kiss on Paul's lips and deliberately pushes the thought away, focusing on the slick slide of wet skin and Paul's hands on his body.
"I can work with that. Should we take the edge off?"
Kneeling is a challenge, but all of the suds are gone when he finally sits back on his heels and looks up, shielding his eyes from the spray. Paul traces a thumb over his kiss-swollen mouth, lounging back against the far wall. He licks his lips as Hugh captures the finger between his teeth, sucking gently. His eyes shine with desire, underlaid by the fierce tenderness that Hugh loves so much.
"Yes please, dear doctor."
Notes:
The fluff took a turn, Tracy demanded a cameo, and then I realized I'd written 2,200+ words. I regret nothing.
Let's see if I can hit 500k before the end of the year?
Hoping that all who celebrated Thanksgiving a couple of days ago had a good one :D I thought I'd get more time to write while visiting my parents, but am glad to finally get this one posted.
Chapter 626: Sobrina, Part Three (Conclusion)
Summary:
What, exactly, does Captain Pike want them to do?
Notes:
Follows on from Chapter 600 ("Sobrina, Part Two").
Apropos and slight tangent, I've always wondered how the universal translator knows when to translate everything to Standard (aka American English) but still allow characters to say things in other languages, like Picard's "merde", Q's "mon Capitaine", etc. For terms that don't have an exact translation, it makes sense not to attempt it, but does the translator make exceptions for endearments and curses, is everyone actually already speaking Standard so it knows to leave words in another language untranslated, or...?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The serial number and command codes include those used aboard Discovery by Captain Christopher Pike.
That information alone warrants informing the Captain, who makes her way down to Engineering rather than summoning them to her Ready Room. She'd led the debrief with input from Stamets and Zora, relieved that her caffeine jitters have settled out. Tilly still isn't sure how to reconcile the confusing combination of her friend Michael with Captain Burnham, but moments like these where Michael's expression is one of keen scientific interest remind her of before.
Before Discovery jumped to the future.
Before they all saved the universe.
Sometimes she wonders if she's imagining the extra stiffness to Michael's shoulders when she's sitting at the head of a briefing table, if that's why she recognizes her more when she's setting aside the Captain for a little while.
That's a conversation for another time.
Shaking her head, she returns her focus to the conversation.
"-sure it's Captain Pike, Zora?"
Yes, Captain. His serial number and two sets of command codes he used aboard Discovery.
Michael's eyes narrow in thought.
"And no one else could have them?"
They were deactivated just prior to his departure from Discovery. Starfleet Command would have had encrypted records, but even during the period following the Burn, there have been no major data breaches which could have compromised their confidentiality.
"So..." Hugh looks much more awake than before, "what could Captain Pike be trying to tell us?"
Bryce returned to hear Tilly's briefing, and now his hands are moving rapidly over the data. He glances up at that, pausing a line of code midair.
"Actually, it's more a where than a what, as far as I can tell."
Four expectant faces turn to look at him.
"These," he highlights the line, a stream of characters and numbers that extends halfway across the room, "are galactic coordinates. Looks like we've been there before...oh."
The map of the quadrant spins, then a single dot appears near the edge.
"Oh?"
Beside her, Tilly can see Stamets chewing his lower lip as he takes two steps forward into the map. His eyes narrow, then widen abruptly. She opens her mouth to ask, but Michael beats her to it.
"Paul?"
Stamets swallows, and Tilly wonders if she's imagining the slight waver to his finger as he points at the map.
"It's where Discovery entered the network to rescue Tilly. Where we found Hugh."
Silence reigns for almost a full minute. Ambient noise was reduced by the 32nd century retrofit, no slight hum of the warp core in the background to accompany their thoughts, just the barely-audible sound of breathing and the muffled clink of tools as Harrington works inside an open wall panel. It's below line of sight for everyone else, but she notices the way Hugh rests his hand at the small of his partner's back for a few moments, steadying him.
"What does it mean?" Hugh is using his Dr. Culber voice, one of gentle but firm inquiry. "It's too specific to be a coincidence, right?"
The odds of it being coincidental in this context are insignificant.
"Thanks Zora."
"Maybe we're supposed to go there," Bryce offers, suggestion ending in an upward lilt of question.
Michael is wearing her I'm-a-serious-Vulcan-xenoanthropologist expression, and she can almost see the wheels turning in her head. Stamets hasn't said anything else, focused on the middle distance as a muscle works in his jaw. When he doesn't seem ready to reply, Tilly clears her throat.
"Anything else, Zora?"
There does not seem to be additional information. The message truncates and repeats after that.
More silence.
Think, Sylvia.
She quiets her thoughts as best she can, focusing on the feeling that's been scratching at the back of her brain all morning. As the spores continue to lazily drift in the cube, something flashes in her mind. It's hazy, like a memory that isn't quite a memory, a concept half-imagined but real. Poking at it makes it recede further from reach, so she goes back to staring at the spores. They shimmer, bioluminescence bathing the room in a cool blue glow, and she remembers shoving herself back into the cube with Michael and Stamets, adrenaline pumping.
Remembers May's look of incomprehension as Paul and Hugh clung to each other, their emotions heavy in the air.
Remembers how it changed to understanding at Tilly's desperate attempt to right things.
Remembers Discovery shuddering around them, and the terrible, fragile hope on Stamets' face as he stared at the closed door where May and Hugh had left at a run.
Remembers how molecular transporter dissolved around a newly-built Hugh Culber.
Oh.
"Tilly?"
Michael's watching her, as is Stamets. She realizes that she's paused with a hand partway up as if reaching towards the cube, and self-consciously lowers her arm.
"Umm."
"What is it?"
"So. This is going to sound crazy. Not crazy crazy, but...I had a really weird dream last night. And, I couldn't sleep, so I came down here. It's been bugging me, you know when you can remember, right? But it was like- well. May was there."
Stamets' chin jerks upwards so abruptly that it's almost comical.
"May, the jahSepp?"
"Yeah."
"You're not-" Stamets darts a glance at Hugh, who looks pensive, "she's clear, though, isn't she?"
On the other side of the console, Hugh flicks his tricomm open, fingers directing the scanner function at her. Tilly's familiar with the readouts from the days immediately following her kidnapping and rescue, reassuring herself that she was alone in her own mind and body.
"No remaining fungal or other foreign presence."
"May needed my help again. Maybe it's just a dream," she continues, feeling the words out as she goes, "but what if it meant something?What if..." Tilly closes her eyes, still questing after the scraps of quasi-memory, "Captain Pike wants us to go back into the network?"
She's sure no one misses the way Stamets goes stiff. Her own feelings about the experience are complicated enough, and she can't imagine what he and Hugh associate with that period of time. Actually, she doesn't have to imagine - the way Stamets shut down, the blankness in his eyes, the pain even worse than when Hugh was dead is engraved in her mind.
"Could we, even?"
That's Michael, voice gone quiet.
"What?"
"Go back into the network."
She opens her mouth, then closes it again, looking at her erstwhile mentor. Stamets nods, and when he speaks, there's nothing unsteady about his tone at all.
"With the retrofit, our hull is stronger. We probably still need a second ship to stabilize Discovery, though. And if it was May," he raises his eyebrows, "maybe she can tell the other jahSepp not to eat us this time."
"Risk?"
"Less than before."
"I'll take that," Michael's lips quirk in a half-smile, "Zora, would Book's ship be able to hold us without his engines overloading?"
Affirmative, Captain.
"Well. Let's do this."
Tilly blinks.
"...really?"
It takes a couple of hours to make the necessary preparations. Paul does his best to concentrate on what he's doing in the here and now, resolutely pushing away memories of the last time they entered the network. It's not easy, but Hugh's steady presence goes a long way towards soothing the edges off. He's tucked himself into a corner to avoid being in anyone's way, the text of a medical journal in front of him. Paul's well aware that Hugh's only pretending to read, just as he's pretending that he's calm.
When everything is ready, they duck into his private lab for Paul to put on his uniform. Hugh replicates fresh clothes, then turns his attention to Paul. Quick fingers deftly zip and fasten his collar, hand lingering to cradle his cheek.
"You're okay."
It's not a question, but he nods anyway.
"Mostly? I mean, who knows what we'll find in there. Or if it's what we're supposed to be doing-" he sighs, "which doesn't give us a lot to go off of."
"Tilly's intuition is usually right."
That draws a smile.
"Yeah. Are you sure you're okay coming with us?"
Hugh closes his eyes.
"I never thought I'd have a chance to go back, you know? Part of me is terrified, but part of me also needs to be there, Paul. I can walk back into it and out again with you."
Resting their foreheads together, Paul nods.
"Okay."
He kisses Hugh, then steps back to let him leave first. Outside, he picks up the compact square of programmable matter waiting on a console, holding it to his chest before tapping it three times. The tactical suit forms around him, and he gestures the helmet and gloves away for the time being. Hugh and Tilly assemble their own suits, then step into the spore cube, standing against the transparisteel walls.
"We're ready, Captain."
"We'll be standing by on comms," Michael replies from the bridge, "be careful."
Paul flexes his fingers before immersing them in the conductive gel. He inhales deeply and closes his eyes, waiting for the tingle in his wrists. When it comes, he focuses on the otherness lighting up his synapses, lets his mind slip sideways and pushes.
TherewanttogothereIseeitnowtakeusthere.
The deck skews sideways, and Paul exhales into the dimensional boundary shimmering in front of him. It pulses gently, like the meniscus of liquid in a test tube being rocked.
"Wow. That's so...cool."
Tilly's face is full of wonder at the sight, and he reminds himself that the last time they were all there, no one had the time to particularly enjoy their situation. Hugh's shoulders are squared in Dr. Culber's posture, a layer of protection beyond programmable matter. Still, his hand finds Paul's and he doesn't let go again.
"Commander Stamets?"
"We made it," he responds, "moving out now."
"Good. There's minimal hull degradation, but I don't want to push it."
"Understood."
There's a moment of slight awkwardness when he takes Tilly's hand, quickly forgotten as they step across the barrier. Around them, Discovery is cast in dark purple shadows. The air feels charged, their footsteps echoing in a way that reverberates out of proportion. Tilly's palm is slightly damp, but she doesn't release his hand until they reach the nearest airlock. Beyond it, the yeel tree forest is nowhere in sight, a strange silvery sylvan landscape in its place.
"Ready?"
Two nods.
"Here we go. Zora, are you there?"
Yes, Commander. There appears to be a breathable atmosphere, shall I open the airlock?
"Yes."
Walking down the exterior of Discovery's hull is beyond weird, and they take the shortest route until they can step off into lush purple grass. If nothing else, the sheer amount of readings they'll passively gather ought to provide a wealth of information. His tricomm beeps, and Paul feels his heart climbing into his throat.
"jahSepp up ahead."
The chittering cloud sweeps closer, moving like a curious kitten, skittish but interested. Hugh squeezes his hand hard and Paul winces as his nails dig into the soft skin of his palm, but otherwise stays still. It's a sign of how far they've all come, really, that he doesn't flinch as the jahSepp swirl around them before stopping in front of Tilly.
"Is May here?"
The sense of déjà vu is immense, and Tilly doesn't have time to examine that thought too closely as May appears.
"Tilly! You brought them, I'm so glad."
"...if we have time, you're going to explain how you made it into my head again."
May's expression shifts from pleased to one of trepidation.
"I was worried you wouldn't come. Come on."
She turns and starts walking, and Tilly glances at Stamets long enough to see him nod before following.
"Where are we going?"
Stamets' syllables are clipped, but May either doesn't notice or doesn't understand the tension Tilly can feel radiating off of him.
"They need your help."
"They?"
"People," May gestures vaguely, "they know you."
"Captain Pike? Are you acting as some sort of messenger?"
"Not that Captain."
"May-"
"Isn't it beautiful now? I'm glad you can see it this way."
Tilly decides that May doesn't mean anything by it, no underhanded insult to Hugh. It really is beautiful in an ethereal way, and she supposes 900 years is plenty of time for the ecosystem to recover and flourish.
Speaking of...
"How long has it been for you?"
May frowns at her.
"Long?"
"How much time has passed? It's been-" Tilly bites her lip, "a long time for us."
That brings May to a halt, turning to face her. She tips her head to the side, frowning.
"I don't know?"
"I mean, time passes in here, right? Like when Hu- when we were here before," Tilly quickly steers away, "and things were happening on Discovery."
May shrugs.
"Our matter is different."
That must settle it as far as May is concerned, because she turns and leads them deeper into the forest. Tilly half expects Stamets to ask more questions, but he's oddly silent.
"Almost there."
They reach a familiar fork in the path, even though there's nothing particularly distinctive about the clearing.
"I've been here. I think?"
"I tried to show you. There!"
Tilly stops in her tracks, so abruptly that the men behind her nearly tread on her heels.
Paul wasn't sure what he was expecting, beyond a vague notion that Captain Pike might have somehow found a way to enter the network. Whoever this is, they aren't reading as a life form.
"May? Who is it?"
The person whirls around so quickly that Paul would have missed it if he blinked. There's a blue-tinged haze filling the space around them as if they're standing in a bank of fog, and as they move closer the mist clears to reveal what seems to be a human woman holding something in her arms.
"Hi," he starts, "I'm Commander Paul Stamets from the U.S.S. Discovery. This is Lieutenant Tilly and Doctor Culber."
A wordless cry, and the woman nearly stumbles in her haste to reach them. Hugh's still scanning beside him, looking up as she comes to a halt arm's length away.
”Dios mío” she whispers, “you’re-“ her gaze moves between the two men before staring at Hugh, “it’s really you.”
"Sorry," Paul's frowning, eyes flicking back and forth between his partner and the stranger in front of them, "do we know you?"
Her brown eyes are wide and nearly unblinking, and something about her high cheekbones and delicate nose is oddly familiar.
“It’s true,” the woman bites her trembling lower lip, hand flying up to cover her mouth, “oh…you’re alive…both of you. It's me, Tío..."
Hugh's politely confused expression vanishes and he makes a choked sound, mouth open and whatever words caught in his throat. Tilly’s rarely seen him - whether in uniform as Dr. Culber or not - rattled. Paul inhales sharply, color draining from his face, and for a moment she thinks he might faint. Beside him, Hugh sways on his feet before taking a hesitant step forward.
”…Nella?”
The woman nods, a tear making its way down her cheek even as she laughs, joyful and choked with emotion. Hugh and Paul are frozen in place, staring, and she’s not even sure they’re breathing as the stranger holds out her hand.
"It's me."
Ever so slowly, Hugh takes her hand. When their fingers touch, his chest heaves with a sob that makes Tilly’s own ache in sympathy, then he pulls her to him with an expression Tilly can't find a name for.
"W- what?"
Stamets' voice is tight, and the woman releases Hugh to bury her face in Stamets' shoulder instead. His arms are stiff at his sides, and she shifts the bundle cradled in her right arm, breath hitching.
"Hug me back, Tío?"
His hands shake as he does, leaning into Hugh who's holding them both.
"Nella...how? What-"
He's cut off by the wail of an infant piercing the stillness around them. The woman - Nella - turns in the circle of their arms and lifts her burden.
”This is my daughter,” she bounces the infant, and a pair of bright eyes open, peering outwards. “Her name’s Flora. Flora Pauline.”
"You-"
Nella's smile is wobbly but bright.
"For you."
There's only one other time she's seen Stamets grinning so broadly while also crying. The look of wonder on his face transforms him as he ever so gently rests his hand on the baby's blanket, and Tilly swallows around the lump in her throat, determined not to spoil this moment even if she has no idea what's going on. Whoever Nella is, she's someone important to them both.
“What-" Hugh stops to clear his throat, "when is it for you?”
”Twenty-two seventy-six. It’s been eighteen years.”
"How? You- what..."
Nella uses her sleeve to wipe tears off her cheeks.
“I got my Ph.D. Got married, and…well. Flora was born last month.”
“Tilly."
She's not expecting it, and nearly jumps when Hugh says her name.
"Umm?"
His smile is both fond and somehow sad.
"This is my niece, Doctor Antonella Culber.”
His niece.
Oh.
Tilly thinks about the holos she’s seen in Paul and Hugh’s quarters, of the two of them looking younger and swinging a girl by the hands between them in front of an enormous pool, Paul up a tree with her and laughing down at the person (presumably Hugh) capturing the image. There were more in a frame that cycled through images, on and on and on: Hugh holding an infant with Tracy and a serene Vulcan woman standing beside him all clad in Medical whites, Paul and Hugh asleep on a tiny bed with the same girl on top of the quilt between them, Hugh leaning over an old-fashioned stove talking to an older woman, Paul with the girl on his lap and his PADD propped on front of them.
"Call me Nella," the woman nods at her, "Tío?"
The last is directed back to Hugh, who draws Tilly closer with a chuckle.
"Nella, this is Sylvia Tilly. She's-"
"She's family," Stamets interjects.
She can see so much of Hugh in Nella's smile.
Notes:
Finally finishing out this mini-series :) Felt appropriate to post today, in honor of Anthony and Ken welcoming a new baby (check out the Instagram photo!).
Apologies for taking so long to get this one out. I completely rewrote the premise but kept the details - originally had Nella appearing in the spore cube from the beginning, but decided it was too heartbreaking to not let her hug her tíos. So, I had to come up with a reason they would enter the network again, which led to coming up with the message, and so on for a few thousand words...
It's half past midnight, and I have a morning meeting tomorrow, so there may still be a few rough edges. I hope I didn't stretch things too far, will probably need to write an epilogue to tie off the loose ends.
Chapter 627: Superlative
Notes:
Set early on.
Superlative refers to the "best" or "highest example of", in this case, their relationship.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They're enjoying the afterglow, Hugh sprawled against the disheveled pile of pillows with Paul lying mostly on top of him, hips between his widespread thighs and head resting on Hugh's chest. It's become his favorite position, snuggled so close he can feel Hugh's heartbeat beneath his cheek, the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. Hugh's arms are around him, his own happily trapped between Hugh's shoulders and the pillowcase, and he's pressing the occasional kiss into Paul's fluffed-up hair.
Really, it's perfect.
So perfect.
"What're you thinking?"
Hugh's voice is quiet, a little rough with sated desire in the best possible way. Talking feels a bit beyond him when all he wants to do is melt together, but the man he loves so much it's scary asked a question, so Paul manages an inquisitive hum in return.
"...hmm?"
"I," Hugh's fingers walk up and down his spine, soothing the pink scratches he'd inadvertently left at the height of their passion, "can hear the wheels turning in that brain of yours."
"That s'not physiologically possible."
The chuckle that evokes bounces him on Hugh's chest.
"Thank you, Doctor Stamets."
"You're welcome, Doctor Culber."
He nuzzles the space between the swell of pectoral muscles, licking salt from his lips. Hugh shifts beneath him, but it's just to use his toes to retrieve the covers from the bottom of the bed before drawing the sheet up against the early evening chill. Paul could fall asleep just like this, the feeling of Hugh's bare skin against his own enough to ignore the sticky mess between them. In fact-
"Well?"
"Mmm?"
"What's on your mind?"
He's so relaxed, so happy, that he doesn't bother to think about his reply first.
"This is so much better than sex."
Fuck.
Regret seizes him the moment the words leave his mouth. Hugh's idly wandering hands have come to a halt, inhale cut short as if Paul's surprised him with the answer. Paul freezes in the act of opening his mouth again, cheeks flaring hot and tight as he realizes exactly how that could be misinterpreted. He buries his face against warm skin, pressing his nose into Hugh's sternum hard enough that phantom blue sparks fly behind his closed eyelids.
"Sweetheart?"
It's not accusatory, but there's more than a bit of confusion there.
"I- I mean...that's not- not how I meant that! You- your, sex with you is amazing, Hugh, I just..."
A hand curves along his jaw, gentle but firm fingers directing his head up and away from smothering himself in chagrin.
"Quit that," he murmurs, understanding outweighing any sense of admonishment, "I know you didn't mean it that way."
"I-"
"At least I hope not."
Hugh gives him a teasing smile, thumb stroking his cheek. Paul blinks, biting his lip, and tries to get his thoughts in some semblance of order. Unlike past lovers, Hugh waits patiently.
(Hugh Culber is all about unlike Paul's other experiences, so completely different that he still doesn't believe it's real some days. He seems to enjoy Paul's idiosyncrasies, or at least isn't seriously bothered by them, isn't demanding or judgmental. Being in bed with him's given Paul an entirely new opinion on sex with something other than his hand, generous and playful and always out to be sure they're both enjoying whatever it is they're doing.)
He inhales, closes his eyes to exhale slowly, then opens his eyes again.
"I just meant, you know, this is so much more. Than sex. And I love this," he sweeps over their bodies, the bed, with his eyes, "doing this so much. The cuddling, I mean. And everything else."
Hugh's smile widens even as his eyes go soft.
"Me too, sweetheart. Me too."
Notes:
Completely random snippet that jumped into my head while making lunch. Hopefully no one's getting tired of the Culmets fluff deep-dives, because there's no end of ideas exploring exactly why they're such relationship goals (other than the whole dying thing...).
Chapter 628: Section (Gamma)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Her leg starts to bounce the closer the turbolift gets to Deck 9, and Tilly frowns down at her knee, willing it to still. It's only worked maybe half the time in the last twenty-odd years, but old habits persist. She sighs when the doors open and steps out, the parcel in her hands seeming to grow heavier as she nears Section Gamma.
Get a grip, Sylvia.
That particular brand of self-talk has a slightly higher success rate, and she uses it to propel her forward until she's standing in front of 9-Gamma-4.
"Okay, just...yeah. Ugh."
The corridors are empty at such a late hour, thankfully, so there's no one to witness her muttering to herself. Her hand hovers over the panel next to the door - a terribly out of date system, but Discovery's crew prefers it - mentally reviewing the override Adira sent her. She's stalling, of course.
( "Are you sure it can't wait? And why do I have to sneak it in?"
"Because it's a surprise."
"Can I give it to Stamets to give to Hugh?"
" Please, Tilly?"
Adira's eyes are wide and pleading, and Tilly chews her lower lip.
"All right.")
"I can't believe I'm doing this," she informs the box she's carrying.
It doesn't offer a reply.
Besides, what would you did if it did start talking?
Lieutenant Tilly, may I be of assistance?
"I- hi Zora."
My sensors indicate that you've been standing outside the door of personal quarters Nine-Gamma-Four for approximately six minutes and thirteen seconds and your heart rate is elevated. Given the late hour, is there an urgent matter which is causing you distress?
A few months ago, she thinks she might have been weirded out by a sentient AI seemingly tracking her. Tilly knows better now, knows from conversations that Zora adheres to ethical codes and isn't spying on anyone. Her self-appointed charge is to look after the crew, and she supposes it's no different than anyone else wandering by and wondering what she's doing.
Still.
"So. Adira asked me to deliver something for Hugh. I know they're probably asleep, but Adira wanted me to use their override, which probably sounds terrible, but I just need to drop this-" she wiggles the parcel gently, "off for them. I don't normally umm, sneak into people's quarters."
I understand.
"You do?"
I believe I can assuage any sense of discomfort you are experiencing. Commander Stamets and Doctor Culber have an override authorization to their quarters for you with unrestricted access except for when they have indicated a need for privacy.
"...what? When?"
Four hundred and eleven standard days ago.
Tilly blinks at the plain grey bulkhead next to her.
"Okay then. Thanks, Zora."
You are welcome.
The doors swish open in front of her, and she cautiously steps inside. It's completely dark save for the starlight streaming in the viewports and the glow of a chronometer on the nightstand, and she pauses to let her eyes adjust. She's been in their quarters often enough for dinner and Movie Night and conversations that she's familiar with the location of things, but it never hurts to check. The floor between the living area and the bed seems to be clear of clothing, so there's at least a high probability she isn't going to accidentally see anything she shouldn't.
That's a relief.
As she tiptoes past the bed, she can hear the sound of breathing, deep and slow. Tilly deposits the fabric-wrapped bundle on the dining table where they should see it in the morning and is just turning to leave when there's an indistinct murmur behind her followed by the susurrus of sheets shifting.
Uh oh.
Turning slowly, she braces herself for an awkward explanation of what she's doing (although, if she's apparently had unrestricted access for over a year and doesn't that make her smile the same way she does when Stamets praises her work, she's not technically doing anything wrong...?) and leans past the partition until she can get a better look at the occupants of the bed.
Tilly forgets sometimes that they're much of the same size, something about Hugh's posture and how he carries his body compared to his partner's tendency to slouch, shoulders curving down as he looks at data or works at a console. Seeing them curled up together in the cultivation bay during the long days of war, Hugh had always seemed to be sheltering Paul, holding him while he slept the sleep of the exhausted. In the painful weeks and then months following the armistice and Discovery’s relaunch, Paul had withdrawn even further, shrinking in on himself. He’s a relatively average sized human male, but he’d seemed smaller then, and so very lost.
Now though, she can make out from the curves and shadows that Hugh is on his side, facing away from Paul, one arm draped over the pillow beside his head. Paul is tucked behind him, covers fallen down enough that Tilly sees the jut of his knee where he has a leg thrown over one of Hugh's.
Huh.
For whatever reason, she’d always expected Stamets to be the little spoon. Not that she tried to think about that often.
Ever.
Another murmur, and Paul shifts, falling still with a quietly content noise as his forehead comes to rest against the back of Hugh's shoulder.
Yeah.
Smiling, Tilly tiptoes back out of their quarters.
[Tilly-Sylvia-LT/ENGR] Mission accomplished.
Notes:
This whole snippet arose from "For whatever reason, she’d always expected Stamets to be the little spoon."
Tilly flips back and forth between thinking of Paul versus Stamets in her internal narration, depending on the context.
Chapter 629: Straal
Summary:
What happens when Paul comes back from Alpha Centauri after meeting Hugh?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“-and I think I’ve stabilized the growth curve! So-“
It’s just a comm.
He interrupted you.
He seemed excited about your degrees.
He was humming Kasselian opera.
”-sorry I missed the conference, but Amelia was going to space me in my underwear if I skipped out on her parents’ anniversary-“
You don’t have time for distractions.
He smiled at you.
When would someone that attractive ever actually be interested in talking to you?
”…Paul?”
Remember what happened the last time you tried to date?
”Are you okay?”
He just seemed different than the others.
”Seriously. Are you- Paul!”
Justin’s hand waves in front of his face, and Paul frowns.
”What?”
His best friend and research partner is giving him a look that’s mostly concerned with a sprinkling of annoyance.
”Where were you?”
”Uhhh, same place it always is? Alpha Centaur-“
”Not that,” Justin sets down his PADD and leans over the lab bench, “you’re weirding me out.”
”…okay?”
”Wait…I know that face.”
Paul side-eyes him.
”What face?”
Leaning closer, Justin grins.
”I knew it!”
”Knew what?”
”You met someone, didn’t you?”
”W-what? I…no!”
He schools his expression into something mild, but Justin knows him far too well. Laughing, he rounds the bench and nudges Paul with his shoulder.
”Come on, Stamets. You haven’t even complained about the other speakers, or told me how many questions you got, or if that annoying botanist from Rigel tried to present the same findings for the seventh time.”
”I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
”Suuuurre. Tell me! I need all the details. It’s been what, two years since…it’s about time, is all I’m saying.”
Groaning, Paul slouches on the stool.
”Fine. Yes, okay?”
”Hah!”
“I-“ he holds up a placating hand, and Justin stops his impromptu dance of excitement, “just…I was at that café across from the lecture hall. And…”
He stares down at the bench top and shrugs.
”And?”
”Look, this doctor-“ he glares as Justin sits down again and folds his hands in the picture of attentiveness, “he sat down. And then he left.”
“Pauuuuul.”
”He gave me his name, okay? And I haven’t decided.”
”Decided what?”
”If I’m going to comm him. That’s all.”
Justin pokes his arm.
”That’s all? What did he look like?”
He had the kindest eyes you’ve ever seen.
“…umm.”
The teasing fades away as quick as it started.
”Paul.”
”What?”
”Comm him.”
”Why?”
”Because if all it took for you to completely zone out was thinking about him sitting down next to you, then,” Justin gestures vaguely with one hand, “he’s different.”
”What’s that supposed to mean?”
”Anyone who can distract Paul Stamets from science must be special.”
”…fine.”
Notes:
I don’t think I’ve really explored Straal as a character beyond a few lines here or there. Hopefully this works?
Chapter 630: Somnambulism
Summary:
What's better than sleepwalking?
Chapter Text
Sleepwalking is all well and good, but Paul Stamets isn't someone who does things by half-measures. Instead of waking up to find his partner brushing his teeth or trying to put his boots in the replicator or some other odd behavior - Hugh has some particularly humorous memories of one of the med students on his floor who would do jumping jacks in the dorm hall at least once a week while fully unconscious - he has far more pleasant experiences to enjoy.
Always affectionate in private, Paul's most definitely a sleep-cuddler. He nuzzles into the back of Hugh's neck, drapes himself over Hugh's body, and generally becomes an immovable object. Any attempt to move away on those nights is met with him turning into an octopus, all four limbs twined around Hugh and making displeased noises. It's adorable, really (except when Hugh needs to use the bathroom).
And his hands.
Hugh may have surgeon's fingers, but Paul's are absolutely wicked when he's slumbering. More often than not it's simply them wandering across his body, or up under his shirt to pet his chest and stomach. Even better than that are the times he gets sleep-fondled, when Paul's fingers fumble their way from his hip or up his thigh to possessively cup his groin. Sometimes he settles like that, a content sigh breathed into Hugh's shoulder. Other nights, he kneads (gently, thankfully) like a cat, squeezing and rubbing. He's grateful for everyone's sake that it never seems to happen on the nights Adira, and occasionally Tilly, sleep on their couch.
The first time it happened, Hugh was certain Paul wasn't asleep at all. He'd reacted to the 0245 groping with a yawn and a murmured, "you're insatiable," expecting a laugh in return. When all he'd gotten was a light snore and the hand in his pants falling still, he assumed it was a game that he was more than happy to play, settling into the pillow and beginning a naughty narrative. Paul's breathing hadn't changed though; coupled with the lack of an interested twitch against his backside plus his adorable embarrassment when he brought it up over breakfast in the morning, Hugh had come to the rather amused conclusion that the man he loved had no idea what his hands got up to at night.
(" -I..." Paul covers his face with said hands, "I'm sorry! I've never- no one-"
Frowning, Hugh tugs his wrists down.
"Hey, I'm not complaining."
"...but..."
"Sweetheart," Hugh nudges aside his empty coffee mug, "if you're interested enough - comfortable enough - that you can't keep your hands off me when you're asleep, I'll take it as a compliment.")
It's hardly decreased in frequency over the years, and he uses it as a way to tell exactly how stressed Paul is, when he's seeking simple comfort instead of more intimate touches. Those are the nights he tangles his fingers in Hugh's pajama top, the times he's most likely to anchor Hugh to him with his entire body. Instead of drawing away when the motion wakes him, Hugh snuggles back into Paul's arms, laces their fingers together and kisses his wrist. Paul never remembers in the morning, but that's okay.
Hugh wouldn't have it any other way.
Notes:
T'Vala witnesses Paul sleep-groping Hugh in Chapter 321 ("Study") :)
Chapter 631: Sugary
Summary:
Paul, Hugh, shore leave, and unexpected visitors.
Chapter Text
“-guys…”
Adira’s scandalized exclamation carries over the quiet music drifting through their secluded patio. Paul opens one eye to find them standing in the arched doorway to the suite, a giggling Nilsson and Rhys peering over the top of their head with amusement. From the look of horror on Adira‘s face, they might as well have been caught in flagrante delicto.
Admittedly, Hugh’s tongue is in his mouth, but both sets of hands are a respectable distance above the waist, legs closed as they sit beside each other at the table.
”I guess they were busy,” Rhys grins, unrepentant, “sorry guys.”
Hugh’s fingers give his wrist a gentle squeeze as they separate, nonchalantly swiping his napkin across his lips before opening his tricomm to check the time.
“You’re early,” he offers mildly.
At that, Rhys laughs outright, Nilsson elbows him without any real force, and Adira starts studying the tops of their boots.
“Sorry,” they mutter, “umm. The museum closed, and…”
Smiling, Hugh shakes his head.
”It’s fine. Just weren’t expecting company yet.”
”Was dessert good?”
Paul gives an amused huff as Nilsson eyes the table cheerfully, a hint of mischief in her voice that makes Adira’s downturned face redden. The remnants of dessert - and the cause of their situation - stare back innocently from their bowls.
(It’s absolutely not their fault that the delicious concoction of custard with fresh berries and pastry led to Paul making indecent noises and Hugh kissing the sweet crumbs off his lips.)
“Come on,” she catches Adira’s elbow and tugs, “they can meet us at the fire falls in an hour, right?”
“We’ll see you there,” Hugh waves them off, turning back once the door to the suite closes.
Paul drops his head to rest his cheek on Hugh’s shoulder.
”So much for dessert.”
A hand lands on his knee.
“We can replicate more.”
“We’ve only got an hour, Hugh.”
Fingers walk their way up his inner thigh.
”So?”
He catches the wandering hand, trapping it between his own.
”If we wait, we can take our time later.”
Hugh’s other hand tips his chin up for a thorough kiss.
”Promise?”
Paul licks an errant grain of sugar off the tip of his nose.
”Definitely.”
Chapter 632: Snap
Summary:
Some surprises aren't great.
Chapter Text
Lounge H is quiet when Paul arrives, Game Night officially starting in another 40 minutes. There's already snacks laid out in bowls on the tables, kadis kot board set up in front of one of the couches and one of Rhys' old-fashioned virtual reality adventures frozen on a holoprojector. The sheer normalcy of it all, down to the pitchers of water on the coffee table (Dr. Culber's gentle reminder to not overindulge in sythehol or Linus' stash of brandy), brings a smile to his face. It's an expression he's using a lot these days, out of practice after months spent full of grief and anger and loss but all the more welcome than ever before.
He spots the primary source of his smiles peering out of the viewport, Discovery's plasma exhaust manifolds taking up the majority of the space with just a thin sliver of space visible beyond their jut. His partner is leaning against the curved edge of the frame with uniform jacket unzipped, arm upraised with elbow bent so his temple can rest on the knuckles of the hand sandwiched between his cheek and the bulkhead. The lights are only at half illumination, casting Hugh's profile in soft shadows that take Paul's breath away. He's not sure he'll ever tire of the thrill he gets every time he walks into a room to find Hugh there, alive and well and his again.
Paul's not so oblivious that he misses the tension in the rest of the crew, nor in denial that this unknown future has him on edge as well. For him though, coming home to Hugh is everything. They've celebrated their reunion with laughter and tears, gentle touches and passionate lovemaking, long conversations and comfortable silence. It hadn't taken long to re-establish familiar routines, the last of which is joining their shipmates and friends for Game Night. Detmer's been cheerfully reminding Hugh of the open invitation, and even Paul isn't immune to Tilly's enthusiasm. Besides, it's probably time to forego just their own company every evening, particularly when he's so much less self-conscious about broadcasting their relationship in public.
With that thought draped warm over his shoulders like a blanket, he crosses the room to join Hugh. He seems to be lost in thought, a hint of a frown wrinkling his nose as he stares into the distance. His lips are parted, and there are tiny stars reflected in his eyes.
Beautiful.
The way Hugh's standing, he can't quite fit into the alcove beside him. Instead, he reaches a lazy hand over Hugh’s shoulder, cupping his chin. It’s something he’s done, they’ve done, a hundred times before their world turned upside down. He starts to gently guide Hugh’s head to turn enough for a kiss, then-
"Unghhhh!"
He’s suddenly weightless, disoriented as what feels like a shuttle slams into his sternum when Hugh’s elbow nails him in the solar plexus. The air leaves his lungs in a whoosh, and he doesn’t have enough breath for more than a pained cough as he stumbles backwards and sprawls over the deck, the back of his head connecting with a chair leg. It's not hard enough to cause real damage, but Paul barely notices, too stunned to do more than blink upwards.
Hugh’s eyes are wide and wild, glazed, elbows and chin drawn tight to his chest with hands fisted in front of him. He's crammed himself backwards into the corner, nostrils flaring as he pants for breath. Footsteps sound on the carpet, and Hugh cringes further as a pair of white and silver boots steps neatly between them.
"Hugh."
Tracy’s hands are open, palms turned towards Hugh with her arms at waist height, unthreatening. She looks down at Paul from the corner of her eye, attention still mostly on the man in front of her whose own eyes don't seem to be focusing.
"Paul?"
"...m'fine," he manages, pushing up on his elbows.
Gripping the table beside him, Paul climbs slowly to his feet. He takes a step forward, surprised when her hand swings back, arm barring his progress.
"Hugh-"
A whimper.
"Hugh, it's Tracy. Can you hear me?"
Her voice is quiet but firm, Dr. Pollard's steadiness with Tracy's compassion. She reaches forward with the hand not on Paul's chest, telegraphing her movements as she carefully takes one of Hugh's hands. Her fingers slip beneath his sleeve cuff, and Paul realizes she's probably checking his pulse.
"Hugh," he starts again, frowning as Tracy pushes back a little more firmly against him.
"I'm here, and so is Paul," she continues as if he hadn't spoken. "Okay? Breathe for me, Hugh. Slow it down, no passing out, okay?"
Tracy keeps up a steady stream of reassurances until some of the wild-shy terror drains from Hugh's face. He blinks rapidly, pupils slowly contracting as confusion sets in.
"...what?"
Worry that he's barely wrestled down climbs up into his throat at the small, lost voice.
"Hugh?"
He nods, and some of the tension leaves her shoulders.
"Welcome back."
Tracy's still gripping the front of Paul's jacket, and he pulls at her wrist until she lets go. Hugh seems surprised to find him standing there, but he doesn't resist when Paul takes his other hand, uncurling the fingers beneath his palm.
"Paul."
He's starting to shiver, and Paul glances at Tracy side-wise before carefully gathering Hugh into his arms.
"That's me," he offers a tight smile, "what happened?"
"I...don't..." Hugh shakes his head, then falls silent again.
"Hell," Tracy mutters, "Paul?"
Shrugging the shoulder he doesn't have Hugh against, Paul frowns.
"I just came in, Hugh was leaning on the wall, and I touched him."
She tips her head to the side.
"Where? How?"
"His face."
"Anything else?"
"No. Just...then that. Touched his chin, that's all."
"We just came off shift. I went to the bathroom, came out and you were," Tracy gestures at the floor, "there."
Hugh stiffens in his arms.
"Hugh?"
"...did I hurt you?"
He shakes his head and rubs soothing circles over Hugh's shoulders, trying to piece together what might have happened. Tracy disappears for a moment, returning with a glass of water and prying Hugh's hand off Paul's waist to hold it.
"Was it a flashback?"
Hugh's eyes squeeze shut only to fly back open a moment later as if fleeing whatever he sees behind his eyelids. Paul loosens his arms enough to help him empty the glass. They've both dealt with the occasional nightmare in the last few weeks, awoken to find Hugh still fighting for his life and full of panic when he comes to. It's part of the healing process, Paul supposes, but Hugh's never reacted to him like that when they're both still awake.
Oh fuck.
It hits him, and he winces, jaw clenching.
"Paul?"
Hugh sounds more like himself, and Paul exhales slowly.
"I came up behind you where you couldn't see me, didn't say anything, and grabbed your chin to turn your head."
He sees the moment it clicks, hears Tracy's hiss of indrawn breath.
"I'm sorry," he continues, resting his forehead on Hugh's temple, "I shouldn't have. I wasn't thinking, I should have known-"
Tracy's fingers poke his shoulder hard enough to sting.
"That's enough of that," she fixes him with a look that's both gentle and unyielding. "Trauma sucks. So no beating yourself up."
Hugh's lips are warm against his cheek.
"I'm sorr-"
"And you," Tracy sighs, "if Paul says he's fine, I'm going to believe him for once."
"Hey!"
Her expression at his objection is so completely unimpressed that Paul can't help the laugh. It's more a huff of air than anything else, but it helps cut through the last of the tension.
"I'm okay," he whispers in Hugh's ear.
The arms around him tighten, but Hugh nods into his shoulder.
"Okay."
"We don't have to stay if you want to go home?"
Hugh shakes his head, holding out a hand that Tracy squeezes.
"I've missed everyone."
Paul isn't completely sure it's a good idea, but he's more than learned his lesson about not listening. He's relieved that Hugh's steps are steady when Tracy shoos them off to the bathroom to freshen up, moreso when the doors close behind them and Hugh doesn't apologize again, just takes both of Paul's hands in his own and holds them.
They're together, and they'll be okay.
Notes:
The realization at the end feels a bit clumsy, and I realize I spent a lot of time in the leadup, building Paul's sense of contentment just to shatter it. There may be some pure fluff next to balance it out.
Chapter 633: Snap (Epilogue)
Summary:
Talking about trauma isn't easy.
Notes:
Picks up later the same evening as the previous chapter.
Umm, so the intended fluffy aftermath got away from me and turned into 1,300 words of something more serious.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
For all his carefully concealed concerns about Game Night being too much, the evening goes well. By the time Owo and Detmer make their way in, Paul is helping Tracy set up a tri-D chessboard while Hugh busies himself pouring drinks. None of the brittle shakiness on display when it was just the two of them in the bathroom remains, just a warm smile and easy conversation as the lounge fills.
He knows better than to hover, but it's difficult to tear his attention away from Hugh regardless of whatever else he's nominally focused on, eyes drawn to him like two bodies orbiting the same star. There's a part of him that homes in on Hugh's body language and his tone of voice carrying past a room full of conversations and exclamations, a part that notices if Hugh reaches out to touch someone or subtly moves away. It's been a long process of reminding himself that comparing Hugh now to the man he was before is a slippery slope of overthinking, that there's no need to catalog and analyze every action.
Still, seeing him offer a congratulatory hug to Detmer after her kadis kot win is a relief, as is him choosing to sit between Rhys and Tilly. There's more buffer space to either side of him than times past, when he automatically made room for Paul at his side, but it's not overt enough for anyone else to notice.
To be fair, Tracy is probably watching him too.
They beg off at 2145, waving goodnight when Rhys and Bryce take a break from battling for supremacy in a zombie plant hologame. He can tell from the distinct lack of jokes suggesting that either age is catching up with them or that they've made an excuse to get handsy in private, that everyone else is figuring out how to behave too. He used to make a show of scolding Hugh for responding to those affectionate accusations by unsubtly grabbing Paul's backside or offering an innuendo-laden comment, but he does miss it.
Hugh's silent on the walk back to their quarters, fingers entwined and both of their jackets draped over his other arm. It's not a tense void, so Paul doesn't push even as they undress and head for the shower together. There they converse wordlessly in sighs and hums, moving around each other without thinking and finishing their evening routine until they're tucked under the duvet with the lights out.
As he's done since Hugh agreed to move back in, he opens his arms and lets Hugh decide how to make himself comfortable. He's not surprised that his partner is restless tonight, not completely relaxed with his head on Paul's shoulder, the fingers of the hand beneath his pajama top slightly curled instead of flat. Paul doesn't comment when Hugh disengages to roll on his side, spooning up behind him without complaint. It feels good and right for them to fill all of the negative spaces between their bodies, legs slotting together and sharing a pillow. He kisses Hugh's shoulder and whispers a goodnight, smiles at the return kiss pressed to the underside of his wrist before his hand is guided to rest over Hugh's heart.
Paul's on the verge of sleep when Hugh shifts against the sheets. It's not a motion suggesting he wants to move away; rather, he seems to be trying to get even closer, burrowing back into Paul's embrace. This time, he's still for less than a minute before the squirming begins. Hugh makes a frustrated noise, shoving the covers down around their hips and rearranging them until Paul is lying mostly on top of him before the growing tension pops.
"I hate this."
Hugh doesn't sound angry or defensive - two things Paul would trade all of his research to never have to face together again - just tired. Propping himself up on an elbow, Paul uses starlight and shadow to make out his partner's pensive expression. He kisses the underside of his jaw and gently rubs a thumb over the furrow between Hugh's brows before speaking.
"Which 'this'?"
"I could have hurt you."
He doesn't insult either of their intelligence by asking what Hugh means by that, just gives a half-nod and half-headshake of negation.
"You didn't. And I promise I'll be careful not to do that again."
The arm wrapped around his waist tightens, Hugh's other hand coming up to pull Paul's away from his face until their palms meet.
"You shouldn't have to do that."
You shouldn't have died, haunts the border of their sanctuary built of pillows and sheets. He won't voice that, not when it could be mistaken for an accusation instead of a heartfelt statement. Paul isn't going to rail against the universe for the unfairness of it all, not when Hugh's chest is rising and falling beneath him. Not when his warmth seeks out all of the cold, damaged places inside of Paul and tenderly thaws the ice his loss left in its wake.
"It's okay."
"I'm a doctor. I know what the advice is for patients who've suffered a traumatic experience."
This isn't a conversation they could have anywhere besides their bed, safe beneath the covers.
"And you're working on it," he offers gently, thinking of the hours spent leaving Hugh to meditate and write his feelings without interruption, the literature about growth and rebuilding filling both of their PADDs.
The quiet chuckle surprises him.
"You know, if T'Vala were here, she'd tell me that it's not logical to dwell on the past."
Paul misses their Vulcan friend, even if it's not nearly as much shared history as she had with Hugh and Tracy. He considers her sometimes-unpredictable interpretation of actions and unexpected conclusions, and thinks Hugh might have gotten this one wrong.
Which hardly ever happens.
"Actually," he rests his chin on Hugh's shoulder, speaking into the shadows between pillow and ear, "I think she'd say it's illogical to be upset with yourself for something out of your control and that you're actively working to improve."
From this position, he can hear the moist smack as Hugh opens his mouth to say something and the almost inaudible click of teeth as he closes it again. The hand resting at the small of his back sneaks under his shirt hem, fingertips rubbing tiny circles on bare skin, and Paul settles himself more comfortably while Hugh considers what he just said. It's far from onerous as he lets his own hands drift, one rising to scratch softly at Hugh's beard and the other tracing the long lines of muscle from shoulder to wrist, back and forth. He doesn't raise his head, content to breathe in musk and spice and simply be.
Paul half-expects Hugh might have actually fallen asleep, drifting in the liminal space between waking and slumber himself. It's an easy place to be when he has the man he loves safely beneath him, protected from harm. He's starting to contemplate whether he wants to slide off to the side and avoid a sore neck when Hugh finally stirs.
"Sweetheart?"
"...mmhmm."
"Sorry, were you asleep?"
He shakes his head, propping himself up again until he can see Hugh's face.
"Need me to get off of you?"
There's no hint of suggestiveness in his tone, nor in the smile he receives in return.
"No. Stay?"
"Always."
The next kisses are almost chaste, lips brushing while they breathe the same air.
"Thank you," the words tickle his mouth as Hugh cradles his cheek.
"Hmm?"
"For being so...patient."
"Haven't exactly got a great track record of that, do I?"
It's a gentle tease, self-deprecating, and he's not expecting Hugh's expression to fill with even more tenderness.
"You do when it matters."
There's at least a dozen things he could say to that, but he settles on something that's both an affirmation and a promise.
"One day at a time."
And every tomorrow that we have.
Notes:
Trying to write myself back into the headspace for When Sorrow Turns to Joy. I may need to re-visit more of Season Two / early Three Culmets to find their voices again.
Chapter 634: Smoke
Chapter Text
“…you know the best part of loving you?”
Paul smiles, wider even when the friction of his two-day stubble drags across bare skin and evokes a shiver. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, just sinks deeper into the warmth of strong arms around him and a heartbeat beneath his cheek.
“Mmm?”
Fingers card through his hair, pushing it forward into messy waves before smoothing it back down.
”I can give you everything,” Hugh murmurs, “everything, sweetheart. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and we…we belong to each other.”
The little flutter in his stomach when Hugh says things like that even all of these years later makes his senses light up, bright as a supernova. Beneath his hands, Hugh’s body is familiar terrain, his scent surrounding Paul, his voice like a blanket settled over them.
”Hugh…”
”And I can’t wait to see you again.”
He’s floating in contentment, enough that it takes a few moments for him to realize something is odd about that statement.
”We can turn on the lights-“ he offers, but Hugh continues as if Paul hasn’t spoken.
”Soon, sweetheart, okay? I need you. Everyday. I want to crawl into bed next to you every night, and complain that you keep moving my toothpaste, and have your stuff in my closet.”
Frowning, Paul tries to open his eyes but they feel impossibly heavy.
”I want to kiss you goodnight and hear you complain when I get up to go running.”
Beneath him, the rise and fall of Hugh’s chest is starting to feel odd, the cradle of his arms loosening.
”Hugh-“
”But it’s not forever, right? I keep telling myself that.”
He inhales and it smells like earth and metallic minerals.
”You’re here when I close my eyes, but it’s never enough.”
Paul can’t move, and he tries to pull himself upwards but it feels like he’s sinking in a viscous fluid. Hugh hasn’t seemed to notice, and-
“Commander?”
His eyes fly open, and the first thing he sees are a pair of navy blue blobs. Blinking, they resolve into two uniform-clad knees, above which the simulated sun of the cultivation bay lights up Ensign Tilly’s worried face.
“…Hugh?”
Her expression crumbles into uncertainty tinged with more than a little sadness. She reaches to the side and presses Paul’s PADD into his hands. He stares at the screen.
Message from Culber, Hugh, Lieutenant, SFMED to Stamets, Paul, Lieutenant, Deneva Station.
Audio only.
It’s less like being doused in cold water than it is realizing he’s immobile in the heart of a glacier when reality returns.
“-I love you, Paul.”
He stabs at End playback with his thumb, Hugh’s recorded voice frozen on the single syllable of his name.
”Sir, I…”
Tilly reaches out a tentative hand that stops just short of touching his arm. His shoulder aches from sleeping curled on his side on a small hillock, but he pushes himself upright, the sense-memory of Hugh’s body beneath him fading like smoke.
“Is it important?”
His voice sounds raspy, throat tightening around the words.
”Umm. No, but-“
”Not now, Tilly.”
Paul is vaguely aware of her watching him as he stumbles to his feet and towards the entrance to his private lab, PADD clutched against his chest. Harrington tries to intercept him along the way, but he waves her off. She doesn’t insist, just gives him a small smile that he can’t bear to look at.
Swish.
He leans on the bulkhead, closing his eyes and trying to breathe. Playing old messages while he sleeps - taking Hugh’s voice to build his dreams - is both comfort and agony.
”You’re here when I close my eyes, but it’s never enough.”
I wish I could wake up from this.
Notes:
It was a challenge to write Hugh’s message so that it both worked as a one-sided recording and allowed Paul to reply in his dream as if it were a conversation.
Chapter 635: Semantic
Notes:
Title refers to the details of word choice and their meanings.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh Culber is a lucky man by any measure:
A gifted physician, able to heal bodies and minds, to offer comfort to those who are in pain.
A scientific improbability, an impossible second chance.
A devoted son and brother, a faithful friend whose capacity for care knows no end.
Aida’s favorite grandchild, Nella’s (second) favorite uncle, the cousin most often called upon to adjudicate squabbles for his fairness.
He’s loved by so many, not the least by the amazing person he thinks of as his child, by his best friend, by the crew.
Above all else though, the most precious and unconditional and beautiful thing -
He is beloved by Paul.
Notes:
Please consider this an apology for yesterday’s angst.
Chapter 636: Since, Part One
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Sighing, Paul closes his eyes and lets his mind relax, the hand holding his toothbrush working on autopilot. It's not at all that he doesn't like Hugh's family - the complete opposite, honestly - but the Culber clan's hustle and noise and...effusiveness is a far cry from the awkward silences at his own family gatherings.
Does four people constitute a gathering?
He's less overwhelmed than the first time Hugh brought him home for the holidays, no longer so tightly wound with fear of being wrong-footed or doing something that would lead Hugh's grandmother into reversing her good opinion of him.
And since when did you ever care what people think about you?
He chuckles around his toothbrush at the thought.
Since a handsome stranger annoyed you with his terrible humming.
Aida is in her own way more terrifying than anyone else he's ever met, her fragile frame carrying a strength that puts duranium to shame. She's fiercely protective of her family, yet effortlessly turned a stare that felt like he was being analyzed on a molecular level into a warmth and welcome that hasn't changed, including him in activities and conversation just like Hugh's brothers and cousins. It's so clear why Hugh became the person he is from growing up in a family that's supportive and honest and openly caring.
What would that have been like?
He lets that thought sit with him as he rinses his mouth, but ultimately deciding that it's not worth the what-if. Regardless of the past, it's what's led him to where he is now, and he wouldn't change that for anything.
Besides, extroversion is most definitely not a Stamets trait.
Leaning over, he opens the small window high on the bathroom wall. It's not strictly necessary, but he's come to enjoy the breeze flowing through Hugh's bedroom from it. For all its old-fashioned appearance, Aida's house is fitted with modern conveniences that mean they don't need to worry about the condensation clinging to the walls or temperature control. Paul's only complaint might be that the tiny bathroom doesn't fit them both comfortably. There's something so domestic about them being able to brush their teeth together like they do in San Francisco or his own flat on Deneva, and he can only imagine what it would be like to always come home to that.
Someday.
As ever, he gently nudges that thought aside for contemplation on a night when Hugh isn't tucked in bed waiting for him already.
"Hugh?"
A lazy hum drifts in from the bedroom.
"Mmm?"
"Going to turn the light out."
The sheets rustle as he neatly folds the hand towel on the side of the sink, placing the toothpaste back on the shelf and tidying up his bag. Hugh's side of the sink is in its usual cheerful disarray, and he spares a few moments to properly hang up the washcloth and put the lid back on the tub of styling product so one of them doesn't put a sleepy hand into it in the morning.
"Might want to leave them on."
"Why?"
Paul turns and nearly steps on the midnight blue pajama pants that land in a heap in the bathroom doorway. Blinking, he bends to pick them up, and Hugh makes an amused noise as he straightens.
"You'll see."
Notes:
Part Two (next chapter) was half written last January, but when I sat down to do a 'brief' intro, it grew into this. Since the tone is different, it made more sense to break it out as two separate parts.
Chapter 637: Since, Part Two
Summary:
What happens when your boyfriend brings you home to stay with his family for Christmas but you can't keep your hands off of each other?
Notes:
Started this in January of 2022 and it’s Christmas Day of 2023. Oops?
Includes sexytimes that are very, very M for mature but not *completely* explicit, and a side order of very healthy relationship communication goals :P
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He turns his head to look at the bed and freezes, mouth open.
"What- oh. Wow.”
Paul blinks, but the view doesn’t change.
“Hi.”
Still clutching his toothbrush on its way to the cup on the shelf, he swallows past a suddenly dry throat at the sight before him. Like a scene from his wettest dreams, Hugh is sprawled (as much as he can) over the sheets on the narrow bed, an individual packet of lube discarded on the nightstand and two fingers deep in himself.
"Fuck."
As Paul stares, his playful smile morphs into a wicked grin, teeth flashing white.
"Come here."
Hugh beckons him with his unoccupied hand and he’s dimly aware of the click of his toothbrush hitting the counter before nearly tripping over his own feet to cross the two meters between them.
It probably has something to do with all the blood rushing to his groin, and the fact that Hugh had been fully dressed a few minutes ago when Paul headed into the shower.
"Hugh..."
His shin hits the edge of the mattress and Hugh moves his legs a little further apart, inviting him onto the sheets. Kneeling, Paul's hands land unerringly on his widespread thighs, following the smooth skin up until he can tuck his thumbs into the grooves over his hips. Hugh tips his chin up and he meets him for a kiss, Hugh's forearm and wrist trapped between their bodies. Something deliciously firm nudges against his stomach as the kiss continues, and Hugh's free hand comes up to tangle his fingers in the damp hair at the back of his head. They'd spent plenty of time that afternoon making out on the swing in the backyard, but that's nearly chaste in comparison to this.
"Merry Christmas, sweetheart," Hugh breathes, the words caught between their lips, "told you I had one more present. I didn't think you'd mind if I unwrapped it for you."
Paul groans, nudging their noses together.
"Fuck me."
A chuckle, then Hugh's tugging at the towel still loosely tucked around his waist and tossing it over the headboard above them.
"Later? It's my turn first."
He buries his face in the side of Hugh's neck, nuzzling beneath his ear and moaning quietly as things below the waist take a definite interest in the proceedings. Paul lets more of his weight settle, one arm snaking between Hugh's shoulders and the pillows behind him, reveling in the feeling of bare skin on skin.
”Fuck, Hugh. You’re so hot, and I want to, but we can’t.”
Hugh's hand cradles his jaw as he nips Paul's lower lip before soothing it with his tongue.
“We can.”
”Hugh, your entire family is here.”
His eyes flit over to the door, checking that it's locked. From this angle, the bridge of Hugh's nose fills half of his vision, but he's thankful that the latch seems to be firmly in place. His partner shrugs, fingers continuing their work between his own legs at a leisurely pace.
”So?”
He's fairly certain Hugh's wrist is rubbing against both of on purpose and gives in to the urge to bite the line of muscle leading from neck to shoulder.
“So they’ll hear.”
As far as protests go, he's seen monolayers of cells with more integrity.
”I can be quiet,” Hugh tugs Paul’s right nipple, “but it’s been a week, and I need you inside me.”
It’s a simple statement, but the matter of fact need makes the arousal coiling in his hips drop straight to his groin. Paul sits back on his heels, twisting to press a kiss to Hugh's upraised knee.
“You know I can’t be quiet.”
Hugh's eyes are heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide as he briefly considers the statement. He knows Hugh loves how noisy he is, how long it took him to be less self-conscious about it, and that won't help them one bit right now.
”What about these?”
He catches Paul’s gesturing hand, drawing it to his mouth and promptly going down on his index, middle, and ring fingers. It's hot and wet and Hugh's tongue is doing very familiar things that do nothing to calm the want coursing through his body. The unexpectedness makes him moan, and he immediately slaps the other hand over his own mouth.
"...mmnnnhhh..."
Hugh suckles noisily, pulling off with an obscene pop long enough for six syllables.
”Can I at least have these?”
Pouting might be more Paul’s provenance (not that he’d admit it), but it’s terribly alluring on Hugh’s full lips wrapped around his fingers. He gives himself a clumsy squeeze with his left hand, trying to relieve some of the ache. Hugh's stomach is wet with evidence of their arousal, and it makes it exceedingly difficult to remember exactly why this is a terrible idea.
"...fuck."
At that, Hugh pauses again, tongue stilling.
"Paul-"
It's garbled around the fingers in his mouth, but the tone is clear, as is the use of his name.
We don't have to, Hugh's suddenly serious eyes tell him.
He really would stop now if Paul's genuinely uncomfortable, and he loves him all the more for it. Even fully aroused and wanting, he could say no and Hugh wouldn't push any further. It isn't a word he needs to use often, but they always give each other the space to decide.
Shaking his head once, Paul quirks a smile and nods: I want to.
Decision made, he tugs his fingers free. Before Hugh can protest, he's reaching for the abandoned bioplastic pouch on the nightstand, slicking up his hand. Hugh's face lights up and he withdraws his fingers, wiping them on Paul's discarded towel. He drapes his legs over Paul's thighs without prompting, sliding further down on the sheets as he does.
"I love you."
Paul leans down again, propping himself up on his left elbow to leave space between their bodies but still let them kiss. Hugh's hands glide over his shoulders, nails scratching lightly down his spine and back up again and sending a delicious shiver down to his toes.
"Love you too."
He traces a teasing circle around his destination before slipping two fingers inside. Hugh’s hot and tight, the silky glide making his fingertips exquisitely sensitive. They both moan, muffling it in each other's mouth as Hugh's eyes slip shut. When they pull back for air, Hugh's hands guide him further forward, giving him access to lavish kisses over Paul's throat and across the upper part of his chest. He nuzzles into Hugh's hair, biting his lip as he keeps his hand moving.
“More, please.”
He adds a third finger, then has to quickly stifle a cry when Hugh’s tongue strokes over his left nipple. Hugh suckles gently, teasing the tender nub with his lips and tongue while wrapping his hand around where Paul is hard and wanting. They work up a rhythm of push and pull and twist that heats the air between them as they work each other's bodies with the familiarity of long practice.
Hugh’s panting with prolonged arousal, puffs of air over the damp skin. Paul's biting his own lip, feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge-
Clunk.
Somewhere down the hall, a door closes and footsteps thud over wooden floorboards. Voices pass by, Hugh's cousins by the sound of it, and it's like being doused in cold water as Paul thinks about how any one of them might knock on Hugh's door to make plans for tomorrow or ask what they want for breakfast. It takes a small eternity for it to grow quiet again, during which Paul is extremely grateful that it's far too late for any of the younger members of the family to be awake and wondering why Tío Hugh and Tío Paul are making funny noises.
They stare at each other in the silence that follows, letting out relieved sighs at the same time. That sets off a small fit of nervous giggles, and Paul realizes that neither of their hands has moved from where it stilled at the first noise.
"...well."
That's Hugh with his nose pressed to Paul's sternum, knocking his forehead there before flopping back onto the pillows. Paul follows him down, ignoring the weird angle their hands are trapped at between their bodies.
"You're still hard," he addresses Hugh's left shoulder, "fuck."
"So are you."
Hugh sounds like he's grinning.
"So..."
"Keep going?"
Paul hums thoughtfully.
"I could finish you off," he crooks his fingers, enjoying the gasp it evokes.
Predictably, Hugh 'retaliates' with a few strokes of his own before pausing and twisting his upper body, reaching for something with his right hand.
"Hugh?"
"Hang on-" he can feel Hugh's foot moving behind him, "ah ha!"
The sheet is pulled up over them both a moment later, shutting out the rest of the world with a millimeter of high thread count cotton. It's almost completely dark underneath, just a thin sliver of light spilling in from where it's caught over the pillows. Any other noise beyond the bed is muffled at one remove, setting them apart in their own bubble of existence.
"Mmm."
"Yeah?"
Paul doesn't need to see to read Hugh's body in the clench around his hand, the hitch in his breath, the affectionate question in his voice. He briefly contemplates skipping to the obvious and really, it has been a week of just rubbing off together, furtive blowjobs at night but nothing else. On the other hand, Hugh asked for his fingers, and Paul's always happy to satisfy the man he loves when it's something he can do. It's a lot less potential mess, and he absolutely does not want to explain to anyone why the sheets need washing in the morning.
"You did unwrap my present for me, didn't you?"
"Are you telling me that you mind?"
The whispers are intimate in the humid air under the sheet, teasing laced with desire. He gets his knees back under himself, giving them both room to work. Paul misses the first time, catching Hugh's nose instead, but he can feel him smiling into the kiss once their mouths meet again.
"Never."
It turns out to be a very good night.
And if they're awakened in the morning by Nella knocking and informing her uncles that they're late for breakfast, well, that's just part of the whole package since he fell in love with Hugh Culber.
Notes:
Trying to make a dent in my 50+ saved drafts, and glad to find one that's already holiday-themed :D Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, and well wishes for the festive season to all who observe their holy days and holidays this time of year.
Apparently even my attempts at PWP have to include some level of introspection. I regret nothing.
Just 11,500-ish words to hit 500k. We'll see if I can make it before 2024.
Chapter 638: Soon
Notes:
Takes place during the very beginning of Season Three, while Paul and Hugh are working their way back towards each other. Read more about the process in Chapters 122 (Sneak, Part One), 123 (Sneak, Part Two), and 128 (Staying (the Night)).
Italicized text at the beginning is from Chapter 123.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They stare at each other for the space of a few more breaths before Hugh speaks again.
"There's a lot of things we should talk about, but I want you to know that I meant what I said. I do love you, Paul. And if you'll have me back, I...I don't expect it to be right away. But I want to try this again, properly."
He thinks he knows what Hugh means, but he dare not assume.
"This?"
Hugh takes his other hand as well, not holding it, simply resting their palms together.
"You. Me. Us. If...if that's what you want."
This uncertainty is something he rarely ever witnessed in his partner before his death, but seen all too frequently since his return. He's not sure if it's going to be a permanent part of Hugh, something changed that he'll have to learn and adjust to, or is more a matter of the circumstances. To be given the chance to relearn him though, is a gift beyond measure.
"There's nothing I want more," Paul blinks, eyes stinging, "nothing in the universe."
It takes time, relearning the paths between them that used to be so clear and steady, learning anew the men they've become in each other's absence. They approach it with a delicacy, careful steps forwards taken with a shaky seriousness that would be comical under other circumstances, nervousness making each touch tentative. Yet, there's no denying the spark of rightness when the palms of their hands meet, when Paul encircles Hugh in his arms.
When Hugh presses a soft kiss to Paul's lips.
There's conversation on the couch, Hugh cradled against Paul's chest to feel his heartbeat, the look of wonder that lights Paul's eyes when Hugh laughs at something he's said. He doesn't think they've really looked at each other this much since the early days of their relationship, the remembered excitement less weighty than it feels now. They cuddle under a throw until it grows late, as Paul reminds himself to hold without clinging, as Hugh slowly reclaims more pieces of himself.
And every night, Hugh gently disentangles himself once it grows late. He lets Paul walk him to the door of his quarters - what used to be theirs - and share one more lingering kiss before saying goodnight. The last two nights there's been a question in Paul's eyes, carefully but imperfectly concealed because they haven't addressed the one-ton sehlat lurking in the room yet.
Hugh thinks he's almost ready to talk about spending the night with a complete lack of the innuendo and desire that once would have evoked.
It will again, right?
He's just finished zipping his boots back on and can see Paul in his peripheral vision, lingering over folding the blanket they've used, giving him space if he wants it. Hugh holds out his hand and pulls him into a hug, kissing his temple as Paul tucks his nose beneath Hugh's ear to breathe him in. They stay like that for a couple of minutes, mutual reluctance to step back clear in every line of their bodies angled towards each other. When they do, it's only to put scant inches between them. Hugh squeezes their entwined fingers before kissing his cheek.
"I'll see you tomorrow?"
"I'd like that."
Now's the point where their new routine dictates that Paul will tilt his head to the side, leaning forward to brush their lips together one more time. Instead, he looks down, clearing his throat.
He's nervous about something.
"Sweetheart?"
The silence around them means it's easy for him to hear Paul's quiet inhale at the endearment, the same as he does every time Hugh uses it since they leapt into the future. He swallows, chewing his lower lip before meeting Hugh's eyes.
"May I come to you?"
It's barely above a whisper. While most of Hugh's heart leaps at Paul signaling his readiness for something different, part of him is still reluctant. Every night so far has been Hugh making the journey between decks, stepping inside to Paul's welcoming smile. The decision is his, free to choose without Paul placing demands on him, keeping his quarters a private retreat until he's sure he knows himself again.
Before he can find the words to convey his conflicting thoughts in a way that isn't an outright rejection, Paul shakes his head.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"I..."
Paul's lips quirk into a small smile that's strained at the edges with a hint of panic.
"Forget I said that?"
Hugh releases one hand, reaching up to cradle Paul's cheek.
"It's not a no, sweetheart. It's just..."
Paul leans into the touch, eyes closing briefly.
"Not yet?"
"Not yet."
More words linger unspoken between them. Hugh tries to communicate understanding in their kiss, keeping it gentle to let Paul know that he hasn't overstepped any boundaries. He brushes his thumb over Paul's lips, kisses his cheek one more time, and turns to go.
"Goodnight, Paul."
"Goodnight, Hugh."
The doors swish open and shut again, and he slowly makes his way down the corridor towards the turbolift. There's a peace nestled in his stomach, an understanding that they've never needed to voice and he hadn't realized just how much he's missed.
Soon.
Notes:
I really, really need to make a descriptive index of all of the stories in here. I never thought I'd have so many hundreds(!) of chapters that I'd lose track of what's in each.
Chapter 639: Streamers, Part One
Notes:
Just a little party-prepping fluff in honor of Wilson's birthday :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"We could have replicated all of this," Rhys repeats for the fifth or sixth time, "we're in a holosuite."
From below the antigrav platform he's sitting on, Bryce tosses up another roll of brightly colored crepe before shrugging expressively.
"Could have, yeah."
Sighing, he takes another piece of honest-to-goodness adhesive tape and secures one end of the roll next to the other four already attached to the corner of the ceiling.
"Or at least used bioplastic luminescent strips, not...paper."
"It was Adira's idea," Tilly reminds them, passing by with a stack of plates, "they were super excited about it. Although," she pauses, frowning slightly, "I think they might have been looking up 'early second millennium' decorations and went a bit too far back. This seems like twenty-first century stuff."
Rhys hums in agreement, then leans over the edge of the platform.
"Detmer!"
Keyla's head pops back into view from where she's straightening tablecloths.
"Yeah?"
"Ready?"
She nods, moving out towards the center of the room, hands upraised. Rhys bounces one of the rolls on his palm for a moment, then aims and tosses it to her with a neat overhand throw.
"Twist?"
"Mmhmm."
Backing up slowly, Keyla unrolls the streamer as she goes, twisting a couple of dozen times by the time she reaches the opposite corner and passes it up to Joann on her own antigrav. It takes less than ten minutes, and Rhys does have to admit that the effect is cheerfully festive and closely resembles the reference holo Adira sent to everyone.
Chirp.
Tilly swipes open her tricomm and reads the message aloud.
"Dr. Pollard says Stamets is keeping Hugh busy for another half an hour, so we should probably hurry it up."
Rhys chuckles.
"We might have longer than half an hour if Stamets is trying to be distracting."
He ducks as one of the leftover rolls of crepe comes flying at him (Keyla's aim would probably be more accurate if she weren't attempting to stifle laughter of her own). Batting it away, he returns fire with the roll of adhesive tape and narrowly misses Nilsson unwrapping baubles.
She raises an eyebrow.
”Ninety-nine-point-two percent manual phaser accuracy, ehh?”
“Oops?”
”If you break these,” she tips her head at the delicate ornaments nestled in padded boxes beside her, “Adira is going to have your head.”
”More like Stamets will,” Tilly calls over.
“They’re not replicated?”
”Nope. He had to ask some traditional artisans on Ni’Var to make them. No one on Earth still does glassblowing like this.”
“Wow.”
”I think it’s sweet,” Joann smiles, admiring the ones hanging over the viewport, “all that just for Doctor Culber’s birthday.”
”Pretty sure Stamets would try to change the laws of physics if Hugh asked him to.”
It comes out more wistful than Tilly probably intended, but there’s general noises of agreement from everyone in earshot before they get back to work.
Yeah, Rhys thinks, sounds about right.
Notes:
Like with Anthony, how is that man 50? They both have so much youthful energy.
Chapter 640: Streamers, Part Two
Chapter Text
Tracy slips into Holosuite H with a few minutes to spare, pausing across the threshold with an impressed whistle. The simulation of the old Lounge H's nondescript grey interior has been decorated within an inch of its holographic life with colorful streamers sweeping across most of the ceiling, evergreen garlands strung beneath the viewports (the plasma manifold exhaust is barely visible 'outside'), and iridescent glass baubles everywhere. All of the couches and lounge chairs are covered with cozy looking throws, and the table on the far end of the room is piled high with food next to a stack of wrapped parcels. Beside the table - and the only alteration to the 'room' is a cheerfully crackling fireplace.
Everyone is busy putting the finishing touches on things, and she weaves her way around them, avoiding elbows as she goes. The mantel of the fireplace is full of framed holos of their Discovery family, moments captured from shore leaves and Game Nights and everything in between: Tilly giving Airiam bunny ears, Detmer and Owosekun high-fiving on a Velocity court over Rhys sprawled comically facedown on the floor, Adira and Gray in one of Trill's botanical gardens, Paul rolling his eyes at something Reno's said, Captain Pike looking on as Saru dubiously tastes a bowl of soup. On and on and on, packed to the brim with memories.
She picks up one that Tilly must have taken, Paul and Hugh reading on the couch in their quarters while Adira sits on the floor with embroidery in their lap. It reminds her so much of them looking after Nella, and Tracy has to swallow past years of memories suddenly crowding her throat.
"Doctor Pollard?"
That's Tilly, tone soft with concern. Glancing down at the stasis platters filled with finger foods and Christmas cookies, Tracy blinks away the mist in her eyes.
"You got Aida's recipes from Paul?"
Understanding crosses Tilly's face, and she nods.
"Will he- it's okay, right?"
"He'll love it. We used to- well. It was like Christmas continued for days, then it was Hugh's birthday. Imagine," she gestures at the spread, "a house full of people cooking and eating and staying up late. Kids everywhere. There was always food...anytime. Aida made sure."
"She sounds like an amazing person."
Tracy smiles.
"She really was."
Hugh has most of his attention on Adira's enthusiastic description of Gray's training with Guardian Xi as they approach the holosuite, asking questions when they pause for breath. He catches Paul's eye and they share a look over Adira's head, no words needed.
Adira cuts themself off mid-sentence at the doors, bouncing in place.
"Ready?"
Paul slips behind him, and his hands appear in Hugh's peripheral vision.
"Should I cover his eyes?"
It's teasing, but Adira seems to take the inquiry seriously.
"No."
Hugh swats at Paul's hands, turning and catching them in his own.
"Behave. It's just Game Night," he chuckles, "come on."
Swish.
There's a shout of 'surprise!' from the room full of their shipmates and friends, and Hugh comes to a halt so abruptly that Paul bumps into his shoulder.
Oh.
He has less than ten seconds to take it all in before Tilly hugs him, then everyone is crowding forward with well-wishes of their own. The smile he gives them is automatic, and Reno must notice because her voice rises above the rest.
"Hey! Give the man some space."
The room goes quiet at that, just the sound of shuffling feet remaining.
"Hugh?" Adira sounds nervous, "are you..."
He turns in a slow circle, taking in the familiar decorations, the smell of pine mingling with warm spice from the steaming kettle of apple cider. It's not an exact replica, but for a moment it's not Lounge H on Discovery in the 32nd century, his mind overlaying a wood-paneled living room with piles of shoes in front of the door and conversation spilling from the kitchen. Hugh can almost hear T'Vala talking to Nella, Aida calling their family to the table for dinner, his cousins arguing over whether possessive nouns were allowed in Scrabble.
His eyes sting, and he can feel Paul's steady warmth at his back as he takes a shaky breath and finds his voice.
"...this is what you've been working on."
Adira nods, eyes wide.
"We- eep!"
Whatever they're planning to say next turns into a surprised exclamation as Hugh pulls them into a fierce hug.
"Thank you," he murmurs, "thank you."
He steps back but doesn't let go entirely, arm wrapped around their shoulders.
"Umm. Everyone helped, I mean, I just- there's that holo of you. And Paul. And I thought we could...this means you like it, right?"
His voice catches and he clears his throat before trying again.
"It's perfect."
At that, Lounge H stops holding its collective breath. Someone presses a mug of hot cider into his hands as people scatter to fill plates with treats before sitting down to board games and chatter. Adira and Nilsson climb onto an antigrav platform to adjust some of the streamers, Tilly takes charge of drinks, and Hugh lets Paul lead him over to the fireplace. So many moments smile back at him from their frames, new memories to go with the old.
Hugh takes a deep breath, tipping his head back to watch the simulated flames reflect off hundreds of sparkling glass ornaments. It's not the same, but it's home nonetheless. He's surrounded by people he cares for and who all pitched in to pull off something like this that's so much of what he left behind in the past and also uniquely full of their love and care in the here and now.
Paul's hand comes to rest at the small of his back, a kiss pressed to the side of his neck and quiet voice for him alone.
"Happy birthday, dear doctor."
Notes:
I started out with cheerful fluff, but it took a more emotional turn when instead of just decorating, it became Adira trying to recreate a holo of Paul and Hugh celebrating his birthday with Aida and the rest of their family back home. There's not a reference image that I could find to match what I imagined, but I hope the description works.
Chapter 641: Scold
Summary:
Hugh's not surprised to find the cellular regeneration chamber empty, but he doesn't expect Paul to be throwing himself into danger again.
Notes:
Throwback to S3 E2, because it contains some of my favorite Culmets scenes ever (several solid minutes of Hugh waking Paul up, their reunion kiss, the Paul-Hugh-Reno interplay) and I don't think I've covered this particular intermezzo in detail before. Consider this an extension of that last scene :)
Companion piece to Chapter 122 ("Sneak, Part One"). Definitely read that if you want Paul's perspective + Hugh's "I love you but you're in so much trouble" accompanied by kisses and banter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
When Nilsson arrives at a jog to send him down to Engineering, he’s not surprised to find the cellular regeneration chamber empty when he checks before following her. The display isn’t flashing an alarm, meaning Paul at least stayed long enough for one cycle to finish. Hugh hadn't really expected him to stay put, although it would have been nice for his own peace of mind for his partner to actually listen when Dr. Culber is concerned about his health.
The turbolifts are still acting up, so they detour through a few service junctions as Discovery judders and groans around them. Nilsson stays behind to help with one of the blown EPS relays on the Engineering deck, so he's left on his own for the last 300 meters of corridor. He stops a few times along the way, scanning the walking wounded as the crew works to restore communications and stabilize life support. The regen he tucked into a pocket has barely enough charge left to speed cellular repair processes in minor abrasions and cuts, but he firmly believes in the healing power of a caring touch and a simple "you're going to be fine" from someone in a (nominally) white uniform.
As his hands work and he does his best to project calm, part of his mind is busy rattling at the door of the closet that Dr. Culber shoved Hugh's complicated feelings on the subject of Paul Stamets into. This still isn't the time for it, but he can acknowledge that thinking of Paul in the possessive form feels right even though he's trepidatious about exactly how they're going to figure things out between them.
And if-
Not now.
Engineering is a mass of activity when he enters, bypassing the warp core and heading straight into the spore drive bay. One of the junior officers - Gene from the deflector maintenance team whose last name doesn't immediately come to mind - is dressed in hazard coveralls and mopping up the inside of the spore cube. Hugh's seen worse in memories from the Klingon War that he never wants to revisit, although he does ask Harrington about it.
"Leland," she gestures in the direction of the cube, head and shoulders buried inside one of the wall panels.
"I see."
She slides out enough to make eye contact while reaching towards her toolkit, and he immediately pushes it closer.
"Does Paul know you stayed?"
Saoirse's worked with Paul for years, which is why relief steals across her soot-smeared face when he smiles.
"Yeah."
"Good," she nods, ducking back into the conduit, "now go rescue him from Reno."
Bemused, he turns until he spots an equipment cart pushed up in front of the base of one of the access ladders. He’s expecting to find Paul under one of the consoles to either side, but he's nowhere in sight. Hugh sets down the medkit and approaches on the diagonal, enough that he ought to be in Reno's peripheral vision as he does. She'd adamantly refused to stay in the medbay earlier, so it's no surprise to find her grimacing in discomfort while hunched over a PADD.
("What's the damage, Doc?"
"You've got a slipped disc," he points at the staticky readout, "not serious, but-"
"Great," she interrupts him, pulling her collar further open, "hit me."
"Jett..."
"Had worse," Reno exhales hard as the hypospray hisses, "besides, you've got your hands full up here as is. Mushroom Lord's all fixed up?"
Underneath her usual blasé tone and studied disinterest, it's not difficult to read her genuine concern. He watches her shoulders slouch a fraction further at his nod.
"Getting there. Call me if it gets bad, okay?"
She moves out of the way to let a gurney through, turning to leave but pauses a step later, looking back over her shoulder.
"Glad you stayed, Hugh."
She's gone before he can reply, and Hugh doesn't have time to think about it as he's pulled into yet another emergency surgery.)
Hugh shakes his head, dialing up another heavy duty neural block.
”Jett,” he admonishes, “I told you to come see me if the pain got bad."
"Oww," she winces, rubbing at her neck, "wasn't gonna leave him."
The half-smile he's wearing vanishes as he gets a good look at the small screen where the sharp downward angle and foreshortened image tells him that it must be one of her drones. He leans closer, enough to make out a suspiciously crimson smear on the grating along with a familiar face accompanying a moan of pain that stomps on his frayed nerves.
"What are you doing-" Dr. Culber doesn't even have a chance to speak before Hugh does, "Paul, you're in a Jefferies Tube! What the hell were you thinking?"
"Hey, genius," Reno's voice is sharp as the ship shudders, "he's stuck in a tube in a ship in a vice, and he's bleeding all over the place. Argue about this later."
The toes on Hugh's left foot curl hard enough to nearly cramp, and he tries not to consider how serious the situation is if Reno is more worried about the ship at the moment. A quick glance at the PADD in his medkit confirms that Paul's vitals are stable enough for the time being, so he clenches his jaw and reaches for the flickering ember of calm, breathing in deeply and reminding himself of the joy he felt when Paul's eyes opened in the medbay, disoriented but safe and alive.
"Listen, Paul, everything’s going to be all right. We're gonna focus on one moment at a time, okay, and..." he watches as what's visible of Paul's face scrunches in pain, eyes half-open as he nods, "we're going do all of this slowly and carefully."
The affirmative hum is nearly lost in the thunderous sound of whatever is threatening the ship. He can hear Paul's labored breathing, barely-contained whimpers on every exhale, and decides that finishing the rest of the sentence might actually help.
"...because I need you out of there alive, so I can kill you."
It's enough, judging by the way Paul turns his head and gives a short, sibilant hiss that's oh so familiar.
"Stamets," Reno cuts back in, "I know you love the sound of my voice-"
"You realize that this is my nightmare."
"I live to serve. Use your multi-tool to open that compartment."
Discovery rocks beneath them, and Hugh stumbles a step backwards. On the screen, Paul pitches over on his side with a grunt but pushes up on his elbow again, tool in hand.
"Take hold of the infuser matrix and remove it."
It's telling the amount of effort it must be taking to move that Paul doesn't even bother making a comment about being walked through something a second-year cadet would be able to do. The ship shakes again, and Hugh watches Reno kick the wheel lock on her equipment cart into place as Paul groans, the drone's lights highlighting the dark, wet patch on his abdomen when he rolls backwards.
"Easy breathing, okay?" Hugh pitches his voice at its most soothing, "try to slow it all down if you can."
Paul rights himself, face bathed in blue from the open panel.
"Pull out the damaged anodyne circuit. Replace it with the new one."
The deck shudders beneath his boots, and Hugh really hopes the ominous creaking isn't the sound of Discovery's duranium skeleton buckling. He digs the nails of his left hand into his palm at Paul's cry, louder and more strained, even as he sets a steadying hand on Reno's shoulder.
"Now replace the infuser matrix."
Paul's hand is shaking as he slots everything into place. There's a moment of stillness like missing the step on a staircase, then-
"I think I...did I do it?"
Discovery hums, systems coming back online as the lights brighten and some of the shaking stops. Through the transparisteel walls, he can see the buzz of activity pause for a moment as it does.
"Yes," Reno laughs, "you did."
The knot in Hugh's stomach loosens and he straightens, hands on his hips while he takes a deep breath.
"Hugh, thanks. Jett," Paul waves at the drone, brow still creased in pain but some familiar snark slipping back into his tone "...thanks for nothing."
"Back at you, bobcat."
Hugh's eyebrows climb halfway up his forehead.
"Bobcat?"
She flicks a dismissive hand, slouching back on the cart.
"I don't know, I'm on drugs."
"Right."
He leans over her shoulder again, eyes moving between the screens of both PADDs to reassure himself that Paul's still in one piece. His partner is facedown, one arm wrapped protectively around his middle, but it looks more like exhaustion than anything else.
"You good, Stamets?"
Paul's hand rises, fingers splayed, then thumps back down. Reno taps a few commands and the view changes, Jefferies Tube walls zooming past as Hugh rummages in his medkit, putting a field dressing and hypospray into his pocket.
“So,” she props an elbow on the equipment cart and winces, “kissed and made up, huh?”
Hugh's halfway to the access ladder and turns back at her question.
"Something like that."
She hums, twisting the ring on her indix finger.
”How bad was he hurt, Doc?”
”You mean the part where I had to dig part of the ship out of his heart?”
It’s said with attempted lightness, but she must hear something in his voice because the sarcasm she wields as easily as breathing melts away, her gaze frank and understanding.
”You saved him, Hugh.”
“There’s still ground we have to cover.”
”You two’ll manage,” she shrugs, “that man loves you.”
Her words are full of nonchalance, but the reassurance even in the face of what he saw in Paul’s eyes when he woke up helps steady him.
”I love him too.”
The drone floats out of the access point and helpfully hovers just outside of it at the top of the ladder.
”Great,” the walls are starting to go back up, “now go drag his ass outta there before he starts complaining again.”
Hugh laughs, and despite the fact that they're literally on a ship that's crashed into a planet in an unknown time period, it feels better than he has in weeks.
"Yeah."
Notes:
Started this one 364 days ago, glad to finally get it posted!
I was reading fic in one of my other fandoms, and was reminded that some authors have a posting schedule so that folks know when to expect stories. If that's preferable I can try, but I tend to post as soon as each bit is complete, sometimes multiples in one day and other times (*cough* When Sorrow Turns to Joy *cough*) end up sitting until my muse gets into the groove.
Chapter 642: Swivel
Summary:
Paul, Hugh, and a hammock.
Chapter Text
"You know," an amused voice beside him says, "if I'd known this was clothing-optional, I'd have dressed appropriately. Although I'm not sure I want to share this."
Paul opens his eyes, shading them against the glare as he takes in Hugh's backlit form and the exaggerated appreciative stare at his bare torso.
"It's UV filtered," his lips curve in a lazy smile, "no shirt required unless we're expecting company."
He rolls onto his back, holding out an inviting arm. Hugh sets down the towels he's carrying on the low table under the umbrella, takes off his sunglasses, and uses one hand to stabilize the side of the hammock before attempting to climb in. It rocks precipitously as Paul edges over and tries to shift his weight to compensate.
"Hang on-" he scoots another two inches to the left, "just...careful."
Hugh grabs for the frame, nudging Paul's thigh with his knee.
"I don't think it's going to..."
He lets go and they swing back the other direction.
"Watch the foot."
"Where's my arm supposed to-
Hugh starts to sit up, intent on rearranging their elbows.
"Hold still."
"It's fine, see?"
"No, it's going to- Hugh!"
The world turns sideways.
THUMP.
Plop.
Thud.
"Oww."
"Mmmphh."
"You know," Hugh mutters into Paul's hair, staring up at the perfect blue Risan sky, "the ground is awfully comfortable too."
Fingers tap his right pectoral muscle twice.
"We're going to have to wash sand off everywhere later."
"Because we absolutely never shower together."
Paul groans, but it sounds more like a laugh than anything. He retrieves one of the cushions the hammock dumped on them and tucks it under Hugh's head before moving into a more comfortable sprawl on top of him.
"Tracy's never going to believe us."
Chapter 643: Streamers, Part Three (Conclusion)
Notes:
For the kind and generous alcemydd who asked "what presents did Hugh get for his birthday?"
Follows on after Chapter 640 ("Streamers, Part Two").
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It might technically be a Thursday Game Night, but no one lingers over the games for long once the lights are lowered so that the simulated fireplace casts the room in a warm glow. The room is filled with the sound of voices, reminding him of so many years spent in Aida's living room surrounded by those he loves. And he does love everyone here now - Paul and Tracy and Adira without question, and Keyla and Joann and Eva, Bryce and Rhys and Reno - but he misses the family he spent the first forty-odd years of his life with.
Hugh's pensive, but not so heavily that it weighs down his smile. He makes his way around to everyone, hearing stories about other birthdays and holidays over the years and light-years between them. Paul's not deliberately watching him, but they're attuned enough that there's always a snippet of awareness of each other's presence. It's comforting to turn and know almost exactly where Paul will be in the room even though his full attention is on the conversation he's having with someone else.
He's listening to an animated retelling of Joann's twentieth birthday (with multiple additions by Keyla as her Academy roommate) when the overall volume in the room dips slightly. Tracy elbows him gently in the side, and he turns to find someone head and shoulders taller than everyone else approaching, nodding at the greetings offered as he makes his way to their corner of the room.
"Mister Saru!"
"Doctor Pollard, Commander Detmer, Commander Owosekun, it's good to see you. I don't wish to interrupt your celebration, Doctor Culber."
"You're welcome to stay," Hugh smiles.
Saru inclines his head in acknowledgement, both of the offer and its sincerity.
"It is perhaps better if I do not," he says gently, eyes casting around the room before returning to Hugh, "but I can see how much...care has been put into it, and am glad to see you-" Saru makes a quiet clicking sound, one that Hugh's learned to associate with thoughtfulness, "content."
"Thank you."
The others have politely drifted away and normal conversation mostly resumed, although Hugh can tell there's an effort being made to rein in language. Saru looks over in the direction of the table piled with gifts, then rests his hand on Hugh's shoulder.
"The captain and I have both made contributions to your gift."
"...oh?"
Kelpien expressions are far more subtle than other species', but Hugh's certain there's a slightly mischievous gleam in Saru's eyes.
"I see that you've yet to reach that portion of the evening, but Ensign Tal and Lieutenant Tilly were quite certain it would bring you joy. Goodnight, Doctor, and...happy birthday."
With that, Saru pats his arm, exchanges an oddly significant look with Tilly, and exits Lounge H. Mystified, Hugh stares after him, unsurprised to find Paul at his side a few moments later.
"Everything okay?"
"Mmhmm."
Before he can add further comment, Tilly clears her throat with only a sliver of self-consciousness.
"Guys? So. Presents?"
Hugh chuckles as Paul guides him towards the couch nearest the fireplace without even waiting for a response, a sneaky hand patting his backside before they both sit. Paul leans back against the arm, leaving the space to Hugh's right to be filled by Tracy as Tilly and Adira and Bryce transfer the packages to the coffee table in front of them.
A friendly dispute occurs over what order things should be opened in, culminating in Eva refereeing an arm-wrestling match between Joann and Bryce on behalf of Keyla and Rhys. It's eventually declared a stalemate, at which point two gifts are deposited in his lap amongst good-natured bickering over whether gripping the table with the other hand is considered cheating.
He unwraps a new pair of wrist braces for lifting weights from Rhys, followed by a matching set of elbow and knee protectors for Velocity from Keyla who grins and punches Rhys in the shoulder when he dramatically claims that his idea was stolen. The pile of opened gifts grows to include a bottle of mead that Gray sent from Trill, a lounging robe Tracy picked up the last time they visited Ni'Var, and a compilation of Kasseelian opera spanning 2240 to 2411 ("You like it, Stamets hates it," Reno props her feet on the table with a shrug, "don't say I never gave you anything.") Joann gives him a set of holoprograms of 23rd century Earth parks and nature preserves, Eva a delicate meditation sculpture, and Bryce a promise to teach him kitesurfing the next time they have shore leave. Hugh expects at least a mock lecture from Paul on safety at that, but his partner just takes the opportunity to refill Hugh's mug with an indulgent smile.
Eventually, there's just one parcel left on the table that Adira hands to him.
"It's from Tilly and I, but sort of...everyone."
It's heavy for its size, wrapped in shimmering fabric embroidered with constellations. Hugh undoes the clasp, and it falls open to reveal a book. Paul's arm drifts down from the back of the couch to wrap around Hugh's waist, chin resting on his shoulder as Hugh examines it carefully. The volume is hand-bound, neat stitches holding the cream-colored pages together and attaching the thick coverboards.
"Did you make this?"
Adira nods, and Hugh can see them practically vibrating with excitement. He traces the word 'RECIPES' embossed on the cover before opening it. The first page is blank, followed by an index, and Hugh finds his words caught in his throat as he skims the list and leafs through the pages.
Granny Adèle's Snickerdoodles
Fredalia Tonic
Aunt Ekemma's Vegetable Broth
Vulcan Spice Tea
Triple Strong Raktajino with Whiskey Cream
"We all- I know you love to cook, and umm..."
"You've shared your food with all of us," Joann picks up the thread, "so Adira asked us for recipes from home."
"Special stuff and everyday things," Eva adds.
"And since some of us never learned," Bryce laughs, "we asked Zora to help find recipes for our favorites."
Hugh swallows, eyes prickling.
"You...handwrote them all?"
"That would've taken forever," Rhys grins, "so no. Tilly did."
"There's space so you can make notes," Tilly points at the empty margins on each page, "if you try them. And some blank pages in the back."
He closes the book carefully, covers warmed from his hands. Hugh knows he has a night of lovemaking to look forward to, Paul's gift of his body for pleasure alongside other more material presents. He cherishes and treasures that intimate promise, but this...
It takes a moment to gather himself, looking down and wondering if they all understand the value of the gift they've just given him.
"My abuela- my grandmother," he starts, voice mostly steady, "she always said cooking was love. Her Christmas cookies, dinner, everything from her kitchen, and I..."
Paul's hand is warm on his hip, thumb rubbing tiny circles, and Tracy leans into his shoulder from the other side. The silence is undemanding as his friends - his family - wait for him to continue.
"Sharing these with me, I don't have the words right now other than thank you. Thank you, and I hope you'll help me make them the way they should be made, and tell me what they mean to you. Tonight, this, Tilly and Adira..."
They both round the coffee table to hug him tightly.
"You give so much to all of us," Keyla ventures, "we wanted to give you something too."
Tracy nudges his knee.
"Happy birthday, Hugh."
"Making fifty look good- hey!" Rhys ducks as Joann elbows him.
Laughing, Hugh rests his head on Paul's shoulder.
Perfect.
Notes:
Again, supposed to be fluff, but the story decided it needed to be a bit more profound than that.
I was hoping to reach 500,000 words before midnight to close out 2023 (Pacific time), but it looks like I'm just under 6,000 short with two hours to go.
Chapter 644: Squeak (Sand, Prequel)
Summary:
"Tío Hugh told Tío Paul he was going to play with him later when everyone else is asleep," Nella looks disappointed and Aida manages not to sputter into her iced tea, "and make him scream. How come they get to wrestle and have tickle fights and be noisy, but we're not allowed to?"
Notes:
Companion piece to Chapter 295 ("Sand") describing Nella with her tíos during a Culber clan vacation on Risa.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They wait a perfectly respectable seven seconds after rounding the top of the staircase before Paul finds himself sandwiched between the foyer door leading to their room and Hugh's conveniently-shirtless body.
"You-" he manages between demanding kisses, "are such. A. Tease."
Hugh works his thigh between Paul's, pressing up and in.
"Your fault...for being so. Hot."
"Mmm. Hmm. Can't believe you- ohhh. Wore these today."
Two large hands firmly grope Hugh's backside, thumb to fingertips nearly spanning the extremely short trunks.
"Mina's boyfriend," Hugh licks Paul's earlobe, "had on a string- hey!"
Paul's rumpled glare is the opposite of contrite, and he pats the area he just pinched.
"Can we not discuss your cousin right now?"
"Sorry."
He captures Paul's mouth again, thumb caressing his cheekbone and nibbling his lower lip.
"Fuck," Paul gasps, "I love you. So much."
Hugh delicately licks the inside of his upper lip.
"I love you more."
The earlier frantic heat cools into a deliciously slow simmer, fingers twining together and just the tips of their tongues teasing.
"How long do we have..." Paul's head thumps against the door as Hugh nuzzles his throat, "before dinner?"
"Mmm. Fifteen minutes?"
" 'kay."
Hugh revisits the love bite poorly concealed by the open collar of Paul's loose shirt, sucking gently.
"What're you thinking?"
Sighing, Paul looses one hand and rests it on the old-fashioned doorknob beside him.
"Quickie now or take our time later?"
Catching his other hand, Hugh slips two of Paul's fingers into his mouth and bobs his head a few times before pulling off with an obscene pop.
"Both?"
"...we shouldn't."
Hugh's forehead lands on his shoulder with a groan.
"I know. Just-"
Paul kisses him soundly before opening the door to their room.
"Me too."
Click.
"You know..."
Hugh wraps his arms around Paul's waist from behind, chin resting on his shoulder, and Paul can't help rolling his hips back.
"Hmm?"
"We have to wait until things calm down before getting dressed."
That evokes an amused huff as Paul bends over their open bags, rifling inside.
"Speak for yourself. Not my fault your clothes are painted on."
"I don't hear you complaining."
He straightens, pressing a folded shirt and khaki shorts against Hugh's chest and a quick kiss to his lips.
"Definitely not."
Hugh's hands make their way leisurely up from his hips, tickling at his sides.
Squeak.
“Did you hear that?”
”Hmmm?”
Paul doesn’t detach his mouth from Hugh’s neck to reply, and the hum against sensitive skin makes him shiver.
"I thought I...never mind.”
”Probably the kids outside.”
Controlling the nearly irresistible desire to bear Paul down to the mattress and give free rein to their passion takes up the majority of his thought processes, and it seems plausible enough.
"Mmm. Can't wait for later though."
A shiver.
"Yeah?"
”I’m going to make you scream, sweetheart. Make it so good for you you can’t even think,” Hugh murmurs, lips brushing Paul’s ear with each word. The damp puffs of air from his mouth are having the desired effect as Paul moans and lets Hugh walk him backwards towards the wall. “Can't wait until everyone goes to bed, I'm going to play with you all night long-“
"Heeeh!"
The burst of high-pitched sound interrupts him. His lust-fogged brain finally recognizes it for what it is - a hastily stifled giggle coming from the same direction they’re heading. He refocuses over Paul's shoulder, trying to fit the pieces together.
What?
There's nothing visible underneath the high platform bed, or anything amiss on either of the nightstands. All six pillows are more or less stacked in front of the headboard, and they’d left the duvet piled at the foot of the bed...which now seems to be shaking slightly. With a sinking feeling, Hugh glances out the window and does a quick mental count of his nieces and nephews, coming up one short.
”…hell.”
”What?”
Hugh laughs quietly, rueful, before leaning in to whisper in Paul’s ear.
”Serious problem. Nella’s here.”
”What?”
”Shh,” he carefully steers them towards to the open window and further away from the bed, “pretty sure she’s hiding under the covers.”
”Hugh, what are we supposed to- I’m hard,” Paul hisses, and apparently shock has nothing on the fact that they’ve been separated for too long, “we can’t- she can’t see that!”
He silences Paul with a quick kiss, feeling the tension in his partner's body.
”I know. If I hand you a pillow, can you sit down?”
There’s a pile of them leaning against the wide sill, the perfect place to sit and watch everything going on in the courtyard below. Hugh makes a mental note to be sure to close the shutters later.
”Yeah, but you…”
"We can do this."
Paul sits and immediately claps the pillow over his lap, wincing slightly.
"Nnnghhh."
Hugh offers up his gratitude to whatever powers may be that they hadn’t started undressing each other or said anything terribly explicit. He follows Paul's eyes down to his own groin, the tight bathing suit leaving very little to the imagination - perfect for teasing his lover, but terrible for concealing anything.
Great.
Sighing, he rests his forehead on Paul’s shoulder and grits his teeth.
“Hang on.”
Deliberately making sure the edge of the windowframe compresses his ulnar nerve against the humerus is painful, but it does the trick. Paul makes a sympathetic noise, and scrunches up his face in a way that says he's thinking desperately unsexy thoughts.
"We can't change with her in here," he mutters, "Hugh..."
"I know."
A stack of Paul's shirts is within reach, and he exchanges the snug-fitting top for a looser button up that he leaves untucked. He groans, stepping into the khaki shorts and rearranging himself so the fading erection isn't obvious.
"What-"
There's a knock on the foyer door before it swings open.
”Nellita,” an affectionate and gently reproving voice comes from the hall, “are you bothering your tíos?”
Aida is leaning in the doorway, a knowing look in her eyes. She winks at them, and Paul isn't sure whether to feel relieved or embarrassed that Hugh's grandmother clearly knows what they were almost up to.
Both. Definitely both.
There's silence, during which Hugh tips his head in the direction of the duvet and Aida nods.
"Antonella," she continues in a tone that conveys whoever she's addressing isn't in trouble but needs to listen, "it's time to get ready for dinner."
Hugh lifts the edge of the duvet and sticks his head underneath. What he says is muffled, but less than thirty seconds later he straightens and Nella crawls out from beneath the mound of covers. Her hair is a staticky mess that Hugh carefully smooths down before backing up to let her hop off the bed and make her way over to Aida.
"What did I tell you about coming into Tío Hugh and Tío Paul's room, Nellita?"
“The door wasn’t closed,” she points out with the kind of literal logic that ought to make T’Vala proud, and Paul can see the amusement in Aida's eyes.
"She does have a point," Hugh concedes. "Go on and get changed for dinner, Nella. We can play afterwards, okay?"
"Promise?"
"Of course."
"You and Tío Paul won't be...kissing?"
The look on her face suggests it's an activity with slightly more appeal than boredom.
"We'll wait until after everyone else goes to bed," Hugh reaches for the door as Aida and Nella make their way out.
Click.
Paul's fairly certain that his face is about the same color as a Samarian Sunset after the glass is tapped. He flops forward, smooshing his nose into the fluffy pillow.
"No asphyxiation while I'm off-duty," Hugh chuckles. "Could have been worse."
"I love your niece," Paul addresses the pillow and misses the way Hugh's smile softens at that statement, "but..."
Fingers comb through his hair, petting and rubbing as they go.
"I'll be sure to check the bathtub and wardrobe before we go to bed."
"Huuuuugh."
"I'm serious."
"Uh huh."
"Promise. Later."
Notes:
I was going for curtailed sexytimes without getting too explicit because the story also contains Nella right there, so it had to be on the humorous side of things she would mis-hear.
Happy New Year! My writer's resolution is to finally finish When Sorrow Turns to Joy (and not try to wrap it all up in one mega-chapter 100, even though I was really hoping to have it done with a nice round number) and close out that story with the full reunion Paul and Hugh deserve.
Chapter 645: Stripped
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
He loves watching Hugh undress in the evening.
(While he has deliciously naughty memories of the last time Hugh gave him a full striptease, this stirs more than erotic suggestion.)
Each piece of Dr. Culber’s shining white uniform that Hugh removes is like armor falling away, uncovering more than just expanses of bare skin. It’s the way he always exhales after shrugging the jacket off, shoulders slumping a fraction. How stepping out of his pants - regardless of how brief a swimsuit Hugh might wear any other day - and exposing the elegant arch of his feet changes the way he holds himself. How the contained power in the muscles hidden beneath Medical whites, flexing with each motion before going lax, is somehow vulnerable.
Dr. Culber is the steady, calm eye of any tempest, ready with an encouraging smile and gentle hands that people instinctively trust.
Hugh is tired, imperfect, human. The cares of others are worn on his body in the tenseness of his jaw and the frown creasing his brow, the restless motion of his hands. There aren’t any masks to hide behind, no professional demeanor concealing his thoughts.
It’s almost unbearably intimate, the way Paul is granted the privilege of seeing him like this, when he’s stripped bare of every barrier. When he leans his weight on Paul, shelters in the protection of his arms. When being himself is always, unquestionably, enough.
Notes:
This one started as a playful / appreciative concept and took a left turn into weightier things.
Chapter 646: Saline
Notes:
Just a little sweet Culmets domestic bath fluff.
Title refers to the content of their usual bath, which my muse insists is mineral water.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul’s in the tub when Hugh gets home, the bathroom door open and steam condensing on the outside of the shower.
”Babe? I’m home.”
From this angle he can just see a heat-pinkened hand rise languidly from the water, fingers beckoning. Hugh finishes shedding his uniform and pauses at the replicator for a couple glasses of wine, stems tucked between his fingers as he steps onto slightly slippery tile.
”Hi,” he smiles, crouching to set the glasses safely on the side before bending over to claim an upside-down kiss. Paul makes an affectionately exasperated noise when Hugh’s beard rubs over his nose, hand curving behind his neck to hold him in place.
”Mmm, hi. How was your day?”
”The usual,” he addresses Paul’s chin, scattering kisses up his jaw before straightening. “You?”
”Same.”
Paul lifts his feet out of the way as Hugh joins him. He slides down until the water laps at his ears, then sits up to lean back on the side. Toes nudge his hip and he grabs for them playfully on his way to retrieving the wine.
Across from him, Paul’s hair is standing up in damp spikes, skin flushed from hairline down to his armpits. He picks up the other glass and takes a sip, free hand dipping beneath the surface. His thumb and index finger unerringly squeeze just above Hugh’s heel, evoking a low groan.
”Yeah?”
”Mmhmm.”
Blue eyes smile at him over the rim of the glass while Paul switches hands to repeat the motion, scratching idly at the back of Hugh’s calf afterwards. The comfortable silence between them is broken only by the gentle slosh of mineral water, the universe beyond their bathroom temporarily ceasing to exist. Hugh tucks a rolled up towel behind his neck and watches Paul through half-closed eyes as he traces what looks like equations over the cloudy surface, fingertip writing an intricate series of operators and coefficients. Anyone else might think his thoughts are otherwise occupied, but Hugh knows this is Paul’s ever-active mind nearing standby.
It’s a perfectly mundane evening on an unremarkable day, and they’re both exactly where they want to be.
Notes:
I’m behind on replying to comments again :(. Please know how much they mean to me!
Chapter 647: Series
Summary:
There are a lot of things to love with regards to Paul Stamets.
Chapter Text
He loves that he’s left-hand dominant, the opposite of Paul, because it means they can hold hands - Paul’s left in his right - across the table during dinner and still be able to comfortably eat.
He loves how Paul’s voice falls to the bottom of his register, throat loosening when he murmurs things like “dear doctor” and “is that your professional opinion?” in a languid purr.
He loves Paul’s idiosyncrasies, even when they frustrate him - no kisses after waking up until they brush their teeth, neatness where Hugh is unbothered by clutter - because they’re just a symptom of his ordered and logical mind.
He loves that Paul didn’t change himself for Hugh or expect the reverse, just found the places they fit together and made compromises (like mostly not complaining when Hugh kicks all the covers out on his own side even though he knows Paul’s fingers are itching to tuck them back in).
He loves that Paul gives himself over fully when they’re kissing, when Hugh tumbles him onto the sheets, pliant and responsive.
He loves the soft curve of Paul’s belly that his partner grouses about, stomach no longer flat and waist no longer slim, because they’re a reminder of how many years they’ve spent growing older together.
He loves how Paul hides under his pillow when the alarm goes off but still emerges to watch Hugh dress for his workout with smiling contentment.
He loves that Paul’s practical thoughtfulness is worth more than any grand romantic gesture, making sure he has coffee waiting even when Paul isn’t home.
He loves Paul’s honesty, his dislike of pretense, how he works his way aloud towards the words he needs to use instead of rehearsing in his head.
He loves the space Paul leaves beside him for Hugh to fill on the couch, in conversation, in the shower.
He loves Paul even when he’s infuriating, because he’s (usually) not trying to be difficult.
He loves.
Chapter 648: School
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Sixteen years ago
Hugh is...amazing. Even that feels like too humble a descriptor for him, but it's the best Paul can come up with. And he's definitely tried on other words for size, yet none of them seem to fully encompass the man that is his boyfriend.
Hugh is intelligent, clever, and kind.
He's endlessly patient, good-humored, and generous to a fault.
He actually listens to Paul and is interested in what he has to say, asks questions that prove he's paying attention, and seems enamored of Paul's tendency to expound on science.
He's by turns gentle and careful or rough and demanding in bed, whichever Paul wants and everywhere in between.
Hugh also possesses the absolute filthiest mouth Paul's ever had the pleasure of experiencing, both his talented tongue and the things he whispers into Paul's ear.
All of these to say that his relationship with Hugh Culber is so far beyond any superlative that Paul sometimes wonders what he's doing with an introverted, sometimes awkward, and obsessively devoted laboratory scientist like him. It's something he thinks about when they're apart (far too much), alone in his bed and gazing at the inside of his eyelids while wishing he had a warm body snuggled up against him. He's examined it objectively from all angles - which Justin is still teasing him about - and can't come to a satisfying conclusion other than the fact that love is more than just something other people got to have.
Paul doesn't think he has anything he could possibly teach Hugh, unless he wants to know about the molecular composition of the latest batch of mycelial samples or how to derive the Lagrange-T'Kiri series from first principles. On the other hand, he's learned so much from Hugh already: how to cook his grandmother's food, the fun of sharing a shower, how to set aside his inhibitions in bed, the joy of waking up in someone else's arms. It's not that he's complaining at all, but he would love to be able to give something in return.
Now
They're in their quarters on Discovery, nearly a millennium later and after a series of events that's shaped their lives in ways he never could have imagined, as he pauses to savor the moment. Hugh is cuddled up with his head on Paul's chest, sweat drying over their bodies and a persistent ache in his right hip that reminds Paul he's not as young as he was the first time they did this.
He rests his cheek on Hugh's forehead, hands moving in idle motions speaking of contentment.
"Love you," he murmurs, using his foot to retrieve the covers.
"I love you too, sweetheart," Hugh sighs, hand splayed over Paul's heartbeat. "What do you want for breakfast?"
"Did you have something in mind?"
Hugh's thumb strokes a nipple.
"Toast and a handjob?"
That surprises a laugh out of him, Hugh's head bouncing with it, and Paul wraps both arms around his shoulders and squeezes.
"Insatiable?"
Tipping his head back, Hugh kisses his chin.
"Just for you."
"One of these days, you'll let me bring you breakfast in bed when you're not sick."
It's Hugh's turn to chuckle, fond and teasing.
"You'd have to be the one to wake up first."
Ensign Paul Stamets, Ph.D. was correct about a lot of things, especially concerning one Doctor Hugh Culber, M.D., but he also had no idea how wrong he was about one of them.
"I want to give you everything," Hugh had told him once - more than once - when their relationship was still new and terrifying.
"Because you're you," Hugh had said as if that were explanation in itself.
It's one of his defining qualities, the way he cares for everyone else. The instinct to look after others is such a part of his fundamental self that he gives and gives until there's almost nothing left, then is wracked with guilt because he can't give more. Paul had to teach Hugh how to take. Had to help him understand that it's okay to keep something for himself, how to accept someone seeing to his wants and needs first without worrying he's being selfish, just for a little while. He's still reminding him of that, and doesn't plan to ever stop.
Because he loves him.
Because Hugh is...Hugh.
Notes:
Apparently my brain is stuck on character studies today. Two for one special!
Chapter 649: Sleepover
Summary:
Space Family sleepover.
Chapter Text
"...Huuuugh."
Adira is dragged to wakefulness by the sound of shifting sheets and muttering coming from the direction of the bed. They peel open their eyes enough to peer out from underneath the quilt - which someone must have tucked around them after they drifted off - and wait for them to adjust to the darkness.
Tilly is an indistinct shape at the other end of the couch, snoring softly where she's propped up on the arm, and they can make out the silhouette of the popcorn bowl on the coffee table next to four glasses.
Must have been late if Paul didn't clear that up.
They yawn, nestling a little deeper into the pillow they don't remember falling asleep on.
"Mmmnnnmmmppphhh."
Hugh's side of the bed seems to be empty when they glance over, but the uneven covers and Paul's sleepy, peevish muttering suggest that he's probably just sprawled over Paul's side instead. As they watch, an arm untangles itself from the duvet and shoves ineffectually. It's followed by an annoyed groan, then shuffling as Paul climbs over Hugh's body and flops down onto the now-empty expanse of sheets behind him with more grumbling that trails off into the deep breathing of slumber.
It would be easy to head back to their own quarters, but it's been weeks since Tilly was here last, and as much as time with Paul and Hugh is great, her presence makes things even better. (Adira tries not to think about that part too hard most days.) Hugh promised to make his grandmother's french toast for breakfast, and with any luck, they'll start the new holonovel trilogy Rhys recommended tomorrow evening.
Sighing, they close their eyes and drift off again with a smile on their face.
Notes:
Fluffity fluff fluff.
Chapter 650: Sentir
Notes:
Yet another character study :)
Title translates as "to feel" in French.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
For the first thirty-odd years of his life, Hugh would have laughed at the thought of him being touch-starved in any way. Growing up with a large family who were open with physical affection and his own instinct for comforting and casual contact more than kept him supplied with hugs and hours spent slouching next to Tracy on the couch while they crammed for exams. That was amplified further in intimate relationships, as an attentive lover who enjoyed holding hands and sharing kisses outside the bedroom as well. Of course, some of them were more demonstrative than others, but so goes with everyone's differences.
On meeting one Ensign Paul Stamets, Ph.D., it was easy to read his body language telegraphing annoyance and prickly defensiveness. He certainly wouldn't have stayed to continue conversation as it were if the man hadn't leaned forward on the table, crossed arms falling away as it turned into an engaging verbal back-and-forth that satisfied something he hadn't thought lacking. Hugh wasn't sure if he would actually comm him, and could never have predicted what that tiny spark between them would grow into (slow burning fanned into conflagration before settling into a steady, sustaining warmth).
For all that Paul's standoffish in public, once he decided to trust Hugh, his willingness to be vulnerable was humbling. He seemed to thrive on the dozens of small touches that annoyed previous lovers, happily leaning into the arm around his waist and smiling when their fingertips brushed. His body turned towards Hugh without him seeming to even be aware of it, personal space a thing of the past as he cuddled up beside him and sat on Hugh's lap and generally stayed in as much physical contact as possible.
And in bed.
Oh, in bed.
Paul's hands were ever in motion as they satisfied their mutual desires, pulling Hugh closer and rubbing their bare skin together. He relaxed into the post-sex snuggles, wrapping his limbs around whatever part of Hugh was in proximity and nuzzling into his neck. Even better was falling asleep beside him, bodies fitting together like they were made that way.
As a consequence, long separations created longing like a physical ache, not just for pleasure but simply being able to touch Paul whenever he wanted. Kissing his cheek, nudging their shoulders together, tucking his feet beneath Paul's thigh while they lay on the couch reading...all of it. The first few months on Discovery, despite the war, were remedy to both of their hunger for each other.
Beyond the shock of dying - being murdered - Hugh realizes later how much of his trauma came from the lack of touch. Nothing in the network was safe for him to come into contact with, burning and attacking and cold, so very cold. He felt numb most of the time, but ever attuned to the slightest whisper tickling his skin as precursor to danger. Touching Paul's hand and understanding that he was real nearly breaks him.
And when he wakes up in a world full of sound and sensation and Paul's smothering love, it's too much.
So he breaks them both.
Paul lets him.
Nine hundred years in the future, the steady beat of Paul's heart beneath his hand is a promise, his kiss forgiveness. Hugh apologizes for what he's done, the pain he caused, and Paul understands his own part in things. They relearn each other, body and mind, and each brush of their fingers is like coming home, speaking words that no language could define.
Hugh breathes him in and knows this is the one thing he couldn't live without: love.
Notes:
Read more about my take on what's going on in Hugh's head after the network in When Sorrow Turns to Joy.
Chapter 651: Syrah
Summary:
Paul, Hugh, a glass of wine, and a little bit of body worship.
Notes:
Minor reference to prior sexytimes, but mostly just sensual.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Babe?"
"Mmm?"
Paul looks up from his reading to find Hugh approaching with a bottle in one hand and the stem of a glass tucked between the fingers of the other. He lifts the bottle in offer before sitting down on his side of the bed.
"Want some?"
Smiling, Paul taps the PADD off and sets it on his nightstand, nodding at the single glass.
"Planning to share?"
He takes a moment to indulge in a long stretch, arms arched over his head in a way that makes his pajama top ride up. The chuckle beside him is evidence that it hasn't gone unnoticed, and he settles back against the headboard to let Hugh bend down and kiss the exposed skin.
"Only," there's a clink as Hugh unloads his burdens onto his own nightstand and briefly tugs at the shirt hem with his teeth, "if you get rid of this."
Paul tips his chin down, making eye contact as Hugh smiles up from his lap, cheek resting on a thigh.
"Are you propositioning me?"
Hugh catches the fingers grazing over his cheek and licks them.
"That depends on what I can interest you in."
"Oh, I have a few ideas..."
He hums in amused satisfaction as Paul strips off his own shirt and then tugs on his shoulder to get him to sit up before manhandling him over onto his stomach.
"Oooooh."
Paul pinches the backside wiggling teasingly in front of him and proceeds to peel Hugh's top off as well, dropping it on the floor beside the bed. Leaning over, he collects a kiss, then sits back on his heels to let Hugh open the bottle and pour an inch of ruby liquid into the bottom of the glass.
"That's not very much."
"Mmm," Hugh takes a sip, rolling the wine over his tongue, "it's plenty for what you have in mind."
"Really."
Winking, Hugh licks a drop off the rim of the glass.
"I worked on my latissimus dorsi this morning."
(Other people claimed that being predictable in bed was boring. Paul would beg to differ, citing the delight and comfort that comes from your partner knowing what every look and touch and bit of context means.)
With that, he passes the glass over and props himself up fully on his elbows, stacking two pillows and hugging them to his chest.
"I see."
Paul cradles the wine in his left hand, tracing down Hugh's spine as he arches and flexes, drawing attention to the pair of dimples at the small of his back. He presses in with his thumb, rubbing small circles in each, then tugs the waistband of Hugh's pajama pants down a couple more inches. Kissing the area earns him a shiver, and he rests his cheek on the swell of Hugh's backside, eyes roaming the expanse of skin bared for him.
Mine.
Hugh falls still as Paul switches hands with the glass, breathing out a pleased hum as Paul carefully tips it and lets the wine pour out drop by drop until it fills those tantalizing dips of flesh. It turns into a sharp inhale at the first touch of Paul's tongue licking a slow curve across his iliac crest. Lips meet skin, kissing around the shallow puddles of wine before he laps at them.
"Mmm," Hugh fumbles for Paul's free hand, lacing their fingers together, "...sweetheart."
The next pour is a little careless, but Paul chases the drops of crimson that splash elsewhere, swiping them away with open-mouthed kisses. He straightens after both dimples are clean again, shuffling up the bed for a real kiss. Hugh licks the wine off his tongue, nibbling at Paul's lips and murmuring sounds of enjoyment against them until Paul pulls away to return to his task.
"More?"
"Please."
Once the glass is empty, Paul wipes Hugh's lower back with the heel of his hand and waits for him to turn over onto his side before handing it back to him.
Some nights when they do this, it's intensely erotic, the air charged with desire. Wandering fingers tease and toy until Hugh is humping the sheets or Paul is grinding up against his chest as Hugh drinks from the grooves of his hips and the dip of his navel. Those nights start fully naked and end with the endorphin rush of orgasm cozying them down into sleep. Arousal is never far away when Paul is with him - Hugh could easily reach for it, let it grow from the seeds of warmth low in his hips - but tonight he's reveling in the pure sensuality of it.
He fills the glass again, then urges Paul onto his back and snuggles into his side. Instead of pouring, he dips his fingers into the wine and uses it to draw on the creamy skin of Paul's chest. Hugh traces out muscle groups, circles clusters of freckles, and covers Paul's sternum in abstract squiggles. None of the lines are allowed to linger, erased with his lips and tongue even as he reloads the brush of his fingertips for more.
Paul holds still for him, arm loosely draped around his shoulders and the other hand resting beside his head on the pillow. When Hugh looks up at the quiet noise that follows writing 'I love you' across the barely-visible scar crossing Paul's heart, he finds him gazing at him with so much affection that it's nearly a physical thing. There's just a mouthful of wine left, and he tips it up into his mouth to share with Paul, setting the empty glass on the nightstand and cradling his cheek in his palm as they kiss.
Some nights are full of passion, using their bodies to bring the feelings between them to heated, tangible life. Others, like this one, end sweetly, savoring each other and the fact that they don't have to choose.
Notes:
Less than 1,000 words left to reach 500k!
Chapter 652: Sureness
Summary:
Even after being on the same ship for years, travelling to the future, and saving the universe together, Keyla still finds herself surprised by certain things.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"We were going to go to the club," Keyla points at the brightly-lit building just visible through the windows overlooking the long street, "umm. You could come too, but you probably...?"
Stamets and Dr. Culber exchange a look that she's a little too relaxed to decipher. She's expecting them to bid her, Jo, Bryce, Rhys, and Nilsson a polite goodnight, maybe with a joke about being too old for that - not that she thinks age is an issue, it's just Stamets - and send them on their way.
Which is why Keyla is sure she misheard when Dr. Culber flashes a smile her direction with a cheerful, "we'd love to!"
As she blinks, replaying the response in her head while someone (probably Nilsson) makes a surprised noise behind her, Stamets settles out their dinner tab with a few taps and a flick of his wrist and stands. Dr. Culber follows a few moments later, hand settling on the small of his partner's back as he gestures for them to go ahead as they leave the restaurant.
Rhys has already downed a couple of Risan mai tais and is laughing at Bryce and Eva's attempts to outdo each other with bad jokes, and Jo has her head tilted back to take in the planet's rings and four moons lighting the night sky. Keyla glances over her shoulder to find the other two keeping pace, hand-in-hand and doing that thing where they communicate in significant looks and varying degrees of monosyllabic noises. The spaceport is in the same general direction, and she wonders if they were just being polite and are planning to head back to the ship when they pass the cross-street.
...no?
They arrive at the club a couple of minutes later, pulling tricomms out of the pockets of their civilian clothes for identification at the door. Inside, there's a large central floor with a few dozen beings dancing underneath a shimmering holographic nebula. It's fairly full, but there's still plenty of seating available and they find an open booth without much difficulty. Once drink orders are in, Eva drags Bryce and Jo onto the floor. Rhys heads off to find the facilities, and Keyla is wondering if she ought to sit with Stamets and Dr. Culber for a few minutes before joining everyone else.
She's once again surprised when Dr. Culber slips off his jacket, handing it to Stamets before unbuttoning two more of the buttons beneath the collar of his already partially open shirt. He rolls his sleeves up, rocks back on his seat for a quick kiss from Stamets, then is off after the others with a wink thrown her way.
Okay?
Stamets chuckles and gives her an amused smile as he leans across the table.
"Want to leave your jacket here too?"
Keyla blinks at him.
"Umm."
"Everything okay?"
Her first instinct is to brush it off, but his smile fades with concern and she's really trying to be better at telling the truth about how she's feeling, so...
"Yeah. I just-" she tries to find a way to voice her assumption without it seeming like one. "I thought. You wouldn't-"
Their drinks shimmer into existence from the small tabletop transporter, and he passes hers over before taking an appreciative swallow of his own. He shrugs, not dismissively.
"I normally wouldn't. But, Hugh hasn't gone dancing in forever," he offers in a conspiratorial tone, "and..."
She follows his eyes out into the mass of bodies moving around the floor. Keyla catches a glimpse of Eva's blonde hair across the room, but that's not where Stamets is looking.
Dr. Culber is dancing with a Trill woman, hips and feet moving in perfect time with the beat. His dancing companion reaches out and pulls someone - a human man - closer, and he holds out his hand to Dr. Culber with a flourish. Dr. Culber laughs, accepts the offer and Keyla nearly chokes on her drink when the woman cozies up behind him and the man slots himself between his knees. There's nothing technically inappropriate, both of their hands only on his shoulders or arms, but she really hopes Stamets isn't going to be upset.
"Are you..."
Instead of looking uncomfortable or disturbed, Stamets' smile softens even further. He seems to be enjoying watching his partner dancing with strangers, and he waves with a 'go on' gesture when Dr. Culber turns his head to make eye contact with him. Dr. Culber blows Stamets a kiss, and the two with him look over as well. Gauging by their polite nods, Stamets' expression can't be too terrible, and a moment later they're back sandwiching Dr. Culber between them.
What's happening?
Stamets seems supremely unbothered as they dip and spin and shimmy. He must catch her side-eye, because he turns back towards her with an even gentler look on his face.
"I trust Hugh," he answers her unspoken - and honestly, probably too personal - question, "and besides."
"Besides what?"
He takes the long coat that she's been clutching, shaking it to straighten the seams and folding it onto the pile to his left. Most of the time she doesn't really consider the almost two decades between them, but there's something about the way he settles back in his seat makes her think about that grounded stillness he and Dr. Culber seem to share that maybe comes with age. More likely, it comes from how strong their relationship is, and Keyla does envy that just a little.
"He's coming home with me. Go on," Stamets tips his head at the floor where Jo is waving her over, "I'll be right here."
Notes:
I really enjoy writing from Keyla's perspective and her totally-not-real teensy crush on Dr. C :) It's fun to interpret Paul and Hugh's interactions from a third party, particularly when they go and do something that is completely unexpected.
My headcanon is that the Trill woman and her human companion are a couple, and they're just out enjoying an opportunity to dance with a horribly attractive stranger. He's already told them that his partner is with him, so there aren't any expectations.
Chapter 653: Synchronous
Notes:
Takes place at the beginning of Season Three.
Title refers to “two or more things done in harmony”.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul turns down the bed at night, folding back the duvet and piling extra pillows on the couch.
Hugh pulls the covers back up while Paul is still yawning through his morning coffee, brushing fine blond hairs off the pillowcase.
They make their bed together on the second first morning of waking up in each other’s arms, knuckles grazing as Paul smooths the sheets and Hugh stacks pillows, the familiar task suddenly new again.
Notes:
Celebrating reaching 500,000 words *and* four(!) years since I started this series of snippets.
Thank you all so much for sharing my love of Culmets. I couldn’t have gotten here without you.
Chapter 654: Semaphore
Notes:
Set early in their relationship while Hugh and Tracy are at Starfleet Medical in San Francisco.
Technically, semaphore is a system of communication using flags, but I think it's close enough.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tracy waits until Paul heads into the bathroom to set her mug down and give Hugh a look.
"I should go."
Hugh pauses mid-sip, blinking through the steam.
"Everything okay?"
"Paul has plans for you, I take it, and I'm sure I don't want to be here for that."
Glancing over his shoulder at the bathroom door, Hugh frowns.
"Really."
"Hugh," Tracy directs a pointed glance at what's innocently folded atop the nightstand, "the sex towel is out."
The tea tries to go down the wrong way and he coughs.
"The what?"
"Don't give me that look," she rolls her eyes, "you know what I mean."
Several responses filter through his mind, but he settles on one that would make Paul blush if he was in the room.
"Well, nobody likes a mess on the sheets."
Smirking, she pats him on the shoulder and rises, heading for the door.
"Don't stay up too late, you've got grand rounds at oh-seven-thirty."
Notes:
I have absolutely zero idea where "the sex towel is out" came from, but there it is :P
Chapter 655: Singular
Summary:
“I do love it when you only do things for me.” - Hugh’s message, S2E1
Notes:
References very non-explicit sexytimes.
Chapter Text
“Just for you,” a much younger Paul ducks his head, face heating as Hugh’s eyes shine with possessive, adoring delight.
(The underwear he’d been worried Hugh wouldn’t like doesn’t stay on long…this time.)
”Because I love you,” Paul exhales an affectionately exasperated, long-suffering sigh when Hugh thanks him again as they leave the opera house.
“Only for you,” he breathes against Hugh’s lips between kisses, pressing his cheek into the hand cradling his jaw.
He smiles up at the ceiling when Hugh buries his face against Paul’s sweat-damp neck, bodies rocking together slowly.
”Only ever for you.”
Chapter 656: Soneca
Summary:
Napping has its benefits.
Notes:
Set during the early part of Season Four.
The title translates to “nap” in Portuguese. I’m seriously running low on sleep-related words in multiple languages because of these two :P
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul's reluctantly conceded that despite good health, his body doesn't tolerate being pushed to mental exhaustion the way it did a decade and more ago. Ergo, the occasional need for naps that aren't a result of him and Hugh wearing each other out.
The whole crew is working around the clock on gathering information and parceling it into whatever analytical methods they can think of (he's fairly certain they've come up with a few new ones, which are definitely going into publications when this is all over). Being off-duty didn't mean he stopped thinking about it, but the bleariness behind his eyes is getting too intense to ignore. Dismissing his latest notes on the DMA with a flick of his wrist, he physically tucks his hands beneath his thighs for a few moments, resisting the urge to continue.
His left ankle twinges as he unfolds his legs from under himself on the couch, and he makes a face at the pins-and-needles when his feet hit the floor. Sighing, he shrugs off and tosses his unzipped jacket onto the laundry pile, followed shortly after by his pants. Clad in just undershirt and briefs, Paul rubs his eyes and decides a short rest now is better than nodding off over dinner. Hugh should be home in an hour or so, so he doesn't bother to set an alarm, just turns down the covers and curls up on his side of the bed with his arms wrapped around his partner's pillow.
He surfaces from a dreamless sleep to the feeling of warmth at his back from neck to knees, a hand worming its way under his shirt and light kisses over his shoulder. Paul mumbles out a greeting and then shivers as the fingers rubbing his stomach move downwards and give certain parts of his body a friendly squeeze.
Hugh’s home.
There’s also no reason to suppress the instinctive reaction of pushing his hips back into the solid body behind him.
“Mmm,” Hugh’s amused hum ruffles the hair behind his ear, “hi sweetheart. You’re…excitable today.”
"Says the man groping my balls," he smiles into the pillow, catching Hugh's wrist when his hand makes to leave off. "That wasn't me asking you to stop."
A quiet laugh, then those deft fingers return to their fondling.
"Okay."
"How was your day?"
Paul lifts his own arm, reaching behind to gently scratch the back of Hugh's neck before slipping beneath the collar. It’s an awkward angle, but he still manages to knead at the tight trapezius he finds.
“Mmm. The usual. Surprised you’re actually sleeping.”
It’s not even close to gently chiding, but Paul hears the unspoken concern at his increasing hyper focus on making sense of the senseless.
”Just ‘till you got home.”
”Well, here I am.”
Hugh drops a kiss under his ear, and he lets go of the pillow he’s been hugging to his chest to settle more comfortably against him.
“Mmhmm.”
They lapse into silence, Paul idly stroking Hugh’s hip and thigh. He rocks his hips forward just enough to press a bit more firmly into the hand cupping his groin, earning a quiet laugh.
”Yeah?”
”Feels good,” he smiles, his own hand moving to curl around Hugh’s bare forearm.
“More?”
Hugh gives him a light squeeze. Things aren’t filling out quickly, but Paul’s not really in the mood for full arousal anyway. The enjoyment of Hugh’s touch is just enough to keep him focused on the here and now.
”Nah. Just this.”
“ ‘mkay.”
He wiggles his backside a bit, letting Hugh slot into the cleft as he does. The unspoken invitation is clear, but Hugh stays soft, although he does bounce playfully against Paul a couple of times.
”No?”
Hugh nuzzles the back of his neck, other hand snaking beneath the pillow. Paul claims it, kissing Hugh’s wrist lazily.
”Maybe later,” Hugh murmurs into his hair, “kind of sleepy now too.”
“Nap until dinner?”
”Mmhmm. Adira’ll comm us.”
So much terrifyingly unknown before them, but he can rest easily for now, Hugh’s love as strong as the arms around him.
Notes:
Much as I almost never resist an excuse for Culmets sexytimes, I think it’s also important to portray physical intimacy that doesn’t always lead to anything else.
Chapter 657: Sinne
Notes:
Title translates to “anger” in Norwegian.
Chapter Text
They don’t have angry sex.
After a resolved disagreement when their pique turns to desire, definitely.
Frustrated distraction from stress, most certainly.
They try not to go to sleep angry, not until the sharp edges are worn down.
Occasional arguments beneath the covers, in glares and eye rolls and hiding in Paul’s lab because he doesn’t have the emotional bandwidth to explain himself to a legitimately concerned Hugh, on more than one occasion.
Never when one of them is still genuinely upset.
Never being rough to work out displeasure with each other.
No sex if it’s truly that bad.
They never bring their tempers to bed like that.
Paul isn’t capable of arousal when he’s mad, couldn’t deliberately hurt Hugh.
Hugh would sooner flee to another planet than take advantage of the trust Paul gives him.
Being held in Paul’s arms means safety.
Hugh’s hands only bring comfort and pleasure.
Touch is sacred.
Chapter 658: Sulk
Notes:
Takes place after Discovery's launch and prior to Season One.
Chapter Text
Hugh crosses the threshold and is immediately met with a sense of prickly displeasure. It fights a brief battle with the still-delightful joy of coming home to the man he loves, settling into an uneasy stalemate that leaves him casting his eyes towards the ceiling and exhaling slowly.
Must be one of those days.
He unzips his boots, taking the time to actually line them up next to the darker pair beside the door before shedding his jacket and sighing again.
“Babe? I’m home.”
Hugh had expected to find Paul working at the desk or possibly pacing while carrying on a one-sided conversation, excited to have him back in their quarters when Hugh gets off shift instead of staying late in Engineering. Were it not for the palpable peevishness emanating from the mounded duvet - and the fact that he remembers making the bed this morning - he might have checked the computer to see where Paul had gotten himself off to.
And not in the fun way.
Most of Paul’s messages today, sporadic as they had been, were various forms of complaint about the simulations failing, the latest batch of cadets getting in his way, or Lorca’s overbearing demands. Asking how his day was is out of the question, so he offers his best sympathetic tone.
“That bad?”
There’s a monosyllabic grunt from the pile of bedlinen.
”Are you hungry?”
A huff that sounds markedly less annoyed is progress, and Hugh makes his way over to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight, tipping the Stamets-cocoon until what’s probably Paul’s knee presses up against his hip.
”Want to talk about it?”
”No.”
Paul’s voice is muffled, and Hugh briefly wonders whether his head is actually underneath the pillow. He rests a hand on the closest approximation to Paul’s hip, patting gently,
”Can I interest you in dinner?”
A motion near the top of the bed suggesting a shrug.
“Should I leave you alone?”
The blanket bundle stirs, one edge lowering enough to reveal mussed blond hair and one frowning blue eye.
”Don’t be stupid.”
Hugh’s lips quirk upwards at the familiar rejoinder, but he can’t help letting some concern show through.
”Paul…”
The covers rustle as more of Paul emerges, holding out a hand that Hugh takes.
”Sorry.”
Hugh blinks.
”For what?”
The sleeve of Paul’s pajama shirt is pushed halfway up his forearm, thick hair gone staticky.
”Just-“ he gestures with the other hand, “…everything.”
”I get it. Worse today than usual?”
”Lorca’s a dick.”
That surprises a laugh out of him, and Hugh lets it take away some of the worry.
”Yeah.”
Sighing, Paul presses his cheek into Hugh’s palm.
“I know I’ve been-“ he grimaces, “ignoring you. And you’re putting up with all of this. But I always want you. Especially on bad days, you know that.”
Hugh scoots a little further up the bed, leaning down to kiss Paul‘s forehead.
”I know, sweetheart.”
He brushes his lips over Paul’s cheek, the tip of his nose, and his chin before sharing a proper kiss.
“Thank you.”
”For?”
”Putting up with me. With this.”
’This’ is a war full of horrible things Hugh wishes he could scrub from his memory, stress and guilt piled on his partner for being unable to do the impossible, and a Captain whose empathy could charitably be called lacking. It’s also an entire starship built around Paul’s research, his first CMO posting, and their first real home together.
Smiling gently, he strokes his thumb over Paul’s lips and rests their foreheads together.
”There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
Chapter 659: Sensenta
Notes:
Title translates to ‘numb’ in Esperanto.
Takes place post Season One and before Season Two.
Angst.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“I…” Paul pauses, then shrugs. “Fine.”
It’s said with the same detachment, the same numb flatness he’s been not-feeling for weeks. Feeling is warm laughter and hot anger, but not-feeling is cold. Ice.
Paul’s made of ice.
”Commander.”
The counselor’s voice is bland, neutral, and still bears more inflection than his own. Granted, he supposes his response to being asked how he’s been sleeping leaves much to be desired.
Not that Paul cares.
“I dream.”
Stringing multiple syllables together takes effort, effort hoarded and spent remaining at minimal functional levels while on-duty. The rest of the time, the universe flows on around him as he sits or stands or lays and not-feels.
”About?”
”Hu-“ his throat closes, “…him.”
The counselor nods, folding his hands over his knee.
”Is that good?”
He’d give a pained laugh if that didn’t require actually feeling something. Instead, Paul shrugs again.
”I don’t know what’s worse.”
”Worse? Are you…reliving it?”
The gentle question almost evokes a stab of annoyance, but it settles back in the dark depths of the ocean of emptiness inside of him.
“Sometimes.”
”Nightmares, then.”
”Tell me, Counselor,” he addresses the far wall, eyes unfocused, “is it worse that it’s easier to remember he’s gone than it is to wake up from dreaming he’s alive?”
The man across from him doesn’t have a ready answer, and there’s the tiniest ripple of perverse satisfaction. Speaking that many words at once leaves his mouth dry. He thinks he may be exhausted, knows on an academic level that too little sleep and barely managing to eat aren’t good for his body, but caring requires effort that he can’t seem to find. Not that he’s looking hard these days.
“Grief is complex, Commander.”
More like never-ending.
(Tilly had said to him oh-so-carefully that ‘grief is the flip side of love’. She’s a wonderful person, really, and Paul does his best to at least act in a way that tries to minimize her concern.)
Grief is a bottomless well of pain. It’s wondering if he’ll ever run out of tears, if his chest will ever stop being hollow. It’s the opposite of the warm steadiness of Hugh’s hand in his, the welcome in his eyes, the brightness of his smile.
“Yes.”
Notes:
I’m woefully behind replying to comments yet again :(
Chapter 660: Sight
Notes:
Fluff to make up for the angst in the last chapter.
References sexytimes, more sensual than graphic.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh hums quietly in contentment, one hand tracing idle circles on the bare skin of Paul’s hip and the other stroking sweaty hair back from his forehead. Paul’s head is resting on Hugh’s shoulder, sighs gusting over his throat in a shivery tickle with each exhale. They’re settling into the afterglow, all loose-limbed snuggles and occasional kisses pressed clumsily to whatever part of each other happens to be closest. In a few minutes, one or both of them will actually be bothered by how sticky they are despite the cursory wipe down. Until then, Hugh’s more than happy to focus on the rhythmic thud-thump against the damp skin of his ribs as it slows alongside the beat of his own heart.
He turns his head to share a lazy kiss, feeling Paul’s lips curve into it. Hugh doesn’t have to open his eyes to know the satisfied smile matches his own, but he does anyway because he’ll never grow tired of simply looking at the man sharing his bed and his life. Sleepy eyes the color of stormy seas are bright against the backdrop of flushed cheeks, and his smile widens as Paul nuzzles his jaw. The gentleness is a delightful contrast to the way they were pawing at each other not five minutes ago, groping hands and Paul’s knees locked tight to Hugh’s waist as they chased release together. Hugh’s eyes were open then too, drinking in the sight of Paul above him even as he met each bounce with a roll of his hips.
And really, Paul is just so pretty when he comes, eyes shut and forehead scrunched into an adorable frown as his bitten-pink lips part around a breathless moan. It’s always a toss-up whether Hugh is watching his face intently with affection and hunger and deep, deep love; needing to glance away to hold back from the edge; or if he has to close his own eyes as he tumbles headfirst into orgasm after Paul.
Often - as tonight - all three subsequently.
Arousal is a full package when they’re together, all of his senses engaged, and the knowledge that he’s the only one who has or will ever see Paul free of inhibitions just as powerful as anything else. Yet, regardless of the passion or playfulness, no matter what they’ve been doing, Hugh thinks the post-sex cuddles might just be the best part. And-
The fingers than have been stroking the hair on his chest pause alongside a displeased huff, and Hugh’s smile goes a bit wry.
Five, four, three, two, one-
“Ugh,” Paul lifts his hand from where it’s strayed into the mess on Hugh’s stomach, “Hugh…”
Chuckling, he retrieves his own hands and reluctantly pushes up on his elbows before rolling to the edge of the mattress.
“Sink? Or shower.”
Paul follows him as he stands, stooping to pick up the discarded towel from the floor.
”Shower. I don’t feel like changing the sheets.”
The towel lands in the laundry pile, and Hugh suppresses a yawn as they crowd into the cubicle. Paul taps the wall panel, then promptly goes boneless, draping himself over Hugh’s back with arms loosely wrapped around his waist. It’s not particularly conducive to getting clean, but it’s not like they’re going to run out of hot water if they spend a few minutes doing the vertical version of afterglow snuggles.
There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
Notes:
…how have I not used ‘sight’ after 600+ chapters?
Chapter 661: Swipe
Summary:
The tables have turned.
Chapter Text
“Shower?”
A distracted hum.
”Hugh…”
”Not now.”
Well, this is a switch.
Amusement chases the beginnings of concern in his mind as he fails - yet again - to draw Hugh away from his work. The privacy filter isn't opaquing the hovering display, so Paul can clearly see Hugh cross-referencing two texts on emotional dysregulation and impaired decision-making. His partner’s hands are both occupied as well, the right scrolling and highlighting while scribbling notes with his left.
32nd century or not, a stylus and PADD still work.
Sighing, Paul gives Hugh’s knee a gentle squeeze and rises from the couch. He’s already undressed, bemused by the fact that practically sitting on Hugh’s lap while naked didn’t earn a smile or even an appreciative glance. Paul’s not vain about his appearance, but more than a decade and a half of feeling Hugh’s warm regard on his bare skin makes its absence jarring.
Tapping the controls sets the shower for a rainstorm, and he crosses his arms across his chest and closes his eyes. Paul tips his head back under the falling water, letting his mind turn things over after mentally shoving aside everything that isn’t Hugh-related. He remembers countless evenings before, when he was the one wholly focused on finding an answer to what sometimes felt like an impossible task and Hugh sat beside him with badly-concealed worry. Then, it had been him consumed by the spore drive, in running countless lines of code and programming simulations and trying to reconcile experimental results with theory. At least it had only been Lorca, only been war driving him. The wholesale destruction of entire star systems by the DMA is something else entirely.
Not that he’s been great these days either, too many late nights down in Engineering or at the desk in their quarters until long past bedtime. Still…Hugh’s patience and steadiness have long been Paul’s solace, and he hates that there’s not much he can offer by way of comfort. Hugh’s meant to be the one reminding Paul to eat, coaxing him to take a break, washing Paul’s hair in the shower and tucking them into bed together.
Frowning, he takes a half step forward and swipes the water off his face, reaching for the soap. He lingers after he’s done washing, hoping for Hugh to appear on the other side of the frosted glass but not surprised when he doesn’t. Paul towels off quickly, pulls on his pajamas and leans on the sink for a moment. His reflection gazes back at him, just as at a loss for what to do next.
Try again.
Hugh’s exactly where he left him, but this time he has a third text open. He’s also pinching the bridge of his nose, his shoulders uncharacteristically curved forwards and lips pressed into a thin line. There’s no reaction when Paul sits beside him again, although he doesn’t resist when the cushion dips and Paul’s arm settles around his waist.
”Hugh.”
”…hmm.”
”Come to bed?”
A hint of a shrug.
Paul could certainly sweep his hand through the displays, fold them back into Hugh’s tricomm on the uniform jacket he’s still wearing. That’s likely to leave Hugh in a distinctly uncharitable mood, and therefore not really an option, He could also simply leave him to it, go to bed himself and trust that his partner will join him eventually. It’s not a bad idea, but he’s honestly not sure Hugh won’t stay up like this far longer than he should. There’s always the seduction option, or…
He kisses Hugh’s cheek, nuzzling at his jaw before moving up and back and very deliberately sticking his tongue in Hugh’s ear. That gets a reaction, a startled yelp and a grimace as Hugh drops the stylus and rubs his fingers over the now-damp skin.
”Paul!”
Folding his hands in his lap, Paul gives Hugh an innocent smile.
”Yes?”
Hugh wipes at his ear with his cuff - Paul did do his best to make sure it was a wet lick - eyes narrowing.
”What was that for?”
”Making sure you didn’t have something stuck in there.”
”…what?”
“You-“ Paul backtracks, deciding ‘you weren’t listening’ isn’t going to get the desired results. He rubs Hugh’s thigh. “Come to bed. Please?”
For a moment, it looks like Hugh’s going to argue, and Paul finds himself holding his breath. Thankfully, what he gets is a small smile.
”I’ve been ignoring you, haven’t I.”
It’s not a question.
“Just a little,” he offers with a smile of his own, keeping his tone light and teasing rather than reproachful.
Hugh swipes everything closed, tipping his head for a real kiss.
”Did you brush your teeth yet?”
”Was waiting for you.”
He nods, then stands and stretches before leading the way towards the bathroom. Paul follows in his wake, setting aside the concern for now.
We’ll get through this. Together.
Notes:
Brain power isn’t great at the moment. I really want to make some progress on my other fics, but need to decide if it’s Survival, Seven Days on Risa, or When Sorrow Turns to Joy. Feeling like the latter might be best - it’s been *two years* too long since I last updated.
Chapter 662: Saint (Valentine)
Summary:
Valentine’s Day is more than just an old Earth tradition to Paul and Hugh.
Chapter Text
February fourteenth - by Earth standards at least - dawns with the same cold apathy as every morning since Hugh died. Was killed. Was taken away.
He puts on a disinterested front, but every flirtatious smile, every touch of a hand that lingers a moment too long that he witnesses, is another reminder that he’s alone. Avoiding Harrington's sympathetic look walks him right into Reno's path, and she catches him by the arm as he passes. Surprised, he looks up to find her eyes full of understanding. It vanishes before she’s even done saying “if I see one more lovesick ensign I’m gonna hurl”, but he’s fairly sure it was there.
Paul tries very hard to not think about romantic dinners and snuggles under the covers and sitting together on the couch without a word spoken. He hides in the cultivation bay for a couple of hours before Discovery meets an ancient sphere and Tilly is kidnapped by a sentient fungus. Concern and fear rise up in him then, sharp and overwhelming in a way that only grief has been lately, and he throws himself into finding where she’s been taken and how that damn cocoon on the floor of the spore drive bay even functions. Then he’s sending the ship halfway into the network to serve as Captain Pike’s proverbial doorstop, no room in his head for anything but finding and bringing her home safe.
And when May’s monster turns out to be the one thing in the entire universe that he thought lost forever?
Paul’s heart starts beating again on Valentine’s Day.
It only lasts a few hours before everything shatters into a million brittle pieces. Seeing Hugh alive and smiling and touching other people - knowing he somehow got it all wrong - well. It feels like irony in its most spiteful form in the days and weeks that follow, his insides hollowed out with a pain that’s somehow worse than loss. Yet, he continues.
Being impaled through the chest by a piece of the ship built for his life’s work seems oddly fitting. He's not sure how he came to be on a biobed or how the battle is going or even if the suit survived. In all honesty, he can't even be sure he's actually still alive either, not when Hugh's face swims into view and his hands are touching him so gently. It doesn't matter though, not when Hugh says, "let me take care of you" and kisses his forehead.
Paul trusts him, and he closes his eyes.
His heart stops.
Twice.
Hugh gets it working again somewhere between losing consciousness in the twenty-third century and waking up nearly a millennium later. The rush of his pulse fills his ears as the fog of sedation rolls back, soothed away by familiar fingers stroking his temple. When he opens his eyes, Hugh's white uniform is covered in streaks of crimson and grey, but his hands are steady and the smile he gives Paul reaches his eyes. He still doesn't know where or when they are, but none of that seems to matter.
His heart climbs down from his throat when Hugh leans over and presses their lips together.
It's more than two months later that Paul realizes the when of their impossible leap into the future. He's cross-referencing a status report on the EPS grid when he sees it and his hand freezes, hovering over the PADD like a holonovel on pause.
Oh.
The mattress rocks as Hugh climbs into bed beside him. He sets the PADD aside and stares up at the stars, feeling the telltale elbow when Hugh nudges his pillow into shape and settles beneath the duvet.
"Babe?"
"Mmm."
The covers rustle, Hugh turning towards him and tucking his right hand beneath his cheek. Paul rolls onto his side and warmth blooms in his chest at the sight of him, the same way it always does these days. He lets it fill him up, emptiness long since banished.
"What're you thinking about?"
"Nothing."
It's not an evasion, but Hugh reaches down and finds his hand, twining their fingers together.
"That's your thinking face."
Paul shakes his head, static tugging at his hair on the pillowcase.
"Just saw the date."
"...and?"
"The day we jumped here," he scoots closer, gently pulling his hand free to cradle Hugh's cheek. "February fourteenth, thirty-one eighty-nine."
He's close enough to hear the inhale catch between Hugh's parted lips, to see the moment when realization sets in.
"Valentine's Day."
"Mmhmm."
Hugh's kiss is soft, undemanding acknowledgement. One kiss turns into two, into a dozen, sweet and comfortable. He pulls back just far enough to claim part of Paul's pillow for himself, slipping a foot between Paul's ankles.
"Think they still celebrate it here?"
"We'll have to find out."
Another kiss, then Hugh reaches up to smooth his thumb over the crease between Paul's brows.
"What?"
He waits patiently while Paul rolls him onto his back, cuddling into his side and gazing down at him propped on an elbow. Paul kisses his cheek, then his temple, sighing as a hand sneaks up the back of his shirt to rest on bare skin.
"February fourteenth. I-" he breaks off rescue his own hand where it's getting a little squished under Hugh's shoulder, "two second chances."
"Two...?" Hugh frowns in thought, understanding lighting his eyes a dozen heartbeats later. "Oh."
"Mmhmm."
Hugh pulls him down on top of him, tucking Paul's head against his shoulder and running his fingers through his hair.
"Sweetheart..."
Paul kisses his neck and snuggles impossibly closer. Hugh is solid and real under him, heart beating a steady rhythm beneath his palm.
"Doesn't matter if they still celebrate it, you know. Because I'm grateful every day."
The arms around him tighten, strong and fierce, and Paul never wants to let go again.
"Me too."
Notes:
“Saints of Imperfection” aired on February 14, 2019.
Chapter 663: Shrooms
Summary:
Adira gets an eyeful of a different kind when they wake Paul up a bit too early.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul thinks he can be forgiven for not paying a lot of attention to the clothes he grabs as he shuffles towards the door. It's 0527 according to the chrono, too early for even Hugh to be awake. His partner sleeps on, blissfully unconscious as the chime sounds again, and Paul sighs as he leans on the bulkhead and mutters, "door".
Swish.
He yawns, scrubbing a hand over his face and blinking away the accompanying dampness to find Adira staring at him with a look of horrified fascination.
" 'Dira?"
"Umm. Hi?"
"...yes?"
They fidget, eyes flitting downwards and back up again just as quickly.
"You weren't supposed to be awake."
"I wasn't trying to be."
He says it with enough wryness that they don't seem to take it the wrong way. It also still doesn't explain what they're doing at the door at this hour.
"No," Adira frowns, "I mean, I was going to just let myself in, but uhh, I thought I should see if you were awake first before I did that."
It's way too early for him to keep up with the logic, although he does appreciate them checking.
"At oh-five-hundred."
"Yes? I mean..."
Adira wrinkles their nose, seemingly examining Paul's chest, and he tilts his chin down to see what the problem is. He definitely has clothes on, so he's not sure-
Oh.
Oops?
The shirt he pulled on is Hugh’s, loose across the chest and biceps and tight around his midsection, but that's not what Adira is clearly trying not to look at. They're probably not overly bothered by the fact that he's wearing shorts, except for the fact that these are the ones Paul only wears when his partner least expects it. Hugh had given them to him nearly a decade ago, a tongue-in-cheek gift of perfectly respectable length and opacity, and he loves the laughter in Hugh's eyes whenever he catches sight of them.
It could have been far worse if he'd answered the door in some of the other underwear they own.
No point in mentioning that.
Sighing, he steps to the side, waving Adira in before someone else coming down the corridor sees Commander Stamets wearing boxers covered in brightly colored cartoon mushrooms complete with smiling faces and little arms and proudly declaring 'I'm A Fungi'.
Swish.
He gestures towards the replicator, listening to Adira order them both caffeine as he hunts through the shadows around the foot of the bed to find the pajama pants he abandoned the night before. By the time he's hidden the offending article of clothing from sight, Adira is sitting on the couch with two steaming mugs in hand. They've also deposited one on Hugh's nightstand, and Paul can't help the smile as he joins them.
Family.
Notes:
Okay, so these aren't exactly what I pictured Paul wearing, but they're close: https://www.aeropostale.com/i%27m-a-fungi-woven-boxers/0094390126.html
Chapter 664: Ses (Mains)
Notes:
*gleefully and guiltily ignores the 70 draft chapters to pursue the latest plot bunny*
Title translates to “his hands” in French in this context (‘ses’ may also be used as ‘hers’).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Dr. Culber’s touch is steady and soothing, professional but compassionate and kind. He performs procedures with careful precision, fingers manipulating the instruments and their controls with pinpoint accuracy, as capable in the pristine quiet of a hospital ward as in field surgery during the war.
Hugh’s touch is confident, knowing and firm or teasing and feather-light. His hands aren’t careless, not even at the height of passion, by turns assertive and inviting. He speaks to Paul with his fingertips, telling him ‘I adore you’ and ‘I desire you’ and ‘I will never hurt you’ without ever uttering a word.
Paul leans into the way they cradle his face, just as tenderly for a passing kiss as in their most gentle lovemaking. He loves the hint of loss of control when Hugh tangles his fingers in Paul’s hair, tugging at the height of pleasure, would smile if his mouth wasn’t already full.
Hugh’s uncharacteristically shy as they relearn each other with the stars over their bed as witness. His hands are tentative in a way they never were even at the start of their long relationship, overthinking in a way that’s usually Paul’s domain. His fingers tremble as they trace the scar on Paul’s chest, his love written in the fading pink line that speaks of strength and resolve and desperate refusal to fail.
Paul gathers Hugh’s hands in his own and kisses his palms.
They don’t need to speak.
Notes:
Paul is so clearly controlled (even brimming with repressed emotion), and it’s easy to miss that Hugh is even moreso.
Chapter 665: Satisfied
Notes:
Contains non-graphic sort of sexytimes, mostly as a backdrop to something much softer.
AKA more intimate touch.
Chapter Text
So many stars…
Paul’s head is tipped back on the couch, gazing upwards at the universe. His eyes are half-closed as he takes in the thousands (billions and trillions) of stars filling the dark reaches of space. Beyond them, the great spiral arm of the galaxy stretches, all of them moving through an eons-long dance towards the endless future. He blinks slowly, settling his head more comfortably on the cushion and slouching down just a bit further, content.
There’s a chuckle from below him, the vibration sending a pleased shiver across his skin.
”Space? Or mushrooms.”
He straightens enough to look down at his lap, between knees spread by the breadth of Hugh’s shoulders. Hugh has one hand resting on Paul’s hip, thumb stroking the crease arrowing down to his groin. The other takes up where Hugh’s mouth left off, teasing the embers of arousal and keeping him at an undemanding simmer.
“Space,” he murmurs, feeling the tendons in Hugh’s forearm shift under his loose grip.
”Mmm.”
It’s an indulgent noise, full of affection. Hugh knows he’s not being ignored in favor of anything else, more that Paul’s comfortable enough to let his senses wander just a little. As much as they love to watch each other, looking away leaves them even more connected.
”Everything good?”
Hugh rests his cheek on Paul’s thigh, eyes full of the smile that barely curves his lips.
”Mmhmm.”
He nuzzles at the tender skin, drops a kiss on a nearly invisible stretch mark, and resumes his previous activity with a content sigh.
This.
Hugh’s mostly soft still, occasionally rubbing himself against Paul’s ankle. Some nights are like this, desire tempered into something with softer edges. Much as the hair-trigger lust of their younger days brought tidal waves of mutual pleasure, the slower response of their bodies now gives them occasion to satisfy a different kind of hunger. There’s no hurry to move on to other things or even an expectation of anything besides a warm mouth and familiar hands, gentle touches and hushed voices.
Eventually, Paul lifts his other hand away from where he’s been idly playing with his own nipple. He reaches down to trace where Hugh’s lips are wrapped around him, and Hugh pulls off to give each of his fingers a thorough suck, shifting to sit on the cushion previously protecting his knees from the unforgiving deck. Paul doesn’t miss the slight wince as he does.
”Knees?”
Hugh shakes his head.
”Foot was falling asleep.”
”We can go to bed. Or,” Paul gestures towards Hugh‘s lap, “did you want to finish?”
Another headshake, and Paul holds out his hands to help Hugh rise from the floor. He pauses before standing himself, kissing the bulge in Hugh’s pajama pants. That earns him a pleased hum, then he’s being tugged to his feet and led towards the waiting bed.
Outside, the stars burn slow and steady and bright.
Inside, so does their love.
Chapter 666: Six-Cent Soixante-Six
Notes:
Contains sweet and gentle non-explicit sexytimes.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
69 is all well and good - mutual pleasure, fingers and mouths in all the right places - but these days, a sore neck or back or shoulder that just doesn't bend the way it used to means it isn't always a great choice.
Rather, it's a distinctly non-superstitious 666, upside-down on the bed with pillows piled at the end and bare feet pushing on the headboard to keep the rhythm going. Hugh's the little spoon, an echo of his favorite position to sleep in, hugging a pillow to his chest with Paul's arms holding him close as they rock together. He sighs into Paul's wrist, kisses the hand cradling his cheek as he reaches back to hook his fingers behind Paul's knee and support his thigh so his partner's hip won't ache come morning. Paul thanks him with a nuzzle, stubble scratching at his shoulder before he starts to work a love bite into the tender skin below Hugh's ear.
The pillow gives him something to rub against, freeing him to let go and let Paul take care of him, let Paul decide how fast or slow or if he wants to pause and simply murmur words of affection into the damp skin of Hugh's neck. He's safe here, tangled in sheets that smell like them, held and protected and oh so loved.
Notes:
Since I couldn't come up with something devilish enough for 666, I took things a different direction.
Side note, has anyone else seen the new Season Five promo pics? There's one shot of Hugh with Michael and Book and it looks like his uniform jacket is open, which like...never happens for Hugh, that's always a Paul thing.
Chapter 667: Sur (La Bouche)
Notes:
Originally started for Valentine’s Day, but shelved for a couple of weeks.
Title translates to “on the mouth/lips” in French.
Chapter Text
They’ve shared so many kinds of kisses over the years.
So many nuances even in greeting, because hello (a quick peck) and I missed you (tongue tip tracing the delicate skin on the inside of Hugh’s lower lip) and welcome home (lingering and soft) aren't at all the same.
There’s good morning, minty fresh (never before brushing their teeth, much to Hugh’s continued amused disappointment) and still rubbing sleep out of their eyes, or the apologetic lips pressed beside Paul’s grumpy frown when Hugh wakes him up too early.
Not to be forgotten are the dozen different touches throughout the day, nibbling fingertips as a thank you for bringing hot chocolate to the couch, smiling against whatever bit of each other is nearest when something clever happens, briefly touching the corners of their mouths as they kiss each other’s cheek when duty precludes anything more intimate.
Then there’s those most definitely not for polite company once they’re alone.
The teasing come play with a hint of tongue, not to be confused with the open-mouthed I want you, different again from the hungry and pleading I need you punctuated with the scrape of teeth.
Hot, wet kisses at the height of passion, messy and primal as they do their best to climb inside each other.
Paul’s cheek resting against his inner thigh, the lips swollen from loving him bestowing a last kiss where Hugh’s desire lies spent and sated.
The times when Paul is riding him with patient passion, twining their fingers together. When his back is stiff or his hip won’t cooperate for him to bend down so he lifts Hugh’s hand to his face, holding the palm to his cheek as he breathes out little gasps of pleasure and presses shaky wet kisses to the inside of Hugh’s wrist.
The unhurried dance of lips and tongues when they’re making love, gasping the same air between whimpers and moans and Paul’s eyelashes tickling his cheek.
(Goodbye is something neither of them like to think about, pouring their feelings into a desperate clash of mouths that promises here’s my love until I see you again.)
Hugh’s favorite of all is the goodnight kiss, when Paul blankets him with his body, blue eyes lit with silver starlight and distant galaxies as he smiles down at him. It’s slow, sweet, and a little lazy, legs entwined and hands cradling cheeks. Gentle and undemanding, noses touching as they rest their foreheads together and share each exhale. Softly tugging on Paul’s lower lip, lingering and unhurried as their hands wander, mapping familiar skin. No expectations of arousal, just the quiet affirmation of affection before sleep descends.
Chapter 668: Someone, Part One
Notes:
Started writing this in May of 2022, finally finishing in March 2024. Oops?
Sorry for the delay in posting! I had to lead on planning and emcee a large event on Tuesday and it really wiped out my introvert self.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul Stamets doesn’t have a type.
Not physically, not a whole someone he imagines. His mind conjures bits and pieces, parts - and not the ones others might assume - and fleeting glimpses, but never the whole person. The clearest thing is how this mystery man will make him feel.
In fantasy, his lover has kind eyes, a light in them that promises connection of the most intimate kind. They’re full of intelligence and interest, but Paul doesn’t know what color they are. He smells good and his lips are soft, hands clever, sure, and skilled. He knows Paul’s body, knows how to make his senses sing, awash in pleasure. In bed, he’s generous, makes sure Paul is satisfied. His breath catches when he moans, because he’s so aroused by being with Paul that he can’t help it. And because he loves Paul and Paul loves him, trusts him, he comes so hard that he can’t even breathe. His lover’s pleasure in watching him, in causing it, lets him soar higher and higher.
He lets Paul snuggle him at night, welcomes it because they fit together perfectly. Paul doesn’t know how tall he is or what the contours of his body are like, only that he’ll never tire of running his hands over it.
He laughs without self-consciousness, never cruelly, and is careful with words. Even so, Paul doesn’t know what his voice sounds like.
Disappointment, again and again, leads to reticence to even try. Being alone doesn’t get easier as the years go by, but he’s used to it. He stops waiting for the person who wants all of him. By 33, he’s resigned to the fact that that man doesn’t exist. He has his work, he has Justin, and the two PhDs aren’t bad either. His life is fulfilling, but it would be nice to have someone to share it with.
Ensign Stamets goes to a conference on Alpha Centauri and orders a latte at his favorite cafe, a place whose bustling activity falls into a comfortable silence in his mind. That night, he leaves the folded napkin in his briefcase, but does some research on the all too cheerful doctor whose eyes widened with interest when Paul spoke. He reads his publications, is admittedly impressed by the two new surgical procedures attributed to his name, and even tracks down a recording of him lecturing at Fleet Medical.
Justin convinces him to make the first call.
Their second date ends with making out behind the old oak tree on the Academy grounds. Hugh’s hands stray from his shoulders and back down his arms and then surprisingly tentatively over his hip. When one slips under his shirt, fingertips raising goosebumps as they skim across his stomach, sparks explode in Paul’s chest.
Hugh’s eyes are full of gentleness and his heart built of so much care that it makes his beautiful body and handsome face shine with something irresistible.
Lust has been an academic concept for the most part, but now he understands what it means.
Sure, there are a few awkward moments their first time, overeager and clumsy with arousal after weeks of getting to know each other mostly via subspace link. When he comes too fast, Hugh only smiles more widely and licks up the mess. When their sweaty bodies stick together and the slick slide makes embarrassing noises, Paul can tell Hugh is inviting him to share the absurdity, to laugh with and not at him. When Hugh’s eyes squeeze shut, brow furrowed in an attempt to hold on and coax Paul into a second climax, he’s overwhelmed with tenderness so at odds with the desire lighting up every nerve.
Later, after fetching a warm towel to clean up with, Hugh happily snuggles with him. When they fall asleep in each other’s arms, Paul hopes.
At 34, he knows the love he’s only ever imagined is real, and his name is Hugh Culber.
Notes:
I’m projecting again.
Side note: The gap in time between seasons puts their ages a bit out of sync with what was fairly consistent earlier on in the show (since we don’t get told explicitly in canon, I’m using Anthony and Wilson’s actual ages). I picked 14 years together for Season One, and while it’s only been probably four-ish years in-universe, by now it’s seven actual years since Discovery started. So I’m probably going to have to write a few more anniversaries soon :)
Chapter 669: Saurian (Brandy)
Summary:
Paul, Justin, and an unexpectedly serious conversation.
Chapter Text
“The Vulcans were right,” Justin muses, head tipping onto the cushion to peer at Paul.
The Saurian brandy they’re sipping is making Paul’s vision double, but he still manages to top up their glasses without spilling it. Others might have more elaborate celebrations when publishing something groundbreaking, but their tradition is quieter: a day off from the lab and sharing whatever the best bottle was on hand. Amelia always indulges them, spending an evening out with her sister and covering Paul with a blanket when she tiptoes past him sprawled asleep on the couch much later.
”Right about what?”
Justin smiles, gesturing vaguely between them.
“Infinite diversity in infinite combinations.”
“Oookay,” Paul’s never been great at raising an eyebrow, and it’s definitely impossible when he’s three steps past tipsy. “And?”
“Because, I was thinking…” Justin rubs his feet on the arm of the couch to take of his socks, “ ‘bout ‘Melia and me.”
“Yeah?”
“I just- okay. Think, Paul…every decision, every neuron firing and cell splitting, it’s all different. Could be.”
The concept of multiple parallel dimensions isn’t anything new for them, but it feels like Justin is poking at something different than their usual half-serious attempts to calculate the correct probability vectors.
”Sure. And each decish- decision, makes a new branch point.”
“Sooo…” Justin pokes him in the shoulder.
”Oww.”
”That couldn’t possibly hurt.”
”Not the point.”
”The point- hah! No, I mean, I was thinking. ‘Bout you saying you’re…done looking.”
Paul frowns. He’s still in too good of a mood for it to put a damper on things, but the reminder doesn’t help.
” ‘sit have to do with it though?”
”You talk about someone.”
”No, you just keep trying to set me up with-“ Paul sighs, some of the buzz receding. “Can we not?”
Justin’s glass clunks down onto the table so that both hands are now free to wave for emphasis.
“Noooo. I meant, what if there’s not just one perfect person out there? And if every choice takes us in a diff’rent direction, there’s lots of someones. Possible someones.”
”Can we debate predestination later? Like,” Paul groans, “after breakfast tomorrow?”
”Just, hear me out.”
”…okay.”
”All the probabilities and exponential possible choices. Infinite, right? But- like me ‘n Amelia. Intersected. Right place, right time, and all that.”
Paul regrets shaking his head when he feels his brain sloshing around.
”Yeah, not this reality then. Some other Paul Stamets-“
”Noooo. No, you, here, now. Not now now, but you. And all the possible someones,” Justin uses his index fingers to draw two convoluted shapes in the air, “but- ‘s’why you have to try. To find the one who…intersects. Sex. Ha!”
“Justin…”
”Paul.”
”C’n we go back to not talking about my lack of one?”
Justin pauses mid-point, blinking owlishly as Paul’s tone sinks past the Saurian brandy.
”Yeah. I just mean- you have to be open to possibility. And I,” he pokes Paul again, “just want you to find him. So you stop sleeping in the lab.”
”It was once- twice! I had time points and the incubet…incubator. Was broken.”
Rolling his whole head - Paul suspects Justin was just trying for his eyes - Justin picks up his glass on the second try.
”Just keep your eyes open.”
”Fine.”
Notes:
Meandering and philosophical. I’m not 100% sure what Justin was trying to say, but Paul did.
Chapter 670: S.O.S., Part Two
Notes:
(Throwback!) Takes place after Tracy comes to comfort Hugh after a nasty breakup (the last one before he meets Paul) in Chapter 124 (“S.O.S.”).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
2241
There’s three days left on his personal leave when Tracy finally drags him away from his apartment despite his weak protests that sitting on the tiny balcony qualifies as ‘outside’.
“So,” she points at him with a strip of bacon, “we’re leaving after breakfast.”
”Leaving?”
Tracy finishes the bacon in two bites and wipes her fingers before pushing back from the table.
”Keep eating.”
Hugh would normally point out she’s using Dr. Pollard’s voice on him, but it’s too much effort after feeling like the equivalent of an emotionally wrung-out washcloth for the last four days. So he dutifully washes down the toast with the rest of his coffee, then pushes the eggs around his plate until they’re in tiny pieces, and waits. Tracy continues with whatever her self-appointed task is, seemingly consisting of muttering to herself in Hugh’s bedroom with a detour to the bathroom before she returns.
”All right,” his duffle lands on the couch. “You. Shower, get dressed.”
Blinking, he frowns.
”What?”
He watches her dig into the pile of clean laundry on the coffee table, retrieving two pairs of his pajama pants and t-shirts that she stuffs into her own mostly-empty duffle. Then, she zips the bag and starts gathering up the breakfast dishes.
”Unless you want to go out like that?”
Since ‘that’ solely comprises a pair of loose shorts that have seen better days, she does have a point. His brain feels like it’s been sanded raw, but still…
”Trace-“
Setting the dishes on the counter, she returns to the table and sits down. Dr. Pollard vanishes, leaving just Tracy in her wake.
”Let me look after you a bit longer, Hugh. Okay?”
If he stops to think about how much he loves her for dropping everything to answer his SOS, he’s probably going to start crying again. Instead, he manages a small smile.
”Okay. What should I…?”
”Nothing fancy,” she pours another cup of coffee, “just comfortable.”
It’s early enough in the morning that the fog is still burning off, and part of him thinks the grey air is rather fitting. He still has no idea where they’re going, but it’s Tracy and he trusts her, so he lets her link their arms and lead him to the Academy transport hub. Hugh doesn’t see the coordinates she inputs, although it’s a moot point as soon as the tingle of rematerialization fades.
Warm, humid air fills his lungs as he inhales, and the clean lines and twenty-first century retro decor of the transit center in Mayagüez greet his eyes. It’s moderately busy this time of day, and they step out of the way as more travelers arrive, making their way into the lobby.
”Much better weather here.”
Tracy’s watching him with a smile as some of the tightness melts from his shoulders.
”We’re going…wait, did-“
A wordless cry of delight cuts him off
“Tío!”
He turns to find Aida approaching, a squirming Nella on her hip, arms outstretched towards them. Tracy gives him a not-so-subtle nudge, taking his bag to free both hands. Aida embraces him with Nella between them, and he squeezes as tight as he dares.
”Abuela…”
”Shh,” she murmurs into his ear, “tell me later. Someone,” Aida waits until Hugh takes Nella from her before stepping back, “was very excited to hear her tío and tía were making a surprise visit.”
Nella giggles as Hugh kisses her cheek, wrapping her arms around his neck. Behind them, Tracy gets her own hug from Aida. There’s enough bustle around them that he can’t quite hear what they’re saying, but he supposes he’ll find out later.
“Shall we?”
Aida’s kitchen is a far cry from his own tiny excuse for a dining space. His grandmother settles him and Tracy with a plate of cookies and tea, then disappears upstairs with a sleeping Nella.
“Tired of dealing with me already?”
Despite the happiness that always accompanied a visit home, the fatigue of the last few days slips into his tone. It comes out rougher than intended, and he winces.
“Should I be?”
”I’m so-“
Tracy steals the cookie he’s reaching for, taking an appreciative bite.
“If you apologize, I’m going to make you answer the next time T’Vala asks about human sexuality.”
He winces.
”You wouldn’t.”
”I would. Hugh,” her face softens, “I thought a change of scenery might help. That’s all. I’m not leaving you here. I fully intend to enjoy Aida’s cooking too.”
There’s not much he can say to that, silence reigning between them until Aida returns. She accepts a steaming cup from Hugh, then fixes him with a look.
”Tell me everything.”
Notes:
This started as a couple of paragraphs at the beginning of Hugh’s version of “Someone”, then grew into its own snippet. It makes a good bridge to lead into that next :)
Chapter 671: Someone, Part Two / S.O.S., Epilogue
Notes:
Technically follows on from the previous chapter, but is meant as a direct companion to Chapter 668 ("Someone, Part One").
My muse is apparently on a Paul-and-Hugh-origins kick at the moment.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tracy wanders outside not long after Aida returns, citing a desire to 'get some sun' that is absolutely an excuse to let them talk privately. Hugh's grateful even as he's somewhat bemused; there's little he would keep from either of them, but he appreciates Tracy's intent to respect his relationship with his grandmother. As the patio door closes, Aida scoots her chair just a little bit closer and gives him the same look of patient understanding she's had for every broken heart and personal crisis he's come to her with since he was a teenager.
"It's a bad one, then."
He sighs. His failed relationship is still raw, despite the hours spent talking it out with Tracy while she offered increasingly elaborate means of revenge. They both knew he would never, but it helped with the sting of being…
Lied to.
Used.
"What did Tracy tell you?"
"Enough to know that you've been hurt in a way no one should be, by someone who doesn't deserve everything you have to give, Hugh. You don't have to re-tell it, unless you want to. And-" she squeezes his forearm, "I'm very glad Tracy is your friend."
Despite his emotional exhaustion, the quiet sincerity and care makes his eyes sting. It takes a couple of tries for him to swallow past the lump in his throat, eyes downcast. Aida's hand has age-swollen joints and is lined with wrinkles, but her warm grip is sure and strong. He does what he always does then, and counts the tiny starbursts of diamonds in her wedding ring until he feels like he's back in tenuous control.
”I just…I thought he was- he wouldn't-“
Hugh shakes his head, the room blurring at the edges as the tears he's been fighting push back and silently spill. He doesn't resist when Aida tugs him forward, holding his head against her shoulder and rubbing his back.
“Don’t let the shadows of those who have hurt you darken what’s in front of you. Mijito,” she murmurs, “you know yourself. There's no shame in being deceived, or the anger that follows. It will heal, I promise.”
His chest aches, but something inside feels like it's breaking open differently than it has since he walked in on the lie.
“...I want someone to love me as much as I love them, Abuela.”
He tries to steady his voice, knows she sees right through it.
“You,” Aida gently pushes him to sit up again and fixes him with a look, “deserve it. Remember that. Don’t settle, Hugh.”
"I keep- how am I supposed to know?"
His grandmother smiles.
"You'll know when nothing inside of you says otherwise."
He and Tracy spend the next five days - after extending his personal leave - letting Aida spoil them, running errands with her and sitting out on the back deck, much to Nella's delight. Hugh isn't precisely sure how they find out, but messages come through on his personal PADD, friends expressing their sympathy and inviting him to coffee or lunch. It's both comforting and vaguely annoying, but he doesn't let that come through in his brief but honest replies.
(He finds himself re-reading the four page missive from T'Vala containing an elegant treatise systematically laying out all of Hugh's qualities which would logically be highly desirable by a prospective mate and rebuking the absolute illogical way in which he was treated. It's clearly meant to be supportive, and he smiles every time he sees 'Please accept my wishes for your recovery from this insult. Should you or Tracy desire assistance in remedying the offense, you may be assured of my participation barring anything of an illegal nature.')
After everyone else has gone to bed on the last night before returning to San Francisco, his bare feet carry him quietly back downstairs and onto the deck. Hugh curls up on the wide cushions of the swing, the gentle swaying a counterpoint as he gazes upwards towards the Milky Way rippling across the inky sky. The visit home has been exactly what he needed, but there are still things he can't put to words, a very few that he's not sure how to explain even to Tracy.
He longs for someone to fill the strange emptiness inside, the near-physical ache of containing everything he wants to give, all of his love and care and passion. Hugh wants that connection beyond himself, the pleasures of his body giving way to intimacy of a different kind. Wants someone he knows won’t take advantage of him, who challenges him without malice and cutting words. Who cares deeply about others, even if it’s in a different way than Hugh does.
The string of relationships that burnt out or drifted apart or never made it that far doesn't haunt him so much as it tries to dim his view of love. He knows what he wants should be possible, is possible for others, but he doesn't know how to find it for himself. Hugh loves to give - it’s who he is - but he longs for someone who doesn’t just take.
He finds him in so many places.
…on Alpha Centauri between conference sessions with a scowl on his face and eyes the color of the ocean.
…over a subspace comms link, uniform jacket unzipped and a carefully blank expression as he talks about his own family.
…across a table in one of San Francisco’s finest restaurants on their first real date, holding Hugh’s hand with a smile so tremulous it almost aches.
…sharing his own pillow, rumpled sheets kicked down to their ankles and Paul’s hand cradling his cheek as if he’s something precious.
…in the spaces between moments, between heartbeats, laughter and sunshine filling his heart.
Hugh could never have predicted where leaving his name with an attractive stranger would take him, how getting to know him better somehow also felt like re-learning himself. And Dr. Paul Stamets is horribly attractive, the angular cut of his jaw and freckled skin giving way to the barely-there hint of pink at his lips and the most stunning eyes Hugh's ever had the privilege to annoy. He's slender almost to the point of implied fragility were it not for the intensity of character and the brilliant mind hiding behind an occasionally taciturn disposition.
Hugh learns quickly that his shyness hides depths of thoughts and feelings. When he spends the better part of ten minutes talking about aortic repair, Paul’s expression isn’t one of bored disinterest or artificial enthusiasm. Rather, he’s watching Hugh intently, eyes flicking between his lips and the annotated diagram on his PADD, simultaneously searching for the anatomical landmark Hugh's just mentioned while bookmarking a medical reference text. He's equally passionate arguing about the artificial walls put up between the sciences as he is in researching a passing comment to pick up the thread of conversation later.
Friendship and flirting take on a serious edge when they both realize where things are headed.
(“The world- the universe is made for couples,” Paul shrugs, “and I’ve always walked alone.”
”Justin-“
”Is Justin. But I’m still alone. Was,” he corrects himself fiercely, “I mean...that is-”
He gestures with fingers splayed, and Hugh understands.)
Their courtship is necessarily slowed by distance and duty, and Paul worries about it for as long as he labors under the misconception that Hugh would want things to move faster. Once they're past that, it's as though an invisible thread is plucked between them, anticipation for every message and conversation buzzing in Hugh's chest. And when that longing is consummated, well...Hugh can apologize to his neighbors for the noise later.
Paul ignites his desire even as he fills all the empty spaces, the tiny places Hugh hadn’t even realized were wanting. He’s sated, satisfied, full, but always wants more, wants to be closer. Separation is an almost physical pain, a yearning that's more than just lust speaking. Being with him is comfortable, even more than his decade-long friendship with Tracy, who takes to smirking every time Paul's name comes up in conversation. His arms may be far less strong than Hugh's own, but when he’s held by Paul he feels safe. Protected.
Unlike so many others, Paul never tries to be anything or anyone that he isn’t. Not really. Hugh’s always become what others need - as Dr. Culber the caring physician, who listens and understands and heals. As the doting uncle, his grandmother’s favorite grandson, as a friend and colleague. When Paul looks at him, there’s moments where it’s as if Hugh is the only thing he can see.
He still plays roles sometimes, takes on Paul’s (self-consciously expressed) fantasies, not because that’s who he’s expected to be, but because he wants to. To Paul, all he ever had to be - what Paul wanted - was himself.
He finds him.
Notes:
That's absolutely a callback to Paul's line from "Saint of Imperfection" :)
I...really love how this one turned out.
EDIT: You can now read T'Vala's letter to Hugh in Chapter 680.
Chapter 672: Sought
Chapter Text
Paul’s touch in the darkness is tentative and careful, a question.
”Sweetheart?”
With the covers pulled over their heads, only the barest hint of light is reflected in Paul’s eyes.
”I want you.”
A simple statement, with no obligation. Just Paul’s desire laid between them, open and honest, for Hugh to respond as he will. For him to choose if it’s with a teasing smirk, an expression of fatigue, or if that desire is currently returned. This, he gladly gives him, has given him, and will for the rest of their lives because Paul wouldn’t ever just take it otherwise.
Hugh smiles, fingertips unerringly finding Paul's mouth and ghosting over his lips to feel his breath.
”Then have me.”
Notes:
I read the most recent Trek Movie interview with Wilson where apparently the show runners still haven't declared that Hugh is CMO, but he's decided he is and that's good enough for confirming my ongoing headcanon :P.
Chapter 673: Supposed
Summary:
Space Sibling conversations :)
Notes:
This started off as the introduction to something longer, but I lost the thread of where that was headed and wanted to share as is.
References Chapter 27 ("Shirtless, Part One") from waaaay back at the beginning of this adventure :)
Chapter Text
“I didn’t know they were together at first.”
Adira side-eyes Tilly, who's wearing a half-smile.
”Who?”
”Paul and Hugh.”
Their head swivels around with a look of incredulity.
”…you didn’t? But they're so..."
Tilly follows Adira’s eyes to where the two men are sharing one of the oversized chairs in the lounge, fully clothed and hands in perfectly respectable places but their body language conveying intimacy on a level that’s staggering if she stops to think about it. There’s something about the way Stamets has his head tucked beneath Hugh’s chin, nestled under an arm. He’s staring off into the middle distance with an expression that's equal parts calm and content. Hugh’s reading something, text hovering a foot over Paul’s head. Every so often, he idly runs his fingers through Paul’s hair, ruffling it up and back down again. The hustle of activity in the lounge goes on around and behind them, but they're an outpost of stillness.
Dr. Pollard’s snort is sudden but not unkind.
“You wouldn’t have. But,” here her expression darkens, “Lorca didn’t like Paul, and the feeling was mutual.”
Adira frowns.
“Is anyone ever going to tell me what happened?”
Surprisingly, Dr. Pollard smiles.
”Ask your dads.”
"Okay?"
“It was bad,” Tilly agrees, remembering all too well. “Stamets was…different. Like fifty times worse than the DMA.”
Dr. Pollard hums in agreement.
“The last thing Hugh wanted was to give him any foothold to make it worse.”
"Wait," Adira frowns at Tilly, "how did you figure it out then?"
"I thought they hated each other, actually. Hugh would show up in Engineering and Paul would snap at him, and they'd go into his lab or the cultivation bay and be arguing. But I went to drop off a report really late one night and Hugh answered the door. Umm. Shirtless."
"...oh."
"Yeah."
Chapter 674: Slight
Notes:
I’ve officially reached 70 draft chapters, but here I go writing something else 😝
Chapter Text
Their bodies fit together without conscious thought, from how their fingers lace together under the table at dinner to the ritual of washing each other in the shower without a word spoken. There’s also the multitude of ways they’re physically intimate, knowing the right angles and pressure and touches to leave them gasping and spent. So many ways.
Hugh’s favorite, though, is small. Tiny even, in the uncharted course of their relationship through space and time and life and death. And yet, it’s possibly the most profound.
Snuggling under the covers with Paul spooned up behind him is simple, honest contentment. The weight of Paul’s arm draped over his side is grounding, elbow at the dip of Hugh’s waist and hand splayed over the bare skin of his stomach. They settle in for the night, shifting against the sheets and murmuring goodnights.
Hugh waits.
Like a secret, subtle yet guileless, Paul’s pinky tucks itself beneath the waistband of his pajama pants. He can feel it there when he breathes, a pinpoint in his awareness. For such a little thing, it matters as much as the kisses they share and words of tender devotion. The gesture itself would hardly be notable, but he knows it’s Paul’s way of making sure his hand isn’t dislodged when their limbs go lax with unconsciousness.
Remaining connected.
Chapter 675: Scarp, Part One
Notes:
For LadyRiona who posed the question of whether Hugh's always been so careful.
'Scarp' refers to a very steep slope (as in, escarpment).
Chapter Text
Cabo Rojo is beautiful any time of year, but particularly when the springtime sun glints off the ocean and gives the limestone cliffs a golden glow. Although there aren't many tourists out this early in the morning, he still foregoes the most popular trails and ventures down the lesser-used paths. Here, the trail is dusted with rock debris, the places worn smooth by the passage of feet over the centuries narrower and more shallow.
The damp air carries the distinct tang of salt, blending with the sting of his own sweat in his eyes as he climbs over an obstruction. Part of the cliff face above has crumbled, the rich shades of banded cream striations split apart in a pile that blocks the trail. He knows better than to leave the pathway behind altogether, but he doubts anyone except the locals - and perhaps a Vulcan or two in search of solitary meditation - bothers to traverse them. Once past, he dusts his hands off and sits on a conveniently-located outcropping.
The bottle of water in his backpack is two-thirds full when he feels rested, stowing the bioplastic wrapper from his snack alongside it for recycling later. (He's read about the problem with litter on Earth as recently as a century ago, seen holos of plastic and metal and glass washed up on beaches, and can't fathom of the lack of respect and care for nature that it took to forego something as simple as disposing of trash in appropriate receptacles.) Stretching, he eyes the fork in the path ahead. There's two options: the trail on the right that winds down towards the water, and the one on the left that hugs the base of the cliff before disappearing upwards around a corner. He's taken the former on several occasions, and it seems like the perfect occasion to explore the latter.
Decision made, the sets off at a brisk pace, idly kicking small rocks out of the way as he goes. The trail switches back on itself every few hundred meters, its gentle grade working its way towards the top of the cliff. It levels out maybe 20 meters above where he started, broadening a bit beneath where the rock face curves outwards. Something metallic glints a couple of meters above his head, and he leans back to look, shading his eyes against the sun.
Ahh.
The mysterious object resolves into one of a series of pitons that dot the concave surface, although from the dust covering them it seems like climbers must be few and far between. They don't look rusted out either, so it's a shame he didn't bring any rope because the view over the ravine beneath has to be stunning. Although...
Taking another few steps back - well away from the edge of the path - he tries to estimate the angle of curvature. It certainly seems climbable, far less acute than the rock walls in other locations that he's scaled while harnessed and tied in. Nothing about it looks terribly dangerous, and there's even a small ledge ten or so meters up that he could rest on and determine if he even wants to go the rest of the way. He didn't bring a PADD with him to capture holos, so that will have to wait for another hike.
Don't tell Mama. Or Abuela, he thinks with a smile, shouldering off his backpack.
Bouldering the first four meters isn't overly challenging, although he's surprised to find that the minimal wear on the hand- and foot-holds gives him less of a shallow curve to dig his fingertips into. It's not a straight line upwards despite the regular spacing of the pitons, meandering back and forth for what feels like quadruple the actual distance. His forearms and biceps are starting to burn as he maneuvers around an outcropping, fatigue somewhat soothed as the ledge appears within reach.
He quickly realizes that he's going to have to climb a little bit above it if he wants to avoid a tricky diagonal shuffle. If he were tied in, this is where he'd rest and shake out his arms, maybe chalk his palms and drink some water. His arms are already protesting though, so he needs to keep going just a little bit longer. The diagonal seems far more doable than defying gravity for another three meters.
Grip.
Stretch.
Push.
Almost there...
Exhilaration fills him as his hand makes contact with the ledge, swinging first one foot, then the other over to push himself upwards. He lets out a tired laugh of triumph as he flattens his torso against the cool rock, flopping his arms out to either side before starting to stand.
He slips.
There’s barely a moment to panic as the ledge seems to vanish from beneath one foot and then the other, inner ear telling him that he’s falling before his conscious mind catches up. The dusty limestone rushes up to meet him, too fast for him to try and catch himself before he hits the path below hard, breath knocked out of him as something in his shoulder snaps.
He hasn't stopped moving.
Awareness of the icy needles of pain starts to set in as his momentum carries him towards the margin of the trail. He tries to grab for the scraggly shrubs at its edge, but his left arm isn't working properly and his right is tangled beneath him. His shins do nothing to slow him as they scrape over the rough stone, then he's tumbling headfirst into the ravine below.
He's opening his mouth to scream when pain explodes from the back of his head and the world goes dark.
Chapter 676: Scarp, Part Two
Notes:
In canon, Dr. Kashkooli doesn't have a first name, so I've chosen one for her. 'Parveen' is a Persian/Hindi name for the Pleiades constellation, and the reference to the stars seemed appropriate.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Parveen Kashkooli stows her PADD with a sigh, frowning at the mid-morning sun. Her climbing partner's just been called back into the clinic, so it looks like she's going to have to take on Cabo Rojo by herself.
Of course.
Needs must though, so she shakes her head to clear it of the disappointment. There's no point to taking her originally planned route, as several of the climb points would need two climbers. She could probably join another group, but a glance around at the empty clearing tells her that would mean waiting and the day's only going to get warmer.
Change of plans.
The map shows that a few of the less popular trails are nearby, nothing too strenuous. She considers leaving her pack in the groundcar and eventually divests herself of both the medkit (always on hand when climbing) and the majority of her climbing gear. Transferring water, snacks, her communicator, and the box of miscellaneous emergency supplies into a day pack, she shoulders the much lighter load and heads off down a narrow path.
An hour in, and she's glad she decided not to head back home. The sounds of the ocean filter upwards, carried lazily by the humid breeze, and an easy walk in a nature preserve is far better than putting her feet up and watching a holonovel on her couch.
Her steps slow as she approaches a large pile of fallen rock. There's enough clearance to maneuver around and over it, but maybe turning back is a good idea?
Nah. Besides, Parveen muses, you promised the chief you wouldn't think about work today, and that's all you'll get if you leave.
She makes it to the other side without incident, although it feels like half the gravel from the trail has managed to work its way between her sock and hiking boot. Grimacing, she starts loosening the laces. It takes a full three minutes to shake the worst offenders back out onto the Puerto Rican limestone, then she's back on the move.
A group of young adults passes her as she sits, heading down the right hand path. They're cheerful and noisy, wearing minimal clothing and light footwear, and she shakes her head at the thought of how scraped up they're all going to be from the climb back up. Dr. Kashkooli suggests she follow them and offer advice to that end, but Parveen doubts they'd listen.
It does at least save her from having to decide which path to take. The one on the left looks a bit more overgrown, but that probably also means she won't end up with company. It should lead to the top of the massive cliff, and seems as good a place as any to aim for.
Partway up, she comes across a climb point. There's pitons, but she left her rope back in the larger pack, and the thought of having to hobble back with a sprained ankle or wrist from a fall is too much to risk even an easy climb.
Oh well.
Parveen shrugs and is about to continue on when she spots something unexpected. On the ground, a day pack not dissimilar from her own sits propped against the rock face. She looks upwards, but there's no climbers scaling the height or ropes tied in, and the ledge partway up is shallow enough that she can tell there's no one on it. The pack is relatively clean, meaning it hasn't been left there long. There isn't enough greenery for anyone to have stepped off the path to relieve themself, and she can't think of why it would be abandoned otherwise. It's light enough that she could easily carry it out with her and attempt to find its owner, but something seems off.
"Hello?"
No response in Standard, and none when she repeats her call in Arabic, Hindi, Spanish, or Vulcan either.
Frowning, she turns in a slow circle. The trail behind her is empty, the same with the visible portions of the path ahead. Near the edge of the trail though, rust-colored streaks catch her eye.
That can't be-
Her knee pops when she crouches down to examine it more closely. It doesn't take a tricorder to deduce that it's likely iron-based blood, and her frown deepens when she notices that the plants at the margin are disturbed, recently crushed by the looks of it. She shuffles forward, carefully leaning out to peer into the ravine below.
"Oh hell."
Approximately twenty meters down, a bright blue pair of shorts and two legs are visible. Taking a deep breath, she calls down, "Hello? Can you hear me?"
She squints, but it's too far away to see if there's movement. It's a good ninety minutes back to the trailhead, too long if whoever is down there is in serious need to help. Her hand is already reaching for the side pocket of her own pack, closing around the hard rectangle of her communicator, but she really ought to assess the situation further. If - unlikely but possible - the person is unharmed, Dr. Kashkooli reminds her of too many overly-cautious calls to emergency services that were the opposite of appreciated.
Parveen closes her eyes, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the edge of her scarf. They've fallen away from the trail below, meaning she's going to have to find an alternate means of making her way down. The climb doesn't look all that bad, partially obscured by foliage, but she's well aware that there's no rope on hand - none in her bag, or the pack she found. If she falls, the branches aren't large enough to stop her, but they ought to at least cushion her enough that the most damage would be her dignity.
"Hold on, I'm coming down to help!" she shouts over the edge.
There might be the faintest sound of acknowledgement, but she can't really tell.
Here we go.
Notes:
As with most things Culmets, this took on a life of its own! One more chapter to conclude.
Chapter 677: Scarp, Part Three (Conclusion)
Notes:
I did some quick research on broken clavicles, but I'm admittedly not a medical professional - please let me know if I've gotten the terminology wrong!
Contains non-graphic description of injury and a bit of blood.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Rappelling down would have been much easier, had she brought her climbing gear. It's a moot point and a distraction, so she shoves the thought away and continues the slow descent. Halfway down, she yells again, relieved to see the legs moving slowly.
Good.
Her arms are sore enough that she lets herself drop the last two meters, rolling on impact. It succeeds in both preventing injury and in covering her clothes in dirt.
Dr. Kashkooli to the rescue, dirt and all.
"Hello?"
This time, there's a definite groan.
"You're going to be okay," she hastens forward, dropping to her knees beside the young man sprawled over the ground, "can you hear me?"
He looks like a teenager, all gangly limbs that are covered in scrapes and scratches. She thinks briefly of the medkit stowed in the car, dismissing that thought as well as she reaches down to check his pulse.
"...nnngghhhh."
His eyes flutter open and she breathes a partial sigh of relief as he blinks up at her.
Conscious is good.
"Hi," Parveen draws on Dr. Kashkooli's calm bedside manner, "can you tell me your name?"
He starts to speak, hindered by a dry cough.
"Hang on," she unclips her water bottle and moves to wet his lips, "there. That's better."
"H- unnhh. Hugh."
"Hugh? Nice to meet you, I'm Parveen. Can you tell me what happened?"
She quickly visually assesses him as she smiles down and makes encouraging noises. The scrapes and bruises are doubtless painful but seem superficial, as is the probably sprained right wrist. What's more concerning is the difficulty Hugh seems to be having focusing his eyes on her, and the large patch of crimson beside his shirt collar. Although, unless there's a much larger spread on the back of his shirt or internal injuries, it isn't life-threatening blood loss.
Thank goodness.
"...dunno. Fell?"
"That's okay. Is it okay if I touch you? You're bleeding a little. I'm a doctor, I need to make sure you're okay."
Hugh starts to nod, letting out a hiss of pain as he does.
"Stay still," she sets a careful hand to cradle his head, fingers checking his skull and pressing gently at his jaw. "Does any of this hurt?"
"Ev'rythin' hurts."
"Silly question. All right, just tell me if it hurts more than it already does."
His breathing is shallow and rapid, but her hands don't find any serious injury to his ribs and no telltale acute pain or abdominal swelling to indicate internal bleeding.
"Wiggle your fingers for me? Good."
Parveen shrugs off her pack, unzipping it to retrieve the box of emergency supplies. She pushes aside the old-fashioned bandages and antiseptic pouch, pulling out a small pair of scissors.
"How old are you, Hugh?"
"...sixteen."
She snips away at Hugh's shirt, splitting the fabric from the collar all the way down his short sleeve.
"Were you alone today?"
Hugh hesitates, although from his expression it's less memory loss and more teenage reticence than anything. The fabric is tacky with blood, and she bites her lip in sympathy as it peels back from the skin with reluctance. Parveen pours a small stream of water over Hugh's shoulder to reveal an open clavicle fracture.
Ouch.
"Yeah."
The site is bleeding sluggishly, and while Hugh doesn't seem to be in danger of bleeding out, it's a fairly nasty wound on its own. She didn't spot him on the trail ahead of her, but he can't have been down here too long.
"Okay. Hang on, I'm going to call for help."
His eyes widen, and she lays a hand on his chest to keep him from trying to sit up.
" 'n't tell Abuela."
"Sorry?"
An osteoregen accelerator would be great.
"Grandmother. She's going to- owww. Kill me."
No, Parveen thinks about her own grandmother, she's going to be very glad you're okay.
"Don't worry about that right now, okay?"
She squeezes Hugh's uninjured shoulder gently, then flips open her communicator and taps the emergency frequency.
"Emergency services."
"I need medical evac, Cabo Rojo Nature Preserve. Human male, sixteen. Suffered a displaced compound fracture of the left clavicle. Bleeding is contained, major arteries and nerves appear intact, but possible concussion. He's conscious and alert, but I don't want to move him without support."
"Understood. Can you send your readings?"
Parveen sighs.
"I don't have a tricorder on me, physical exam only. No medkit."
"All right-"
"I'm a trauma surgeon at Hôpital Cheikh Zaid in Rabat. Parveen Kashkooli."
There's a five second pause - doubtless checking the system - and when the dispatcher returns, it's with a different tone.
"Understood, Dr. Kashkooli. Please transmit your coordinates, we should have someone to you in the next hour."
Great. And I don't even have a topical analgesic for this kid.
"This is serious. An hour?"
"I'm sorry, a tropical storm made landfall in Indonesia and we've diverted-"
"Okay. Transmitting coordinates now. Pretty dense foliage, my patient may need a beam-out."
"Understood."
"Kashkooli out."
She snaps her communicator shut, stuffing it in her pocket.
"Hugh?"
"...yeah."
"You heard?"
He squints up at her and she scoots a couple of inches to the right to block the shaft of sunlight cutting through the branches.
"You're a surgeon?"
"Yes. I meant, it's going to take-"
"An hour. 'm I gonna...?"
"You're going to be fine," she stills his chin when he tries to turn his head, "but I want you to keep still, okay?"
Hugh grimaces, and she takes that as an affirmative.
"All right, Hugh, since it's going to be an hour, I really want to do something about your-" Parveen briefly debates what to say, but since he was coherent enough to understand her emergency call, there's no reason to downplay it. "You have a compound fracture of your collarbone."
"Know what th' clavicle is. I took honors physiology."
She takes the slightly indignant tone as a win, barely containing a chuckle.
"All right. Your clavicle is broken, and it's sticking out where it shouldn't be."
"Hurts."
"Yes. I'm sorry, I don't have a medkit so I can't give you anything for the pain, but it will hurt less if I can straighten it out."
Parveen doesn't bother hiding the smile at the expletive he exhales on his next breath.
"I know."
Hugh groans and tries to shrug, cutting the movement off with a sharp cry of pain that grows in intensity when he tries to raise his left arm. She catches his hand, stomach tight, and does her best to make soothing noises while easing it back down. He curses again.
"Curse all you want," she wraps her fingers around his wrist instead, "I know it hurts. You might have a partial dislocation of your shoulder."
"...what's that in doctor?"
Despite being in pain, he's a better conversationalist than many of her adult patients.
"Subluxation. Probably happened the same time as the clavicle fracture. Do you remember what happened when you fell?"
He frowns.
"No."
Fresh blood starts to appear, slowly enough that it's not arterial, but concerning on its own.
"All right," she keeps her voice even, "I really need to close that wound, okay?"
Hugh doesn't move his head, but looks down at himself as best he can.
"Bleedin'-"
"It's okay."
Eyes clenching shut in discomfort, Hugh nevertheless manages to peel one open enough to fix her with an only slightly unfocused stare.
"Tell me."
"What?"
Parveen finds the spool of nylon filament in her emergency supplies and fumbles with the tiny sewing kit for the needle. It's not even the least of this century's technology, but wound closure is wound closure.
"C'ncussion. 'sposed to keep talking, right?"
She tears open a sanitizing wipe, rapidly cleaning her fingers and tools before snipping a small section of the filament to thread the needle. That done, she tucks it back into the edge of the spool and sets it aside.
"Yes. What do you want to talk about?"
Going to have to reduce, then suture. No internal fixation though...
"What're you going to do to my collar- clavicle?"
Kneeling on the ground is doing a number on her thighs and feet, so she shifts to sit cross-legged.
"I'd like to straighten out your clavicle. It looks like a single fracture and not too displaced."
"That's good?"
She pours a little more water over the area, leaning in to palpate the surrounding area. Hugh grits his teeth and whines in response, and she concludes the examination as quickly as possible.
"Yes, that's good because it won't take as long to fix. And it will let me suture the wound closed."
He eyes the needle and filament nearby.
"With a needle."
"Yes."
"Gonna hurt."
Parveen rummages in her pack again.
"Proba- yes."
Hugh chews his bottom lip as she carefully slides a folded scarf beneath his head to cushion it.
"My grandmother sews."
"Oh?"
She rolls up onto her knees again, gauging the best place to put her hands.
"Yeah."
"Tell me more."
“She- Ahhhhhhhhh!”
Once the echoes of his reaction to her reducing the fracture fade away, Parveen wipes away Hugh's tears without comment and gets him to drink some water before re-sanitizing her hands and makeshift suture kit.
"I'm going to start suturing, okay?"
He swallows hard, and she watches for signs of nausea.
"What's it look like?"
She holds the needle higher, careful not to drag the filament.
"I meant," his right hand flops up and down vaguely, "my shoulder. Clavicle."
"Thankfully, it's pretty close to the surface. You got lucky," Parveen narrows her eyes, deciding where to start, "half an inch further out and it would have damaged your trapezius muscle. The ligaments are probably strained though. Mostly skin over where it's broken."
Hugh blinks a few times, seeming to absorb what she just said.
"Okay."
"This will hurt less than what I just did. Which," she catches his side-eye, "isn't a great comparison, right?"
"No."
"I need you to keep holding still, okay?"
"Yeah."
He winces and hisses at the first stitch, but otherwise doesn't move as she takes a second stitch and uses her other hand to guide the skin back together.
"So, you were going to tell me more about your grandmother?"
The medical flitter arrives precisely 19 minutes later than estimated, but she's grateful for the beam-out instead of having to climb through the undergrowth. Parveen briefs the paramedics while they're getting situated, relieved to see the tension drain from Hugh's body after the neural blocker they administer before the flitter's even climbed to altitude.
It would be well within her purview to leave once she's seen him off into the care of others. Hugh's parents are apparently en route back from Mars and his grandmother on her way from Trinity, and while there's no reason she needs to, Parveen decides to stay. The attending confirms a mild concussion and - with honest professional respect - deemed her un-assisted reduction a full success, leaving a resident to replace the nylon filament with proper biosutures and see that the wound was properly sterilized.
She takes a few minutes while that's happening to duck into a bathroom, washing off the dirt and changing into clean clothes and a fresh scarf. When she returns, the resident is on their way out. They exchange nods, and she settles back into the chair at Hugh's bedside.
"How are you feeling?"
Hugh frowns and seems to be taking stock of his body. His left arm is in a supportive sling, keeping it immobilized while the stem cell infusion accelerates osteoregeneration. The minor cuts and scrapes have already been treated, and Parveen doesn't think it will be long before he's fully recovered. He looks younger somehow in a medical smock, although that's probably more attributed to fatigue finally setting in. She gets the impression he isn't normally prone to stillness.
"Thank you."
It's not the answer she's expecting, and it draws an honest smile.
"I'm glad I was there to help."
He nods, staring into the middle distance for a few seconds before focusing on her again.
"Tell me about it?"
"About what?"
"Being a doctor."
Less than an hour later, the door to the room swishes open. An older human woman with steel-grey hair braided up around her head crosses the threshold, carrying what looks like a set of traditional academic robes and hood over her arm.
"Abuela!"
Parveen vacates the chair, taking a graceful step backwards as Hugh's grandmother drops the folded fabric onto the seat with a swish and presses a kiss to Hugh's forehead. She frames his face with her hands as she leans back, holding eye contact while she studies him. Whatever she sees seems to satisfy her, because she straightens and turns to Parveen with a smile, hand outstretched.
"I'm Hugh's grandmother, Aida. Doctor-"
"Call me Parveen."
Her sharp eyes take Parveen in from scarf to still-dusty boots, assessing but not in a way that makes her self-conscious.
"I would have been here sooner-"
"I told them it was graduation," Hugh interjects, "I'm...sorry, Abuela."
Aida takes Hugh's hand, leveling a look at him that makes him duck his head.
"We'll discuss how this happened later. Parveen," she turns to face her fully, "thank you. You must allow me to invite you to dinner soon."
"I wouldn't want to disturb-"
"You took care of my grandson. Please, the least I can do is invite you to my table."
Parveen smiles and nods, glancing at Hugh and back to Aida.
"If you insist, then I would be happy to join you."
Notes:
Is it realistic for 23rd century emergency services to take a while to arrive? Hard to say. Canon dialogue is that she had to stitch his wound, and if Hugh is beamed to a hospital immediately it's a moot point. Granted, Paul might be embellishing the story a bit (though it seems less likely because Hugh said he fell further...), but I had to create a plot device that would require sutures without falling into the "my signal is being blocked" trope. Hopefully it's sufficiently canon-plausible :)
Aida is a professor of genetics, hence the academic robes from attending commencement. Since universities are still steeped in medieval pomp today, I can't see why that would change in a couple hundred years.
Three chapters in one day...whew.
Chapter 678: Sámhach
Summary:
Space Family fluff.
Notes:
Title translates to 'quiet' in Gaelic.
Takes place post-Season Four.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It's a quiet evening, no galaxy-consuming threats, existential mysteries, or scientific paradoxes afoot. After all Discovery has been through, Adira is starting to wonder if they should ask Zora to calculate the odds of how so many things happened aboard one ship. ("You have no idea what goes on around here," Stamets had said to them in the mess hall what feels like several lifetimes ago. He'd been right about that.)
Still. All of it means that while Movie Night won't be interrupted, it's not as necessary to snatch some form of enforced escapism as it would be in other circumstances. Instead, dinner with Paul and Hugh and Tilly is followed by comfortably lounging and reading or, in Adira's case, embroidery.
Staring at the design traced onto the fabric for the better part of an hour is making their eyes sting, so Adira drops it into their lap with a sigh. They blink a few times, trying to find something a few meters away to focus on instead.
Across the room, Hugh shifts just a little, head tipping to the side and straightening again with the hint of a frown. If they hadn't been watching, they would have missed the movement entirely. Beside him, Tilly is slouched against the cushions, dozing with lesson plans for an Academy course hovering in front of her. Her intermittent snoring obscures any other sound, but they think Hugh might have sighed.
Without looking up, Paul drapes his arm over the back of the couch from the other side. He keeps working on a gas chromatography graph with his left hand as the fingers of his right unerringly delve under Hugh’s collar. From the angle they're at, Adira can just make out his knuckles flexing as he rubs the muscles in a shallow arc around the back of his partner's neck.
Hugh hums, a smile curving his lips as he continues reading. One of his feet slides over a few inches from where it's propped on the coffee table to rub against Paul's equally bare foot. Paul's eyes close for a few seconds before he resumes his work, and that is very much that.
Quiet is good.
Notes:
I'm so pleased that my take on Dr. Kashkooli was well-received in the last couple of chapters :D Thank you for feeding comments to my writing muse!
Chapter 679: Secutus
Notes:
Title is Latin for ‘to follow’ in the sense of something that is a result of something else.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
For all that technology has brought them, there's a simple pleasure in being tucked in bed side-by-side and reading. Paul has his glasses on - Hugh caught him squinting a little too obviously ten minutes ago - scrolling through the archives of the Ni'Var Science Academy's extensive collection of texts on quantum filaments.
("Your eyes used to be just as bad as mine," Paul mutters.
"Mmm. They're just a couple of years old now," Hugh teases, "not fifty."
He stretches over Paul's lap, shamelessly squishing him just a little as he opens Paul's nightstand drawer with a pointed look.
"Hrmph.")
Something makes him surface from the proceedings of a lively debate on the metaphysical properties of dark matter an indeterminate amount of time later. He's not sure at first what caught his attention, since he can't remember Hugh saying anything or restless fidgeting that would have broken his concentration. Their quarters are quiet-
Ahh.
In his peripheral vision, Hugh seems to have gone perfectly still. He flicks away the display, turning his head on the pillow to check if he's fallen asleep without asking Paul to turn out the lights. Instead, he finds Hugh staring up at the ceiling, a tiny frown parked between his brows and hands loosely curled palm-up at his sides. His breathing is deep and even, a skill common to all Fleet medical officers whose species carried out active respiration that ensured a good oxygen supply to the brain during intense concentration.
“Everything okay?”
Paul pitches his voice low and undemanding. It might be something as simple as Hugh reviewing a complex surgical procedure, and he’d rather keep the interruption minor if that’s the case. Waiting, he watches Hugh blink twice, his next inhale held a couple seconds longer than before.
“Hmm?”
“You had your thinking face on.”
Instead of smiling or rolling his eyes, Hugh’s frown deepens for a moment, tension visible at his jaw and lips. It vanishes just as quickly, leaving behind a thoughtful expression in its wake.
”I was thinking about…the past, I guess.”
Paul takes off his glasses and rolls onto his side to face him completely, tucking one hand beneath the pillow.
”The past?”
”Mmm. That,” Hugh gestures at the glasses, “made me think- well. Do you ever wonder how things could have been different?”
A tendril of apprehension rises in his stomach, but Paul quashes it before it has a chance to reach his throat. Given their long history, there’s a lot of things Hugh might be referring too.
”Sure. Sometimes. Is there something in particular?”
Hugh nods, turning to mirror Paul’s position until their bodies are curved towards each other like a pair of brackets.
“Post-traumatic growth requires trauma.”
The apprehension returns with a vengeance. Paul keeps it off his face as he reaches back to set his glasses on the nightstand.
”By definition.”
That earns him a wry half-smile that goes a long way towards settling some of the tension.
”I meant,” Hugh looks down past Paul’s chin, gathering his thoughts. “We’re shaped by the things we do, that happen to us. If- if the last few years hadn’t happened, what would it look like?”
Exhaling slowly, Paul shifts closer, slipping his feet between Hugh’s ankles.
”If you hadn’t died.”
It’s a point of hard-fought pride that his voice doesn’t waver, to have reached a place where the remembered anguish doesn’t threaten his composure. Hugh sees through it of course, catching Paul’s free hand in his own.
”Everything. I think though, that we’re…” he trails off, seeming to search for the right words. “Better now than even before.”
It’s a valid point, though not one Paul’s framed that way. They’re more honest with each other for one thing, something they both share the burden of for their past actions. And they’ve both grown in ways he’s not sure they could have otherwise.
”…yes.”
So many second chances.
Hugh raises their hands to kiss Paul’s knuckles. His beard catches the hair on the back of Paul’s hand the same way it’s done forever, but the tiny zing sends a shiver rolling through him that’s disproportionate to the stimulus.
”Sweetheart?”
Paul shakes his head to clear it.
”Sorry. That tickled.”
He’s left cold for a moment when Hugh lets go, but it’s only for long enough to draw the quilt up over both of their shoulders. Then he’s gathering Paul into his arms, warm and solid and sure.
”I think,” Hugh starts once the rush of air from the falling fabric settles, “well. I know I’d rather not have died-“
”That makes two of us-“
”-or some of the other things we’ve had to deal with-“
”Just a few-“
”-but I’m grateful, so much, that we are where and how we are now. Scars,” he brushes his knuckles over Paul’s heart, “and all.”
It’s the easiest thing in the world to close the inches between them and kiss Hugh with all the strength and conviction of his agreement.
Notes:
This isn’t meant to be a downer, more an in-between moment where there isn’t impending chaos that lets them have the space to think.
Chapter 680: S.O.S., Epistle
Summary:
T'Vala's letter to Hugh after his breakup.
He finds himself re-reading the four page missive from T'Vala containing an elegant treatise systematically laying out all of Hugh's qualities which would logically be highly desirable by a prospective mate and rebuking the absolute illogical way in which he was treated.
Notes:
T'Vala's letter is described in Chapter 671 ("Someone, Part Two / S.O.S., Epilogue").
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
>> Message from S'dar T'lhai T'Vala, LT, Starfleet Medical
Hugh,
It has come to my knowledge that you have formally ended your prior relationship due to the highly illogical actions of your former prospective mate. Please allow me to convey my displeasure with the circumstances which preceded it; while it is not of substantive import, it is my understanding that such sincere sentiments may serve to assuage the emotional burden caused.
Indeed, it is quite illogical as to how any individual would seek to cause you harm in this manner. You are by all objective measure, a highly desirable prospective mate to the subset of persons with whom I have observed you pursuing a romantic connection. Allow me to elaborate:
First, your skill as a physician upholds and exceeds the standards of Federation practice. Your contributions to the field of medical research and clinical care are highly praiseworthy. The number of publications and both their citation index and journal rankings, as well as the five procedures for which you are credited as establishing, provide unimpeachable retrospective evidence in that regard.
Second, your integrity as a colleague and friend cannot be questioned. You are most acutely aware of ethical behavior, both as an individual and in relation to your interactions with others. You have been most generous with your time in assisting me with my scholarly pursuit in researching human relationships, and often provide me with refreshments prepared to my preferences without a request.
I am convinced that such integrity reflects well on how you would treat a prospective mate.
Third, you are quite dedicated to maintaining your body's physical condition. This alone is praiseworthy in regulating your personal health. While I cannot offer an opinion of my own, I submit the empirical evidence of witnessing multiple attempts by other humans to discuss their desire to or solicit you for sexual activity. It is my understanding that this indicates a high caliber of physical attractiveness deemed important in such matters.
Fourth, I must reflect upon how I find your company to be preferable or far superior to 87.6% of those individuals in my acquaintance. Please allow me to assure you that the remaining 12.4% comprises much of our mutual acquaintance. In addition, you have allowed me to accompany you in partaking in traditional holiday activities with your family. The privilege of being a guest in your grandmother's home I find difficult to overstate. This is perhaps inappropriate to list as it is not a purely objective measure, but I believe it important to emphasize.
I am hesitant to speak more on this particular individual, as I do not wish to cause you further emotional distress. Should you desire to do so, there are no restrictions on my behalf which you must observe. Please accept my wishes for your unimpeded recovery from this insult. Should you or Tracy desire assistance in remedying the offense, you may be assured of my participation barring anything of an illegal nature.
Peace and long life,
T'Vala
<< End of message
Notes:
I am both impatiently ready for (because it's been far too long) and dreading the premiere next week because it signals the approaching end of Discovery's time on screen.
Chapter 681: Sotto (Voce)
Notes:
Contains mention of blood and injuries.
Title is Italian referring to a soft or quiet voice, as in making a quiet comment not meant to be overheard. In this instance, it's more about overall volume than attempting to be below notice.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh doesn’t raise his voice.
Dr. Culber doesn't either, unless it's an emergency and he needs to shout to be heard over the blare of alarms or explosions or cries of pain. Even then, it's controlled and never gives the impression of panic.
("You're going to be fine," he tells the patient on the biobed, feet planted shoulder-width apart and gripping the bed support to steady himself against the repeated Klingon phaser-fire.
Over the commotion of a hundred new wounded victims of this senseless war being brought in, he sees three people run from the corridor, their bright Constitution-class uniforms smudged with soot and blood. He narrows in on the four limp bodies they're bearing - on the children - and slams his most ironclad control down over his own emotions.
"T'Vala!" he yells, even as his hands work to pluck shrapnel using honest-to-the-stars forceps because all of the laser scalpels are in use, "I NEED YOU!"
Starbase 12 rocks again, the dull concussion of a gravimetric mine colliding with duranium. From the other side of the crowded medical ward, a tall figure in white crosses twenty meters in a matter of seconds, deftly avoiding the stretchers and walking wounded. She catches the jerk of Hugh's chin towards the entrance and pivots sharply, tricorder at the ready.
"...Doctor."
A strong hand catches his forearm, squeezing hard. His patient - the Captain who threw herself in front of an exploding console to protect her helmsman - speaks through gritted teeth. She's pale but stubbornly conscious, the shortage of sedatives reserved for the most traumatic cases.
"Captain?"
Hugh rapidly changes gloves before ripping open a suture packet.
"You should really..."
"All due respect," he ties off the end and carefully shakes his arm free, directing her hand to hold the field dressing in place over her own ribs, "you're in serious conditi-"
She laughs, or tries to before thinking better of it with several broken ribs.
"Wasn't- shit," she stares down at where he's maneuvering a bioplast patch into place, "wasn't crit...icizing. You should. Be...starship CMO."
He dredges up a smile, still stitching.
"Just doing my job.")
Keyla notices it when they're both panting in exertion, the Velocity disks set for random trajectories forcing them to work together instead of against each other. Dr. Culber boosts her to launch off the wall with a low-grav kick, tossing her his game phaser and grinning as she fires with both hands and uses a ricochet to make three disks collide and deactivate.
"Hah!"
She lands with a graceful tumble, high-fiving him with her own victory cry. It isn't until after they've tidied away the game equipment and he disappears down Discovery's corridor with a friendly wave that she thinks about how even his exclamation of triumph was still all rounded edges, jubilant but controlled.
Emperor Philippa Georgiou Augustus Iaponius Centaurius notices it with grudging admiration when she squares off against Hugh Culber in the medbay. She's no longer surprised to find he doesn't give away any sign of discomfort as she prowls around his desk, merely turning in his chair to watch her. He's far more interesting to push than the others on the ship.
"If I had time," she purrs, "I'd poison your children."
Instead of posturing or anger in response, something dangerous flashes in his eyes, and she considers that he might be one of the few humans with the same steel as his Terran counterpart. When he speaks, his voice is low with an implied menace that makes her wonder, yet again, how this universe's Stamets could possibly keep him satisfied.
"If I had time, I'd have children."
Paul notices it when they disagree, when they have the very occasional argument. Hugh's voice goes sharp sometimes, sentences clipped and tight, but he never yells. Never tries to shout him down or drown Paul out. Nothing he does ever summons memories of others with raised voices and the hurtful things they said, never speaking without thought to the consequences of his words.
(Crying out in pleasure is another matter entirely, and it's not like Paul is exactly silent himself.)
Others might think physicians chose to avoid violence as a sign of weakness, of fear, but he knows far better. Hugh speaks with calm authority, compassion a more powerful tool than any weapon. That quiet strength is one of the things he loves most about him, his steadiness in the face of chaos, a heart so open to the pain of others that he wears himself to the ground and gives Paul the privilege of helping to build himself back up again.
Hugh doesn't raise his voice because he doesn't have to.
When he speaks, people listen.
Notes:
Season Five rolls ever closer. I need to sit down and watch/listen to the cast interviews that are now popping up as well as watch the Ready Room special before Wednesday evening.
My original intent was to publish a new chapter for either When Sorrow Turns to Joy, or Survival, but I'm not sure that's going to happen before the premiere.
Chapter 682: Stimulating
Summary:
Hugh's post-birthday shave has consequences.
Chapter Text
Something's off at the breakfast table as Tracy tunes back in from an article about nerve regrowth. Across from her, Tilly is trying to carry on a conversation, but seems bemused by the slightly-longer-than-normal pauses and replies that don’t quite suffice. It's hardly surprising from Adira, who looks like they’re only just awake enough to avoid face planting in their oatmeal. They're also clutching their double espresso mocha like a lifeline, but that’s completely normal. Beside them, Hugh’s smile is a little vacant, like he’s thinking about something pleasant. Paul's staring off into the middle distance. That's not out of the ordinary before 0800, but he's also abandoned his coffee while it's still half-full. It's a bit out of character, and she frowns, peering at him more closely.
Hmm.
His hair is styled impeccably, but there's a hint of crimson peeking over his uniform collar. She follows the slope of his shoulder down to the table, where Hugh's rubbing his left wrist. Just beneath the cuff, there's what at first glance might pass for a bruise. Her doctor's eyes don't pick out any limited range of motion, but-
Oh for heaven's sake.
As he reaches for his napkin, his sleeve rides further up, revealing patently obvious love bites decorating the inside of his wrist and forearm. Oblivious to her scrutiny, Hugh drops his other hand casually beneath the table to land on Paul's thigh.
Tracy rolls her eyes.
She's managed to forget about it until the next morning. Paul seems jumpy though, fidgeting and accidentally jostling Tilly with his elbow twice. Tracy notices he’s also perched on the edge of his seat, rather than the usual slump back into the chair after he’s done eating and is finishing his coffee.
Sighing, she taps a message onto her PADD.
[Pollard-Tracy-LTCDR/MED] Seriously?
Hugh's too busy staring into his café con leche and doesn't seem to notice the message alert, so she prods his ankle with the toe of her boot. The advantage of two-plus decades of knowing each other means they can have an entire conversation in pointed looks, glances, and pursed lips. It's a brief one though, ending with Hugh giving her a wink and smug smile.
Tracy sighs.
It’s somehow even worse than the first few weeks after Discovery’s launch, when the novelty of actually living together permanently showed no signs of wearing off. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but here it is.
On Thursday, she catches them stumbling out of their quarters at - Tracy checks her chrono - 1238 radiating the kind of satiation that makes her briefly tempted to lock them in a cargo crate somewhere and let them asphyxiate on their own hormones.
Actually, no, her brain points out, they’d probably…definitely like that.
She tips Aisha off with a significant look at Hugh's back when he returns to the medbay ten minutes later, mouth kiss-swollen. For her part, Aisha gives a patently fake cough and raises an eyebrow.
"Do I want to know?"
"Probably not," Tracy mutters. "At least they're not in the storage closet."
She heads down to Engineering three days later to unobtrusively check if Harrington is properly avoiding repetitive strain by using an antigrav to climb and finds Hugh exiting the cultivation bay with Paul only a step behind, cheerfully responding to Adira's surprised look that, "I was just helping Paul run a diagnostic on his equipment. Oxygen sensors."
Hugh's white jacket is immaculate, but there's a hint of dirt on his pants at the knees. Along with Paul turning a brilliant shade of red as he pivots and makes a beeline for his private lab, Tracy can more than imagine what they've been up to and there's not enough brain bleach in the multiverse. Adira, thankfully, seems to take the explanation at face value.
Tracy waits for the turbolift doors to close behind them before fixing Hugh with a look.
”Was there a transporter accident involving the two of you and Risan marmots?”
He chuckles.
"Not that I'm aware of."
"So?"
"I shaved."
"There's nothing wrong with my eyes," she offers dryly.
”Paul thinks it’s hot.”
”And that’s different how?”
“Birthday present to myself.”
“I don’t remember you two being this insufferably horny when Paul turned fifty.”
Hugh’s smile goes from pleasant to extremely satisfied, and he dodges her pinch to his ribs.
“Mmm,” Hugh skims a couple knuckles over his clean-shaven jaw, “see...no chafing.”
”What?”
”No beard burn in…certain places.”
Suddenly Hugh’s recent obsession with lip balm makes sense.
Tracy really wishes it didn’t.
"I hate you."
Hugh's grin widens.
"No you don't."
She narrows her eyes.
"Yes, I do. You owe me Aida's beef Wellington and apple tart to make up for it."
"I do?"
"Yes."
He hums thoughtfully.
"Tomorrow night then. Does Paul get to help me with dinner?"
"Since when does he cook?"
"Well...he gets upset when I tell him to just stand there and look pretty."
The deep affection in Hugh's eyes belies the teasing, and Tracy has to remind herself that she's annoyed with him.
"Just try to keep your hands to yourself while we're eating?"
Hugh pretends to consider the request.
Wait for it...
"Deal. What about aft-"
"I'm not above inviting Adira and Tilly to make sure you two behave."
Swish.
Hugh's delighted laugh follows her down the corridor.
Notes:
No idea whether it’s related to the milestone birthday, a new project, or just a change in preference, but *whew* check out Wilson’s IG for the clean-shaven pics from late December / early January.
Re-reading When Sorrow Turns to Joy to make sure I'm in the right headspace to write more. If I don't get something out before the first two episodes drop at midnight Pacific tomorrow, I'll do my best to have it updated this weekend after any premiere-inspired chapters here.
Chapter 683: Subsequent
Notes:
Opening quote from Paul during “Vaulting Ambition” in Season One.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“I don't want it to change."
Paul meant that when he said it, meant it with all the shock and denied grief and fear strapping iron bands around his chest.
"I want it to be the way it was."
He hadn’t known if Hugh was real or just an echo, a shadow conjured by his mind to embody the bitter truth. It didn't matter because for a fleeting few moments, he hadn’t cared. Had wanted to make the selfish decision when staying forever - however long or short that might be - seemed preferable to being without him.
"Please, let it be the way it was.“
Hugh though, reminded him of who he was, and he had to make the impossible choice: turn his back on every principle he had and allow the multiverse to unravel, or accept waking to a world that could never be warm again. Because he's the man Hugh loves, he'd torn out his own heart for the sake of everything else. Twice, almost.
Of course he'd meant it.
The Paul of now though, gazing back from the 32nd century, is older and knows that they could never have gone back to the way it was. They’d known each other so thoroughly after 14 years, but hadn’t fully known themselves. How could they? That Paul and Hugh hadn't yet been given a second chance, hadn't stumbled through the pain of growth and rediscovery. Hadn't yet been given a third chance, couldn't have known what came next in a future that was so very strange.
The difference between Lieutenant Stamets and Commander Stamets is so much more than a pip. It's more than traveling the mycelial network or surviving a war. Learning to accept change in more than the scientific unknown almost broke him, but Hugh literally held Paul's heart in his hands and healed it.
He thinks about that now, with Hugh sleeping soundly in his arms, cheek resting over the fading remains of the scar. Hugh can probably still trace the places he pieced Paul back together, stronger for having been rebuilt, identical to the original but capable of so much more. Capable of catching Hugh when he tumbled into uncertainty and self-doubt, keeping him safe.
Hugh stirs, fingers flexing in the fabric of Paul's pajama top as he snuggles closer. He settles again and breathes out a quiet sound of contentment, warm and solid and real.
"Let it be the way it is," Paul murmurs, kissing Hugh's forehead and closing his eyes.
Let's see where it takes us.
Notes:
Inspired by the official Trek IG video recounting Discovery’s beginnings. I absolutely love that Paul and Hugh are the ones to start it. Revisiting Season One and they’re both so *young* before everything happens.
I'm both so beyond ready for tonight's premiere and also incredibly sad because every new episode is one step closer to the end (and cutting it back to 10 episodes? don't get me started on Paramount making questionable decisions). Here's hoping for some good Culmets material to write about!
Chapter 684: Shuttering, Part One
Notes:
*** SPOILERS FOR SEASON 5 EPISODE 1 "Red Directive" ***
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Culmets and Space Family content before the four minute mark? Oh yes. Yes.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The music is stately but upbeat, the drinks quite...blue, and the collar of his dress uniform chafes. It's a far second to what's been dragging behind him like a gravity belt, but he'll gladly focus on the physical annoyance instead of thinking about-
Dammit.
He does his best to smile as Adira frowns at the cocktail and asks questions that shouldn't be as endearing as they are, Hugh's hand warm on the small of his back.
"It's really good to see the Federation back, isn't it?" Michael smiles, raising her glass in salute. "And at peace."
"It really is," Hugh agrees warmly.
Paul tries to smile, but given Adira's expression he probably just looks dyspeptic.
"Yeah. I think I'm gonna head back," he attempts, "I'm just...tired.""
"Paul," Hugh's expression dims, "no, you said you wouldn't let it ruin your evening."
In the moment between one breath and the next, he and Hugh have an entire conversation.
Tell them, Hugh's eyes implore.
Paul tips his chin up a fraction.
No.
Hugh squeezes his wrist gently.
They need to know.
He knows Hugh can feel the hand attached to the wrist he's holding curl into a fist.
"He just found out they're shuttering the spore drive program."
Fine.
"I mean come on," he swipes at his tricomm to display his name tag, "luminary?"
Softening the sharpness into what he hopes is self-deprecating sarcasm, he pastes a smile on his face.
"What am I supposed to do? Walk around, shake hands, and pretend I'm happy that the pathway drive went up?"
Hugh's expression of compassionate commiseration folds as his eyes narrow.
"Yes."
"I mean," Adira starts, "it does mean that Discovery will always be one of a kind...that's pretty cool, right?"
In his peripheral vision, he catches Tilly's wince and is torn between appreciation of Adira's attempt to spin things in a positive way and more added embarrassment that they're having to do that in public.
"I think I'd rather that my legacy hadn't been destroyed along with Book's ship," he shrugs, feeling the bitterness creeping over him like freezing rain. "I would've figured out the navigator problem someday, and we could have rolled it out to the whole fleet. Who knows if I'll ever do anything that meaningful again?"
It's hyperbolic, but at the moment feels truer than anything.
"You will," Hugh slips his hand down to entwine their fingers.
"It's a new world Paul, and you will find new purpose. We all will."
He might be wallowing in self-pity today, but he's not so oblivious that Michael's downcast eyes and quiet tone go unnoticed.
"To change," she toasts, echoed by the others.
When the aide appears, Captain Burnham's polite mask slips into place, and regret coils uncomfortably in his stomach.
"I shouldn't have mentioned Book."
Tilly shakes her head.
"It's been months since she's even talked about him, it's..."
"Locking something away and moving on are two very different things."
Ouch.
"I think there's some other stuff too, but she's good. Really, she's umm..."
Tilly's awkward exit is a welcome distraction, but it only lasts a few moments.
"So, are we mingling? Or are we going back."
Adira's pointed look is uncannily similar to the one he can feel Hugh giving him. With a sigh, he swipes his thumb over Hugh's knuckles, taps twice on the back of his hand, and resigns himself to being Commander Stamets for the rest of the evening.
"Science luminary it is."
Notes:
I paused at the five and a half minute mark and have been playing back two minutes on repeat via ten seconds increments.
Since their hands are all out of frame and because Paul and Hugh communicate so much physically, there's nothing to say they weren't holding hands...
Chapter 685: Sardonic
Summary:
*** SPOILERS FOR SEASON FIVE EPISODE ONE "Red Directive" ***
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Notes:
Not an onscreen scene, but given Paul's mood? Definitely plausible.
Chapter Text
Being called back to Discovery posthaste to jump to a location before any other Starfleet ships arrive is...ironic.
"Guess I'm not obsolete just yet," he mutters.
Adira's head snaps around so fast he's surprised they don't strain something. They're just opening their mouth when Hugh's hand catches his elbow, effectively tethering him in place. Hugh pivots neatly, stepping closer and leaning in until his lips are an inch from Paul's ear.
"Paul," he murmurs, "I know. But later, sweetheart. Okay?"
It's both a request and a promise, and there's really nothing he can do except nod. Hugh lets his hand trail down Paul's sleeve, index and middle finger hooking around the edge of his palm briefly before moving back a half step.
Sighing, he reaches for his tricomm.
"Black alert it is."
Chapter 686: Stockpile
Summary:
*** SPOILERS FOR SEASON FIVE EPISODE ONE "Red Directive" ***
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Notes:
Merging actual dialogue with what could have been said before and in between :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Are you going to come help me, or are you still sulking?"
While there's no one else in his private lab to see, Paul rolls his eyes anyway. The incubator stares back, unimpressed.
"Help you do what?"
Hugh sighs.
"You're still sulking. Okay..."
"Hugh."
"Our...guest. Well, victim. Six hundred year-old synth and we need to know what's in his head-"
The flux regulator lands back on the console with a metallic clink.
"A what? Be right there."
Hugh's hands are folded in front of him when the medbay doors swish shut behind him, and Paul winces at Dr. Culber's impeccable posture. He gestures at the synth laid out on the biobed, and Paul crosses the room to gaze down at the figure draped in silver.
"So, this is Fred."
"It's a surprisingly old model," Hugh frowns, "dozens of generations before the kind of tech used for Gray's body."
Paul takes in Hugh's crossed arms, the way his feet are planted shoulder-width apart, and spends a few seconds wondering if Hugh's going to start in while they're showering later, or if he'll wait until they're in bed.
"Incredible," he muses, "imagine the engineering, the circuitry, to function for so long."
"All right Fred," Hugh flicks opens a holographic display, "what can you tell us about yourself?"
Paul circles the biobed, coming to stand beside him.
"Here's the internal memory drive, serial number AS0572Y...?"
"A.S.," Paul murmurs, eyes narrowed in thought. "Altan Soong."
"Hmm?"
"Well, he was based on Doctor Soong's design," he can feel a wistful smile tugging at his lips, "so whoever built Fred honored the doctor by putting his initials in the serial number. Centuries later and we still speak his name. What a legacy."
The words are out before he thinks about it, and Paul figures he'll be lucky if Hugh lets him get out of his uniform before trying to talk about it.
"Anyhow uhh..." he gestures with both hands, "a memory drive this old will have a lot of delicate wiring, so it's going to take time before we can get in there, let alone download any data."
He taps the toe of his boot against the right side of Hugh's.
I'm sorry.
"Well, we haven't used wire since way before the upgrade. We're gonna need more replicators."
"Oh no, we're good," he nods at Hugh's questioning head-tilt, "you married a packrat. I...saved a few things. I'll be right back."
The affectionate indulgence in Hugh's eyes says, I know.
Notes:
CANON CONFIRMATION OF MARRIAGE!
**flails in Culmets**
Okay, that wink and head tilt Paul does? Same as Season Four's Culmets bed conversation where he says, "little Column A, little Column B". Love it.
Chapter 687: Stockpile, Part Two
Summary:
*** SPOILERS FOR SEASON FIVE EPISODE 1 "Red Directive" ***
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Notes:
Missing scene before Michael goes to the medbay to talk to Paul and Hugh at roughly 52:00 in.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Extracting Fred's memory drive is exacting work. Between the two of them, the drive sits nestled in a spiderweb of wires, some of which still bear enough residual charge to damage the delicate technology but which can't be discharged externally.
"...got it," Hugh murmurs, teasing away a subprocessor. "What now?"
"See this?" Paul highlights a section of the floating display. "We'll have to switch the relays without accidentally depolarizing this chip."
"Okay."
"And I can't get a microtool in there, but they have to be kept roughly equidistant. Maybe if we used a stereotactic-"
Hugh frowns at the diagram, blinking slowly. He hums, then holds out both hands, palms up.
"I can do it. Decouplers?"
Paul might be the one with an affinity for technology, but there's more than one reason to love Hugh's steady, ambidextrous surgeon's hands.
While Zora reconstructs the data, there's nothing to do but wait. It takes a few minutes to close Fred's cranial cavity back up sans one memory drive, and Paul spares a moment to mourn for the crude and cruel way his existence ended.
Senseless.
His tools returned to their cases, he looks up to find Hugh watching him with something infinitely soft in his eyes.
"What?"
"Just..."
Hugh fits their fingers together, tipping his forehead to rest against Paul's. They're alone in the medbay, Aisha and Perretta in the surgical suites and thanks to the late hour, it seems unlikely that anyone will wander in, so there's no hesitation in gently brushing their noses together.
"I'm sorry for being so...I don't even know what to call it."
Hugh breathes out a quiet laugh.
"Justifiably upset because your life's work is being swept aside?"
"Yeah. That."
"I know you don't want- just," Hugh's sigh gusts over Paul's lips, "seeing you here. Now. The way you dive into science? It's who you are, love. And nothing can take that away."
Notes:
It's now almost 3 am and I haven't started the second episode yet because I was too busy rewinding and writing for the premiere. Tempted to sleep for a few hours and then get back on it.
MASSIVE SPOILER BELOW
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Call back to the progenitors from TNG's "The Chase"? Holy heck!And after seeing the preview of the rest of the season, I now begin to wonder if Hugh is going to be given their knowledge.
Chapter 688: Shuttering, Prologue
Summary:
*** SPOILERS FOR SEASON FIVE EPISODE ONE "Red Directive" ***
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Notes:
Missing scene pre-episode: how, exactly, does Paul find out they're closing down the spore drive program?
Warning for angst. And apologies in advance for the number of ellipses and cut off sentences to come.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Shaking his head, Paul retrieves his dress uniform from the wardrobe and picks up Hugh's where he'd left it in a careless heap over the back of a chair. 32nd fabric is wrinkle-proof, but habit makes him smooth the jacket and pants before laying them out across the bed instead. Massive 'Fleet functions still aren't his thing, but at the very least, Federation Day at HQ means they'll get a chance to see Tilly in person.
Definitely not Cadet Tilly anymore.
A warm burst of pride blooms in his chest for his erstwhile protégée for all that she's accomplished, and he reminds himself to tell her that more often. Mental note made, Paul reaches for the hem of his sweater - technically it's Hugh's, but who's counting? - when his tricomm chirps with an incoming holocall.
Who's that?
Starfleet's C-in-C is close to the last person he expected to find standing in their living room, and he spares a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure the bathroom door is closed while Hugh's showering.
"Commander Stamets," Admiral Vance inclines his head, "I apologize for the interruption."
Surely Vance would be the busier one today?
"Not a problem, sir. What can I do for you, Admiral?"
Vance nods to himself before taking a virtual step closer.
"I have news about the future of the spore drive program that I wanted to share with you before any official announcement is made."
"Oh? That's great," Paul smiles and folds his hands together to control their fidgeting, "I've been hoping that we can get back on track soon. I want to test-"
He pauses at Vance's upraised hand.
"Commander. I- I'm afraid it's not good news. I'm sorry."
For a moment, it feels like he's been tossed into the vacuum of space, the prickling excitement turned to paralysis in his lungs. He blinks a few times, closes his mouth, opens it, and closes it again. His next inhale is shaky, and he swallows hard.
"...what?"
Sighing, Vance's expression is one of sincere regret.
"With the loss of both the prototype new drive and Mister Tarka, it's been deemed better for resources to be diverted elsewhere. To different projects."
A sharp pain shoots up his arm, and he realizes he's digging his nails into his palm hard enough to turn his knuckles even whiter.
"Admiral. I can- it'd take time, of course, but...we've got Tarka's notes, and if Aurellio and I-"
Vance shakes his head.
"Mister Aurellio's condition has worsened I'm afraid. Irreversibly."
"But..."
"Believe me, Commander, this wasn't easily arrived at. President Rillak has decided that certain details of first contact with the 10-C must be classified to prevent the possibility of anyone developing an isolytic weapon, whether that's the remnants of the Emerald Chain or anyone else. I," the admiral frowns, "disagree with that conclusion, but both the President and Doctor Kovich think otherwise. The Federation Council also expressed their doubts that the prototype drive would have been stable enough for use without significant genetic manipulation to produce a sentient navigator."
The blood that's drained out of his face returns with a vengeance, lips grown hot.
(Later, he'll feel bad for not reacting to the news about Aurellio as well. He isn't exactly a friend, but Paul's come to realize he was as much a victim of the Emerald Chain as anyone.)
"No. No, that can't..."
"I'm sorry, Mister Stamets. Discovery, of course, will remain outfitted with the drive, but we won't be supporting any additional research and development," Vance straightens, clasping his hands behind his back. "While scientific freedom means they can't force you to discontinue your own work, I'm afraid the program is permanently closed down. I wish it were otherwise."
"Babe? Did you-" Hugh's voice comes from behind him, "oh! Admiral Vance, I'm sorry, I didn't-"
Vance offers a smile, but it's small and seems to take a surprising amount of effort.
"Doctor Culber. I apologize for intruding while you're getting ready. I look forward to seeing you both at HQ later. Commander," he nods at Paul, then his holo flickers out of existence.
"Well," Hugh's hand lands warm on Paul's waist, "what was that about?"
Words are piling up like an antimatter explosion, annihilating each other in a reign of destruction inside his mind. All he can do is shake his head, staring down at the floor while he fights the way his eyes are starting to burn.
"Sweetheart?"
He shakes his head again, pulling away to stride past Hugh and back towards the bathroom. Hugh, of course, is only half a step behind him.
"What's wrong? It isn't- it's not Tilly-"
"No."
The edges of the sink are cold against his palms. Hugh boosts himself up to sit on the counter facing him, towel slipping loose. Any other time, Paul would have a suggestive tease on the tip of his tongue, but right now it feels as heavy as duranium. It's like being back in Mudd's time loop, Vance's words replaying over and over, always headed towards the same inevitable outcome.
"Paul, you're scaring me."
That's not something he can fail to respond to, no matter the circumstances.
"...the spore drive. They're...Starfleet's decided to shut down the program. Classified."
"What?"
"It's over, Hugh. Just like that. And..."
I apologize for the interruption, Zora's voice cuts in, but you have eight-point-three minutes before President Rillak's remarks begin.
"Thank you, Zora. We'll be there," Hugh murmurs.
"We'd better get dressed."
"We don't have to go."
Shoving down all of the things choking him, Paul turns and heads for where their uniforms are waiting. Hugh's a bit slower to follow this time, bare feet silent but palpable concern radiating from him.
"Can't let it ruin the night, right?"
His attempt at pleasantry might pass with someone else, but he can practically hear Hugh weighing whether or not to insist even as he pulls off his sweater and kicks his lounging pants towards the laundry pile with more force than strictly necessary. He steps into his uniform trousers, doing up the fly with fingers that feel stiff and useless before shoving his feet into his boots. When he reaches for his jacket, he finds it missing from the duvet. A gentle hand on his bicep turns him to face Hugh, then slides up to cradle his cheek. He could avoid Hugh's gaze, but even that feels like too much effort right now.
Whatever Hugh sees must be enough, because his cheek goes cold as Hugh moves to shake out his jacket for him, guiding his arms into the sleeves and settling the garment onto his shoulders. Paul closes his eyes against the compassionate expression, feeling Hugh's hands guide the zipper across his chest and carefully fasten his collar.
"Sweetheart."
"I'll be fine."
There's a negative probability that Hugh believes him, but he doesn't comment further. Instead, he kisses Paul softly and nods.
"Later."
Notes:
1. Kenneth Mitchell was still with us when Season Five was filmed, but I wanted to give a nod to Aurellio as more explanation for why the program was shut down.
2. Given the costume design, the dress uniforms have a not-so-invisible zipper up the back to keep the front lines smooth. However, I love the ritual of Culmets (un)dressing each other, so we'll pretend the diagonal trim is actually a closure.
3. I'm gearing up to watch the second episode. I keep having ideas pop up from the premiere to write.On a much lighter note...I'm thinking I need to write a Culmets wedding fic. As in, I'm going to interpret canon as it taking place in the hiatus between seasons. Any objections? :)
(They *at least* owe us a framed holo in their quarters of them together, darn it. One of Anthony and Wilson dressed up for a Trek event would work, the same as Mary and Sonequa's behind-the-scenes photo used for Tilly and Michael. I'm 99% sure we won't get it, but still.)
Chapter 689: Shuttering, Part Two
Summary:
*** SPOILERS FOR SEASON FIVE EPISODE ONE "Red Directive" ***
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*Paul and Hugh's conversation after the literal dust settles.
Notes:
Apologies for jumping around out of order - I always want to get through the episode the first time while writing what comes to mind immediately, then I end up going back and filling in missing bits later on.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
By the time the dust literally settles and Discovery glides back into Spacedock, Paul's exhausted. His emotions feel like a Velocity disk, ricocheting off the walls only to be smashed in another direction entirely. Add that to the adrenaline rush of running the odds of a successful shield merge with another starship within a planet's atmosphere in order to physically stop an avalanche, and Paul dearly misses the energy of youth. (Adira is still wide awake and talking a parsec a minute about variations on modulating shield geometry.)
He's in Engineering examining the unclassified portion of Fred's memory, nodding at appropriate moments while Adira fills the air between them with schematics, when the doors swish open. It only takes a flash of white uniform in his peripheral vision for him to briefly consider the odds of begging a late night for research - unlikely to succeed and only delaying the inevitable - but he manages a smile when Hugh parks himself at Paul's elbow.
"It's past twenty-three hundred," he nods at the otherwise deserted bay, "and some of us aren't young enough to get by on five hours of sleep anymore."
Adira snickers, but seems willing enough to follow Hugh's implied intent and collapses the displays back into their tricomm. Paul does the same with the memory files, then they're both following Adira up into the corridor. The walk to the turbolift is silent, Hugh's arm brushing his in passing, and before long Adira's waving at them and stifling a yawn as they head for their own quarters.
While Hugh's not looking directly at him once the turbolift stops again, Paul's positive all of the attention not required to avoid walking into bulkheads is focused in his direction. Once home, they both undress down to their skin. Paul busies himself lining their boots up by the door as Hugh heads for the bathroom. The muscles of his back are tighter than usual, so maybe a massage is in order?
"Come on."
Hugh's voice is quiet, half request and half statement, as he stands in the bathroom doorway. They brush their teeth in companionable silence, but when Paul turns towards the shower, a hand reaches out to stop him.
"Hugh?"
"I think a day like this calls for a bath."
It's true that Paul would dearly love to take a quick shower and try to sleep after whatever conversation they end up having under the covers. On the other hand, soaking in hot mineral water with Hugh when he's sure neither of them are going to fall asleep in it is always more enticing than not. He nods, going to retrieve clean towels while the programmable matter turns an otherwise unremarkable two cubic meters of floor into their tub.
Instead of settling on opposite sides, Hugh waits until Paul's in the water before nudging him forward and sliding down behind him. Paul starts to reach for the soap when Hugh's arm crosses his chest, effectively holding him in place. He could absolutely pull away; even at his most avoidant and Hugh's ensuing frustration, the slightest hint of resistance is still all it takes. His body knows, though, already relaxing before his mind catches up.
"Hugh..."
"Let me take care of you," comes the soft entreaty as Hugh leans towards the ledge for a washcloth, "okay?"
"Okay."
The silence as Hugh dips handfuls of water to wet his torso is both comfortable and a too-fertile ground for everything he'd shunted aside earlier to take root again. He does his best to concentrate on being in this moment, the slick slide of Hugh's hands over his shoulders and the way he carefully washes each finger on both of Paul's hands with the same unhurried care. It's unnecessary on a purely physical level for cleanliness, but that's the least important part.
Paul lets Hugh guide him up onto his knees and into an embrace of sorts, Hugh's chest against his back while he soaps and rinses Paul's front without moving. He waits while Hugh washes himself in a more economical manner, then they're settling back into place against the tub's side. The waves formed by their movement slosh cloudy water onto the tile before subsiding again.
"So," Hugh's kiss is feather-light beneath his ear, "want to talk about it?"
He closes his eyes, head falling back onto Hugh's shoulder.
"Depends. Am I getting you or Doctor Culber?"
It's a testy response at best, but Hugh doesn't object.
"Which one do you want to talk to?"
Hugh's question is neutral, no weight on one side more than the other, and Paul sighs.
"My husband."
That earns him a real hug, Hugh's temple resting on his cheek while his arms tighten. When they loosen, Hugh uses the motion to place his hand palm-down over Paul's heart. Hugh's skin glows a warm bronze against the heat-pink of his own, the simple gold band on its chain caught beneath Hugh's thumb.
"Okay."
He waits with a patience Paul still isn't sure he always deserves, fingers tracing patterns over Paul's ribs. One of his knees is braced up against the programmable matter marble, and Paul watches water running off the sparse hairs dusting his leg, so unlike his own.
Pick somewhere to start.
"You know, when we first landed here, I wasn't sure whose side Vance was on."
Hugh hums in acknowledgement, but doesn't question the seeming non sequitur.
"An admiral trying to hold together what was left of Starfleet, and here we come with Captain Burnham stomping right over all the red tape."
The quiet chuckle warms him more than the water they're sitting in.
"True."
"There we were, a starship dropped out of time, with no record of how we could have gotten there. Because," he swallows around the next words, "Starfleet erased what we did from the history books."
"And the spore drive."
It's not a question, but he nods anyway.
"Yeah. Since then, since we solved The Burn and the DMA and everything else, I hadn't really thought about it. But, today...I realized that it erases Justin too. And no one besides the people on this ship know that you're the one who helped me fly us home from the Terran universe. That the one impossible thing Justin and I spent years working on and Starfleet ignored until it was time to fight a war, is what saved them."
There's the prickle of Hugh's beard when he kisses the back of Paul's shoulder before resting his chin on it.
"And now..."
"Now, after I don't know how many samples of DNA Aurellio asked for-"
"Seventeen."
Hugh's pronouncement is firm, as if the number is a fact stored away in his capacious memory.
It is. Obviously.
"Aurellio is," he worries his lower lip between his teeth, "well."
"I know."
"What?"
"His doctors contacted me and Tracy. Asked if we had some sort of miraculous cure or treatment plan from The Time Before The Burn."
He can hear the capitals on that last phrase, and the right side of his mouth quirks up in mild amusement.
"So..."
"So I know why he's not available to help. But that can't be all Vance called about."
"President Rillak and Kovich," he can't help flicking his eyes around the enclosed space of their bathroom, as if the man might appear from beneath the sink, summoned by the sound of his name. "They decided there was too much of a risk of another isolytic weapon, and classified everything from the Ten-C mission. And since the prototype was destroyed with Book's ship, Tarka's gone, and Aurellio...they shut it all down."
The hands stroking up and down his arms halt.
"But you could build it again."
Anger bubbles up, bitter heartburn that Paul has nowhere to channel except his next words.
"And be, at best, a footnote somewhere? Everything, Hugh. Everything, and they can just decide to do that. I don't know why I'd bother. What's the use of being a 'scientific luminary' if I can't share it with everyone?"
The water sloshes again as Hugh rises to his feet, sheeting droplets down onto Paul as he steps over his shoulder and kneels in front of him.
"You're more than your work."
'Am I?' is on the tip of his tongue, and Paul bites down hard. He pinches the bridge of his nose, shoulders slumping.
"The spore drive was supposed to open the universe to everyone. To anyone. So we could explore and go places no one could have gone before. No more dilithium mining, or people who can't escape their sun going nova in time. And I sound like it's all about me, but's it's...it's not, Hugh."
Hot tears leak unwanted over his already damp cheeks, and he has time for one labored inhale before he's being pulled into Hugh's arms, forehead coming to rest against his sternum.
"I know, sweetheart," Hugh murmurs, fingers carding through his hair, "I know."
"Maybe they don't remember me, but if no one remembers what I did? Then-"
Fingers press gently over his lips, cutting off the flow of words. He makes a protesting noise when Hugh eases him back enough to see his face, everything so raw and exposed. He's probably holding onto Hugh's sides tightly enough to hurt, but there's no sign of it in Hugh's expression.
"Of course it matters, Paul. Of course," his whisper is fierce, "no one can take that away from you. You've helped save the entire universe. More than once," he shakes his head, "because you're devoted to discovery and to life. To creation, not destruction. And no matter what the history books say, that's your legacy, sweetheart."
There's a fine tremor running through Hugh, he realizes, the same way his hazy memories tell him he looked before he pulled shrapnel out of Paul's heart.
"I-"
"You're...you're you. Your research, what you've created, is immense. But you're worth so much more than having your initials inscribed on something six hundred years from now. To Tilly, and Adira, and everyone who knows you. To me."
Hugh's hands rise to cradle his jaw, fingers tucked beneath his ears and thumbs caressing his cheeks. Paul's sure he looks terrible, nose clogged and breathing through his mouth, eyes and face reddened, but all he sees is love shining in Hugh's gaze.
"I married you, Paul. Not Doctor Stamets. And whatever you decide to do, you're going to make a difference. Because that's who you are."
The kiss that follows is searing, and he has to break off sooner than he'd like to gasp for air.
"I love you."
The next kiss is firm but soft, a promise. It's followed by a dozen more, undemanding and each saying I'm here and I adore you and you matter.
"I love you too. Let's go to bed?"
He nods and Hugh reaches for the towels waiting beside the tub, passing one to him before tapping the controls to drain the water and starting to dry off. They're both careful climbing out, and Hugh's the first to head towards the bedroom. He stops at the threshold of the bathroom again, holding out his hand for Paul to take.
"Right behind you, dear doctor."
Notes:
This was emotionally draining but cathartic to write. 4,450 words in less than 24 hours.
Chapter 690: (e)Spíritu
Summary:
*** MINOR SPOILER FOR SEASON FIVE EPISODE TWO "Under the Twin Moons" ***
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"Let's just say I know more about the spirits my abuela used to pray to..."
Notes:
Cheating by omitting the first letter in the chapter title, but I've already used "Spirit", so I went with the Spanish version.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh's eight years old when he first notices his abuela doing something funny.
The news services have all been reporting on a 'developing situation' following intense volcanic activity on the island of Sumatra, the commentor's closing remarks estimating over three thousand people missing and unaccounted for. He's probably not supposed to hear that part - since his grandmother sent him to bed fifteen minutes ago - but he'd been thirsty and headed for a drink of water. There's the sound of a click as she switches off the display, then silence. Hugh frowns as it sounds like she's whispering, but everyone else has gone to bed too. Carefully, he peers around the doorframe.
Aida is still sitting on the couch, but her hands are clasped in her lap, very still. Eyes closed, she murmurs things too softly for him to distinguish. Hugh counts three minutes before she stirs, crossing to the small table beside the mantle. From a drawer, she produces a small dish and sets an old-fashioned candle in it. The fireplace lighter sparks, and Hugh sneaks back to his room, puzzled but not unsettled.
He forgets to ask her in the morning.
"Abuela," sixteen year-old Hugh starts slowly, "can I ask you something?"
Smiling, Aida sets down her PADD.
"Besides that?"
He scrunches his nose and sits in the padded chair on the other side of her desk.
"What is it, mijo?"
At her elbow, a small silver dish sits with the burned-down remains of a beeswax candle. Aida follows his eyes, then hums in understanding. She waits for him to speak.
"...you were...praying?"
Pushing aside the stack of assignments she's been grading, Aida leans forward and nods.
"Yes."
"We're not religious," Hugh ventures, unsure.
"No, we're not. I may be a scientist, but there are times when we are still at the mercy of the unknown. It helps, then, to appeal to something greater than we are."
"...why?"
Instead of being offended by the question, his grandmother moves the dish further onto the desk between them.
"I don't pray to a deity, but sometimes it helps to speak in case it's heard. The candle...well. My abuela prayed to a higher power for forgiveness and protection of her family. I'd watch her light a candle to accompany her prayer, and it seemed to bring her comfort."
"Is there something bad happening?"
She shakes her head, sighing.
"Not to us. But one of my students, her parents went missing on an excavation. Of course there are rescuers searching for them, but there's nothing to do but wait. So I lit a candle and asked if anyone was listening, to watch over them and bring them back safely."
She sits back, ever patient, and watches Hugh think about it. Eventually, he nods.
"Okay."
Notes:
Hugh referring to his abuela? **flails**
Chapter 691: Sixty-(Four Thousand Dollar Question)
Summary:
*** MINOR SPOILERS FOR SEASON FIVE EPISODE TWO "Under the Twin Moons" ***
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A quiet moment before the mission to Trill...after a not-so-quiet one.
Notes:
That moment just after Paul clears Engineering and turns back to his console to call up the data, we see Hugh's shoulders move like he's exhaled harder than usual. Just saying.
Contains sexytimes.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Not that I'm complaining," Paul manages between kisses, "but what...mmm. Hmm. What brought this on?"
"You."
Hugh smiles brilliantly and returns to trying to pull Paul's undershirt off while his arms are still tangled in his jacket sleeves. The tip of his tongue teases across Paul's lips just as the backs of his knees hit the edge of the mattress and the world tilts sideways.
"Me- whoa! Me what?"
Undressing while lying down isn't necessarily any more effective, but straddling Paul's waist does highlight exactly how interested Hugh is. He abandons the tangle of fabric bunched under Paul's armpits with a frustrated noise, stripping off his own open jacket and undershirt together and dropping them onto the floor. Paul fumbles at his cuffs, distracted by the flex of Hugh's powerful biceps, but manages to successfully free one arm and shake the other side off just as Hugh pitches forward.
"Hi."
The sudden weight on his chest makes him arch upwards into it. He squirms, teasing friction to his nipples, and closing the scant inches between them to steal a kiss. Hugh's fingers make quick work of the remaining zipper, diving inside.
"Hi- nnnghh. Yourself. What...?"
Paul's proud of forming a coherent thought while Hugh's hand is down his pants. It flees at the first scrape of teeth over the delicate skin beneath his ear, and all he can do is let his head fall back and enjoy the ride as Hugh's mouth continues its leisurely journey from the bolt of his jaw down and out towards his shoulder. Hugh's backside flexes deliberately under his groping hands, and the universe narrows down to the heated air around them.
"You," Hugh's breath feathers over the damp skin he's just sucked a love bite onto, making the heat coiling low in his hips tighten, "are hot when you-" he licks the notch of Paul's collarbone, "take control."
He emphasizes the statement with a roll of his hips that leaves them both moaning.
"Whuh...when?"
"Engineering," Hugh tells Paul's left nipple before his mouth is otherwise occupied.
Oh.
Ohh.
It takes three tries to kick the towel haphazardly spread over the bed onto the floor. As soon as he's sure they won't wake up with it stuck to the sheets, he flops back to faceplant onto his favorite pillow. They're sated and sweaty and Paul might need a hypo for his hip in the morning, but…
“That was good.”
Hugh’s chuckle rumbles beneath his cheek, arm tightening around his shoulders while the other props Paul’s thigh on his own. His hip twinges, then falls silent as the new position takes the strain off the joint.
”Mmhmm,” Hugh traces a silvery stretch mark with his thumb, “you were.”
It’s later than they ought to be awake for an 0800 visit to Trill, but Paul likes to think resting in the afterglow counts too. Eventually, one of them remembers to order the lights off and draws the covers up and over their bodies. The sheets rustle for a few moments as they settle, Paul’s head on Hugh’s shoulder.
“You know,” Hugh sighs, “in a way? I get it.”
”Hmm?”
”Moll and L’ak.”
Paul frowns.
”Homicide?”
Hugh kisses his forehead and pulls the duvet a little higher.
“Belief.”
Their usual post-coital conversation sometimes takes a philosophical turn, but this feels more grounded.
”So…”
”Do you ever think, that could be us?”
He can feel his eyebrows rise rapidly towards his hairline.
”Reckless thieves operating with guns blazing and a side of overgrown teenage rebellion that could have galactic consequences?”
“I meant, they - or at least Moll - truly believe that all they’ve got is each other. Love…reason and even greed can’t go up against it and win.”
Paul sits with that thought and doesn’t push it away. There’s the fact he might have been willing to let reality unravel or accept being stranded on the edge of the known galaxy for the sake of what’s between them. It bears further consideration when his brain is less foggy and they’re both more awake.
“Maybe. Is that going to help us catch them?”
“It might, but…”
Whatever Hugh’s planning to finish the sentence with is cut off with a yawn that Paul echoes.
“Later?”
”Looks like it. We’ve got time for…” Hugh squints at the chrono display, “six hours?”
”We’ve done more with less.”
”Mmm. Don’t I know it. Goodnight, sweetheart.”
”Night.”
Notes:
For a minute, I was afraid Book was going to say Moll was his daughter. His mentor's daughter, I can handle, but a secret love child would have been...trite.
I have more thoughts on Hugh’s perspective about Book and our favorite space siblings, but it’s 1:00 am and I have to work in less than eight hours, so I’ll leave it here for the night with an appreciation for the amount of screen time Culmets is getting.
Chapter 692: Style
Summary:
*** MINOR SPOILERS FOR SEASON FIVE EPISODE TWO "Under the Twin Moons" ***
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Chapter Text
Book's under no illusions that the doctor is anything but fully aware he's sidestepping the question. It's not that he resents being asked, not really. For all that Culber might be asking in a professional capacity, it's clear he sincerely does care about Book's well-being.
Which is precisely why I'm not going to answer that right now.
If he weren't here to be helpful, there's every chance in the world he'd make an excuse and leave. Since that's not really an option, he pushes forward, asking Culber what he's put together so far.
Not bad.
"They've got two starships on their tail..." he muses aloud, "one has them on a leash, and they pull this stunt like they're going for style points."
"Okay. Why?"
The doctor is very good, but for all of his perceptiveness, Book is still amazed how no one on Discovery's highly capable command crew can see the obvious.
" 'Cause they're free. Having fun together," he blinks, no longer seeing the display in front of him, "...in love."
He could kick himself for the wistfulness in his voice, but there's no taking it back.
"Means a lot to be together, I would imagine."
It's a leading question disguised as a statement, also one he's not about to answer, because he can tell Culber still doesn't understand. For all it was clear the doctor was struggling with his own demons before the 10-C fiasco, Culber's relationship with Stamets was more solid than duranium, so grounded that they would never seek the adrenaline thrill of danger. He doesn't need his empathic senses to feel the love radiating from them in unguarded moments, to see it in how they communicate with their eyes and bodies. Even lost in his own grief and denial, he'd heard it plain in Stamets' voice when he admitted the helplessness he'd felt when his family was in danger. For all that he used to feel so in tune with Michael, it wasn't anything near the same. He envies them that, the years they've been together and how deeply they know each other so clear.
He's done his reading, talked to Michael, enough to know that the road for them to get there wasn't easy. Still, he's positive that for all they've been through, their disagreements never went as deep as his and Michael's.
Never nearly resulted in getting everyone killed, more like.
"We're here for them, Doc," he nudges Culber's forearm, "not me."
It's not the whole truth, but there's nothing he can do about that either.
Chapter 693: State-of-the-Art
Summary:
Paul and Reno share a mutual dislike of the new technology.
Notes:
Takes place anytime in the second half of Season Three.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Discovery was built specifically for-“
”Your mushroom machine,” Reno drawls. “Believe me, we all know.”
From beneath the console, Adira can see Paul in profile. It's enough to catch his eye roll, and a susurrus of fabric suggesting Reno's probably got her arms crossed (and probably idly leaning against one of the consoles). Adira wonders if the two of them have forgotten they're still there as an unintentional witness, but is coming to realize that the seeming insults are actually friendly. Sort of.
Maybe?
"Anyway. All of these upgrades-"
"Have you been the one crawling through the nacelles making sure all of the systems are integrated? Checking that the polaric warp conduits don't cause a feedback loop in the EPS grid - which, by the way, no one from the future seems to believe we still have - and burn out everything? Detached nacelles, my ass."
By the time she finishes, the deliberately deadpan delivery subsides into something more even.
"Programmable matter."
"Noticed you haven't swapped out any parts of the drive with it."
Paul makes a frustrated noise.
"Just the transducers Adira put in. Not sure how the spores might interact with it other places."
"Exactly. Pipedream for us scrounging around in the dirt as far as these engineers are concerned. The physics hold up, but..."
"Yeah."
Adira scoots out a little further to be able to see both of their faces and has to stifle a laugh at their identical expressions of resigned annoyance. It's not that it's funny at all on its own, but the fact that they agree on something is impressive.
Harrington appears then, waving Paul over to check something near the warp core, and Adira turns their attention back to the task at hand.
"Hey kid," Reno appears leaning over the console a couple of minutes later, "how'd you get Stamets to let you mess with his mushroom machine?"
"Umm. It was a...err. Surprise."
"And he didn't send you packing? Huh."
"...no."
She hums thoughtfully, then starts to head for the stairs. Halfway there, Reno pauses and looks back over her shoulder.
"Keep at it."
Notes:
Absolutely a callback to "Terra Firma, Part Two" where Reno heads to Engineering to complain about Paul and Adira stealing her power, and her response when Paul says, "I haven’t seen you since the dawn of time. Where the hell have you been?"
After two very long years, I've also finally posted a new chapter of When Sorrow Turns to Joy! Whew.
Chapter 694: Salon
Notes:
*** Contains several spoiler photos for S5 E03 "Jinaal" ***
*
*
*
*Because we don't really have enough context yet to figure to frame out a story related to this week's plot, it's only the photos that are spoilers.
Title refers to 'salon' in the French usage, meaning a gathering of individuals to pursue philosophical conversation and discuss the arts.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The months of quiet they had after the DMA was stopped and the Federation was picking up the unfortunately literal pieces from its destruction couldn't last, but they'd been a wonderful respite. Shore leave, ship repairs, marriage...that last warms him thoroughly, so much more than the drink he's sipping possibly could. He realizes his free hand has unconsciously moved to rest over where two rings now sit tucked beneath his jacket, and smiles into his glass. They're heavier together on the chain, but as ever, the weight is grounding. Sometimes, it seems like the perfect metaphor for their relationship: ever-present but not always on display for others to see.
Across the table from him, Michael laughs quietly.
"Good thoughts?"
He surfaces from his momentary reverie, setting the glass back down.
"Yes."
"I'm glad," she sets her elbow on the chair's arm, propping her chin on it, "it's good to see you so...yourself, Hugh."
Her intent is sincere, although he can feel a little of Captain Burnham slipping through to check on Dr. Culber. He returns her smile easily, choosing something noncommittal for the time being.
"Don't I know it."
"So..."
"Mmm?"
"How's the crew?"
That's definitely the Captain asking.
Hugh mirrors her position, leaning on his right elbow and crossing his legs as he tries to answer her question in the most constructive way.
"Without breaking confidentiality, I'd say this ship's crew is no more stressed than usual despite - or maybe especially because? - of the current situation. It's hardly the most outrageous mission we've been sent on."
"Just the meaning of life itself," she murmurs.
"We've saved the galaxy three times, maybe this is just the next step."
That earns him a genuine laugh, and he catches a few heads turned their direction in his peripheral vision.
Good for morale to see their Captain like this.
Michael's smile fades, and she flicks at a stray crumb on the table's surface. It's an odd gesture for someone usually so Vulcan-precise with even her idle movements, but he recognizes it as her building space towards addressing something.
"If I don't say it enough, thank you, Hugh."
"For?"
She straightens, folding her hands in her lap.
"For understanding people. In ways that I...can't."
He uses two fingers to nudge his glass out of the way until he can lean forward across the table, pitching his voice low.
"I'm happy to be where I'm needed. Where I can help."
"And...Paul?"
Ahh.
"Busy cross-referencing every database Zora has access to with potential correlations to that map fragment."
He can tell that's not what she's asking by the slight frown, although it vanishes quickly.
"I see."
Hugh of even a year ago would have been busy trying to not only meet her at the edge of her comfort zone, but actively doing his best to pave a smooth path along the way. Today though, he waits. He lets the silence lull between them, sipping at his drink and meeting her gaze whenever it moves to his face. At last, she nods to herself and drops her chin back onto her hand.
"It's not my place to ask..." she starts, lower lip pressed to her folded index finger, "but. I just-"
"As the Captain? Or as our friend."
"Both?"
There's multiple things he could say. Mostly, he's grateful that Paul and Michael seem to be back on solid ground on a full-time basis. Part of him wonders if the situation with Book might have granted her the empathy that, in his professional opinion, is a requirement for all good Captains to make the right decisions.
Of course, he doesn't say any of that.
"Paul Stamets will always dive headfirst into a new scientific mystery," he smiles, "things are fine."
Michael departs not long after, and he hooks the toe of his boot around one of the chair legs, pulling it closer to the table so as not to hinder anyone's passage. He glances out across the lounge, taking in the buzz of conversation flowing around tables and chairs and the people in them. There's an energy in the room, hints of excitement and curiosity at the new mystery they've been set on.
His eyes settle on the one spot of negative pressure amidst the generally high spirits. Captain Rayner is at the bar, pensive and slightly defensive if the set of his shoulders is anything to go by. He's most definitely someone Hugh would like to get to know better, not least if Michael is naming him her new first officer. There's a deep stillness beneath the gruff, quick-to-action cavalier that he can't quite put his finger on. Some of Rayner's demeanor reminds him of Paul or maybe Jett, a prickly exterior hiding something much more easily-harmed beneath its surface.
So far, he's also done a good job of not crossing paths with the senior staff off-duty. As CMO and counselor, Hugh does his best to always have a welcoming smile and gentle words ready should any of the crew be more comfortable approaching him in the lounge while off-duty rather than making an appointment. Sometimes a private conversation out of context as it were helped more than a formal counseling session in his office, or at least led to the agreement that one ought to be made for the future. He doubts very much that Rayner would be willing to have any sort of conversation besides pleasantries in the lounge.
Still...
An indeterminate amount of time later, he startles a little when fingertips graze over the skin beneath his ear, goosebumps rising. It's a casual touch in passing, there and gone again before he can lean into it, and it signals the arrival of the one person he's sure doesn't expect him to be Dr. Culber tonight.
"Is this seat taken?"
Paul's voice is teasing, but Hugh doesn't miss the side-eye he directs at Rayner. He doesn't wait for an answer to the rhetorical question, settling into the chair Michael had vacated. Instead of the quick peck hello he might have expected, Paul lays his hand over Hugh's on the table, his other holding what smells suspiciously like more caffeine than he ought to be drinking after 2100.
"You-"
Paul smirks.
"It's decaf."
Uniform jacket conspicuously absent, Paul sets down the mug after a generous gulp and pushes up his undershirt sleeves. He's wearing one that went with the old uniforms, so Hugh's treated to the sight of his forearms beneath the navy cuffs rather than bare arms. On the next breath he also catches a whiff of medical disinfectant, which is odd considering Paul hasn't been anywhere near the medbay all day as far as he knows.
"Mmm. Long day?"
"Tilly brought her cadets to tour Engineering. One of them," his voice takes on exaggerated preciseness, "discovered his heretofore unknown predisposal for vertigo in close proximity to the light patterns generated by an active warp core."
That would do it.
"...ouch. In the line of fire?"
Paul winces, but it's mostly for show.
"Something like that. At least he figured it out now, instead of on assignment."
"True," Hugh flips his hand palm-up, inviting. "All these cadets...all grown up post-Burn. All the things we take for granted about space travel-"
"A lot of them are just getting used to," Paul finishes, fingers curling around the side of Hugh's hand.
"Yeah."
Paul makes a pleased noise when Hugh's fingertips stroke the underside of his wrist before tugging gently.
"Come on. I could use a shower."
"Oh?"
"Mmhmm," he smiles, nudging Hugh's ankle with his boot, "you get to wash my hair."
Chuckling, Hugh shakes his head fondly and lets Paul pull them to their feet.
"Do I get...payment for the privilege?"
Paul squeezes his hand and winks.
"I think that can be arranged."
Notes:
I have so many questions about why Hugh's jacket is unzipped in all of the scenes shown on what I assume to be Trill, but everyone else seems fully dressed. Like, are they attempting to turn him into a temporary host and have to have access? Did he come straight from the gym and his chest and abs overpowered the zipper? :P An unzipped jacket is always Paul's thing, when he's been working too long / too hard.
Also, Book, Michael, and Hugh are all wearing the sleeve attachments that I assume are programmable matter controls. Nitpick from me - Hugh's left handed, so it ought to be on his left cuff, not the right :D
We'll see if the muse can work those photos into a story before Wednesday at midnight.
Originally I was framing a quick snippet around Hugh sitting in the lounge looking pensive, but setting the scene to figure out why he would have that expression made me pull in more photos and build a wider story
Edit: Apologies for any confusion, the pics are available at https://www.startrek.com/gallery/first-look-discovery-jinaal
Chapter 695: Symbiont
Notes:
Takes place just after Hugh and Tracy scan the symbiont in S3E03 "Forget Me Not".
***NOTE: This is prior to Adira expressing their preferred pronouns to Paul, ergo they are referred to as “she” here.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Every critical system in my body is connected to Tal. Wake up with a squid in your abdominal cavity, you'll do your homework too..."
He doesn't think it's false bravado so much as acceptance in the face of something that seems insurmountable - in this case, Adira's past - that drives her resolve.
"Well, there's no way to know. There's no precedent." He keeps his voice light, careful to make sure his tone doesn't suggest he's not taking Adira seriously. "So we have two choices: I can start digging around your hippocampus, hoping to find an answer-"
Adira's eyebrows fly up, and her expression briefly reminds him of Paul's incredulous face.
"Bad."
"Bad," he nods in acknowledgement, "or, we take you to Trill."
Swish
"So," Tracy props her hip on the recently-vacated biobed, "what do you think?"
"About our chances of the Trill being helpful?"
"About Adira."
He sighs, leaving the scan results up on the display and folding his arms across his chest.
"Well, I understand about not knowing who you are," Hugh's lips quirk in a wry smile, "but not like this. She's...she's sixteen. I'm sure that's still hard enough to begin with, let alone everything else."
Tracy hums thoughtfully, tidying away the scanner.
"So young. But old too, which I'm guessing is the symbiont whether she consciously realizes it or not."
"Probably had to grow up fast, if our experience at Earth is representative of things. Although whatever it was, she's very adept at engineering."
"Mmm. I'm sure Paul loved that."
They share a quiet laugh. Paul had indeed not been pleased with the threatening intrusion, let alone anyone unapproved handling the spore drive. But...
"She talked to him though. Out of everyone, he's the one she told about Senna Tal."
"He still thinks he's terrible with kids?"
"Yeah. Nella would disagree, but-" Hugh's voice catches as his brain catches up with his mouth.
There's a tightness in his chest that's nowhere near physical, and he forces himself to slowly exhale. Tracy's hand lands on his forearm, not squeezing or pulling, but simply present, the way she's been for the last twenty-odd years. She doesn't comment when he takes a shuddering breath or stares determinedly at the inside of his eyelids for a full minute, waiting patiently.
"...sorry."
"Hugh."
"I don't regret it," he opens his eyes, blinking a few times. "But I miss them."
There's nothing that can be said that isn't a platitude or going to stir up even more emotions than either of them want to deal with on duty. She nods once, then turns to face the display again, studying the nerve and tissue connections in understanding silence while waiting for him to join her.
”She says it’s protecting her," Tracy muses a few minutes later, "and she doesn't seem afraid of it."
"Before today, I'd never seen a scan of one outside of 'Fleet Med, and no one could ask. I need to finish reading up on what we've got from her, and the Sphere."
She highlights a few nerve pathways, watching as Hugh follows the neurotransmitter release and impulse pathways on a time lapse.
"I'd love to know just how aware Tal is of what's going on, given that Adira can't seem to communicate directly. Those," she traces a curved line with a fingertip, "are definite neural pathways tapped into the spinal cord, but I can't tell if there's a direct pathway to the brain. Sharing space and experiencing the world through the host to the point they're physically integrated into the host's body...almost feels like a philosophical question. Is it conscious sharing?"
“Usually,” Hugh chuckles and braces himself, "the only other person allowed to use my body is Paul."
Tracy’s back-of-the-hand smack to the arm doesn’t hurt, and she shakes her head ruefully.
”Walked right into that one, didn’t it?”
“Mmhmm."
They spend the next hour or so digging through the files Adira shared from her tie-in to the Earth-based information systems, merging and comparing to the vast library available from the Sphere, although it's challenging to stay on task with 930 years of scientific and medical discovery on hand.
"That's your thinking face," Tracy passes him a mug of tea, "care to share?"
Hugh takes a sip, letting the fragrant steam settle on his skin.
"Serious answer to your question. Just thinking...Paul’s still the only person I’d trust to be that connected. You, obviously, but I'm not sure what it would be like to-“ he frowns, “merge like that.”
"Like Adira isn't."
"Mmhmm."
"Well. Let's hope the Trill are willing to help us find some more answers."
Notes:
So...in TNG we see that Trill's hosting a symbiont seems like a very little known fact. Given that Dr. Crusher is at the forefront of medicine and didn't immediately know about it, I'm going to assume that a lot more information was gathered in the period afterwards. Being from the future, Adira would be aware of the facts, but I'm surprised there isn't more "omg, wait what?" on Discovery. To try and align with canon, I've decided Adira must have shared an infodump at some point after they leave Earth to augment the past information that comes from the Sphere.
Yes, this entire chapter was written as set up for Hugh's line about sharing his body with Paul :D
Chapter 696: Sigurado
Summary:
The night before Trill.
Notes:
*** MINOR SPOILERS FOR S5 E03 "Jinaal" ***
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*
*
*
Title translates to "sure" in Tagalog.The first part is directly from the episode.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Long day already?"
Hugh knows the answer before he even asks the question, and it's confirmed when Michael looks down as he squeezes her arm. It lasts less than two seconds, then she's meeting his gaze again.
"Oh, I just couldn't sleep."
"Brings up a lot of big questions."
"You too, huh?"
He nods.
"Tossing and turning all night," he frowns, then gently redirects the conversation, "have you tried Vulcan meditation yet? Helped you as a kid."
Michael's eyes narrow briefly, then her smile clears the unease in the air around them.
"Do you remember every detail anyone's ever told you?"
No, that's Paul.
He doesn't tell her that he reviewed her file last night before bed, or that he's been carefully keeping an eye on both her and Book as the mission and mystery unravels.
"It's part of my job."
The night before...
Paul falls asleep with the Romulan puzzle-map floating a foot over his chest, the shallow, quick breaths of intense focus slowing. Hugh can almost hear the wheels in his head spin to a halt as his brow smooths and the fingers picking at a line of stitching on the quilt fall still. He waits a couple of minutes before collapsing the display, then sets aside his own reading on Trill physiology in favor of turning out the lights.
Predictably, Paul stirs when Hugh gathers him into his arms, blinking and mumbling.
"...m'workin..."
He chuckles, smoothing the covers over them and settling Paul's head more comfortably on his shoulder.
"Sleep, love. It'll still be there in the morning."
It's telling how tired Paul is that he doesn't protest, just tips his chin up for a sleepy goodnight kiss and tucks his nose against Hugh's neck. Hugh closes his eyes, willing his own body to relax and stilling his thoughts. Tries to, at any rate, because there's too many things on his mind.
The long vacation following their successful mission to stop the DMA had given him a sense of stillness, days spent dragging Paul through Cabo Rojo and visiting museums helping to separate Dr. Culber from Hugh himself. He'd returned to duty refreshed, introspection complete - or so he'd thought - and the parts of him that felt adrift in uncertainty anchored again.
A few days ago, his greatest concern had been Paul and how he was handling the news about the spore drive program. While his heart ached at the disquiet and resentment it evoked, it was something he knew he could help with, once Paul was ready to listen. This though...
What happens when we find answers?
Where do we and everything go from there?
Will it be enough?
It would be easy to compartmentalize, placing the Progenitors' advanced technology in the realm of complicated but ultimately parsable knowledge. Most of the crew is excited about the prospect, a ship of overachievers and curious scientists happy to get their hands on a new quandary. Hugh would have put himself squarely in that category, still does for the most part, but there's a growing sense of worry as Michael's friend, Book's counselor, and Paul's husband.
Look what happened the last time Book felt he had no choice but to pursue something.
Has he changed, or will he strike out on his own again?
How is Michael going to react?
What happens when this mystery is solved and Paul needs something new to pour himself into?
Round and round the questions circle as Paul slumbers, the weight of him against Hugh's body keeping him grounded as his thoughts spiral upwards towards the light of the stars. Sleep is elusive though, despite the comfort of Paul's heartbeat beneath his palm and the warmth of their bed beneath him. Hugh snatches five broken hours of rest, and that will have to be enough.
So much uncertainty.
Notes:
Pausing at 3:35 in and rewinding? Oh yes.
Chapter 697: SpaceDad
Summary:
*** SPOILERS FOR S5 E03 "Jinaal" ***
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*
Notes:
So much content! Doing my best with first impressions tonight, more to come.
I know I've used Space Dads / Space as a chapter title before, but how could I not use it here too?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The readings from the Romulan tricorder are...well. Messy doesn't cover it, not when Zora and Paul and Tilly and Adira can't find a hint of an encryption key anywhere. The data isn't damaged as far as he can tell, but it might as well be for all the good it's done them.
Adira and Reno are talking over by the reaction cube, and he tunes in enough to hear Adira mention Gray. They've been nervous all morning, downing raktajino at breakfast fast enough that Hugh had gently teased them about replacing their blood with coffee.
"...I really want everything to be perfect today."
"Hey, give him my love, will you?" he calls over before turning his attention back to the analysis. There's almost a pattern in the metadata, if it's actually metadata, but it doesn't quite fit-
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
Reno fixes him with a look through the readings, and he nods.
"Uhh, yeah? This jumble of numbers from the Romulan tricorder?" he shakes his head, dismissing the display again, "I can't make sense of it."
"I was talking about Adira. Come on, Space Dad, six months apart and then being that nervous to see him?"
Her tone implies that it's a significant statement, but he's not sure what she's getting at.
"You were young once," she points at him with her chin, "you know what that means."
There's no trace of needling for once, and he's not sure what to do with that. A few months ago, the comment would have been delivered with a smirk about his age (not that he's older than her). Reno's softened, though he'd never say it to her face, and he's glad Adira's talking to her. He wasn't really listening, but he can't imagine them discussing anything overly personal in the middle of Engineering.
She can't be-
His mind does a full stop and reverses at maximum warp away from thinking about his own history of separation from Hugh, and especially what reunions meant in explicit detail.
Nope. No. Not happening.
"Oookay," he can feel his eyebrows climb towards his hairline as realization hits, "that's not my business."
"No," Reno rolls her eyes, "trouble in paradise, genius. Six months of trying to act like everything's normal? Ughh...that kid's like a lamb off to the slaughterhouse right now."
She's not being dramatic, and a kernel of worry plants itself in his stomach.
"What?"
He can hear his voice pitch upwards, and it's telling that Reno doesn't even seem to notice.
"Yeah."
"No," he shakes his head, smiling only a little awkwardly, "it'll be fine. They're fine."
Reno gives him an unreadable look that both seems to imply he's missed an obvious point and seems oddly sympathetic to the fact that he sounds like he's trying to convince himself.
Shit.
"Should I be worried?"
She sighs.
"Nah. Everyone's on a journey, we come together, we come apart..." she shakes her head abruptly. "Wow. I just sounded like a woowoo asshole. Ehh, they'll be fine. But, everything's got a half-life, so..."
What he'd really love to do is talk to Hugh right about now, but that's not an option until he gets back from Trill.
Hugh will be there, he tells himself, he'll make sure things are okay when Adira sees Gray, right?
Notes:
RENO CALLED PAUL "SPACE DAD"!
...sorry, the muse got very excited. Also, that entire scene with Adira, Reno, and Paul in Engineering was pure gold. Ugh. I need entire episodes of this.
Anthony's expression when he says "that's not my business" is priceless.
Chapter 698: Symbiosis, Part One
Summary:
What happens when Paul comes home?
Notes:
*** SPOILERS FOR S5 E03 "Jinaal" ***
*
*
*
*The first part between Hugh and Michael is in the episode, the rest is my coda.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Back in the lounge again less than 36 hours later feels both like no time has passed and that it's been an eternity since he sat by the (holographic) fire with his thoughts. He can hear Tilly's laughter, delighted and free, knows he would be welcome if he joined any other table. Knows this crew is his family. And yet...
A hand lands on his shoulder, smaller and less firm of a touch than who he was hoping would join him. Paul's promised to be home as soon as he's done in the lab and Hugh knows he'll keep his word, but it doesn't stop a tiny flicker of disappointment. It's an unrealistic expectation for Paul to shirk his science, and he wouldn't be the man Hugh loves if it were the case.
Still.
He smiles at Michael, lets her draw him into conversation about their experience on Trill.
Maybe it’s better to get your thoughts together before talking to Paul?
"Having another consciousness inside of me? I mean, I was there, but I wasn't. How's that even possible? How does that work?"
He feels his body trying to shrug even as shakes his head, caught between a sense of wonder and a feeling that he's stepped off a cliff without realizing it.
"How," he continues with a sigh, "do I begin to explain...any of that?"
"I suppose you can't," Michael gives him a tired smile, "at least not with the science we have now. Doesn't mean it's unknowable, right?"
"Maybe. Makes me think of my abuela," he swallows past the tightness in his throat, thinking of the home he grew up in with its wood paneled walls and decorations. "She was a doctor too. She filled her home with religious icons. Catholic church, Buddhism, Santeria...all sorts of faiths. She used to tell me that it was a reminder that not everything has to have an answer," he nods, "but I'm not sure I'm okay with that."
He's in his pajamas when the door to their quarters swishes open, and he gives the stars one last look before turning to greet Paul.
"Hi," he murmurs after a quick kiss, "how-"
"I can't believe I didn't think of it before," Paul's eyes are wide, "but- it was Reno of all people. Reno! Which, by the way, I need to talk to you about too, because...well. Anyway. Half-life, the isotopes were decaying so no wonder it's not making any sense."
Paul's excitement is palpable, and Hugh lets it sink in as he crosses to sit on the edge of the bed while Paul absently undresses. Some of the words are muffled by fabric, but there's a passion in his voice that's been missing. When he pulls his pajama top on, hair gone awry, his eyes are shining.
"The technology- there's so many things it could teach us! The possibilities, Hugh, of...everything from it. And I just have to, have to..." Paul pauses, hands caught mid-gesture, "Hugh?"
It's not difficult to smile when Paul's like this, not when it's something that defines him.
"Hmm?"
Paul tugs at the edge of the duvet, waiting for Hugh to rise long enough to fold it back. The bed dips, then they’re both crawling towards the headboard in unspoken accord. Paul’s hand rests high on Hugh's thigh once they settle, the warmth of his fingers making some of the whirlwind inside of him still.
"I'm sorry. You said you wanted to talk about what happened on Trill, and here I am...sorry. You know-"
Hugh interrupts him with another kiss, this one lingering.
"Don't apologize, sweetheart. I love you like this."
Sighing, Paul gives him a lopsided smile.
"No, I can tell. There's something. What is it?”
“Did you read the mission report?”
He moves to sit facing Hugh, rearranging their limbs until they’re knee-to-knee and reaching for his hands.
”Yes, and I was going to talk to Adira but they’d already gone to bed.”
Hugh nods, glancing down at their entwined fingers. Paul’s palms are slightly damp with sweat, the edges of his nails a little ragged from being chewed, knuckles broader than his own. They’re hands made to manipulate particles and create equations, ever in motion in reflection of Paul’s mind, but when they’re holding Hugh’s, they’re still.
”Jinaal. He was…he was so alive. I couldn’t talk to him, but it was like I was watching a holo looking out of my own eyes.”
There’s the barest twitch of Paul’s mouth, a sure sign he’s biting his lower lip to keep from interrupting, and Hugh loves him all the more for it. He nods instead of speaking, gaze unwavering.
”It felt like a dream almost. I could hear everything, feel the echoes of what he felt. He,” Hugh huffs a quiet laugh, “he appreciated my body.”
Paul’s eyebrows rise.
”Well. Clearly he has good taste.”
A little more of the tension in his spine uncoils at Paul’s deliberate attempt at levity.
”Mmm. I think he was disappointed my voice wasn’t lower. He was so, so…exhilarated, to be able to move and speak and watch the stars. And he did what he and the other scientists thought was needed, to make sure whoever reaches the end of the line is worthy of it.”
”Could you see it, in his mind?”
Paul’s clearly itching to ask more questions, the urge redirected into his right foot shaking against the sheets.
”Not really. It was his consciousness inside of my body, but just me inside my brain. I don’t know how to describe it.”
“And that’s bothering you.”
It’s not a question
”Guardian Xi warned me it would be emotional, but that’s not it. Not exactly. Jinaal’s been dead for centuries, and to have him so fully inside of me, I thought it might be an intrusion.”
A thoughtful hum, then Paul’s foot stills.
”And since it wasn’t, that’s also bothering you.”
“Maybe. Yes? Michael,” he narrows his eyes, remembering, “said maybe there’s answers when we find the technology.”
Paul’s brow scrunches in thought, eyes darting between corners of the room. Hugh lets the silence stretch, suddenly completely exhausted while also certain that sleep is going to be a lost cause again.
”Are you more worried about what we’ll find, or if we don’t?”
It’s a good question.
He doesn’t know what the answer is either.
Notes:
1) I understand the need of the plot to center Michael, but I would have very much appreciated the lounge scene being Paul talking to Hugh. I really, really hope we get to see them having a quiet moment in their quarters discussing it. It feels like a bit of a rehash of Season Four where Hugh is questioning his purpose.
2) Absolutely have to hand it to Wilson for embodying Jinaal in a way that was so very different from Hugh - the lower, rougher voice, the swagger, the smug-but-delighted attitude.
3) I'm...going to need to work on how to integrate what's just become canon with my version of Hugh's abuela. It's not too much of a stretch - I did write Aida as a professor (PhD) of genetics, so him referring to her as a doctor isn't incompatible. The religious icons part will take some consideration.
4) New pajamas that seem to be blue?
5) It's past 3 AM and I have to sit on interviews tomorrow, so wrapping it up here for the night. I still need to revisit Paul's excitement - I can see now how it might end up creating friction between him and Hugh, but I hope that it's not the case *or* that it's resolved between them having that bed conversation.
6) Tilly pushing back on Rayner shows how far she’s grown, and I like that the writers are making his character three-dimensional.
Chapter 699: Sublet, Part One
Summary:
Jinaal appreciates the host he's borrowing.
Notes:
*** SPOILERS FOR S5 E03 "Jinaal"
*
*
*
*What's Jinaal thinking while he's in Hugh's body?
Title refers to him borrowing (subletting) Hugh.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He's been slumbering for so long, the oldest yet not the weakest in Bix's keeping. The symbiont keeps this fragment of him - of all its hosts - safe, waiting. Kalzara, their current host, clings just as stubbornly to life as Jinaal does to the knowledge only he can share. Bix has made a habit of strong-willed hosts, and he wonders how much of that is a reflection of him as first, as his mission became theirs.
Jinaal opens his eyes in the caves at Mak'ala, slowly breathing in.
He has eyes of his own again, and lungs, and a body, and a face that's smiling.
"The transference is complete," the Guardian's voice is restful, calm. "Jinaal's consciousness is within him."
Looking down, he finds legs clad in black and lifts his hands - hands! - with fingers that move and skin almost the same color as his had been.
"What year is it?"
A male voice. It doesn't sound quite right to his ears, straining to reach his own register with vocal cords that probably sound sweeter and more mild than his own rough tones had ever been, but he'll take it.
Oh, he'll take it.
"Thirty-one ninety-one."
A human woman dressed in a red jacket and black pants is speaking. Her braids fall like water as she inclines her head, eyes warm but slightly unsettled.
Whoever this is, must be her friend.
He can feel his host, this body's owner, like a presence behind his shoulder. For now, Jinaal gently holds him off, intent on fulfilling his promise. Slowly, using muscles he'd almost forgotten how to control, he pushes himself to his feet. Rising comes easily, no aches in the joints or stiffness.
Certainly do not miss the arthritis.
"It's good to meet you, Jinaal."
Almost of their own accord, his hands pat his torso down, pressing into firm muscle. This body feels...powerful. Powerful, and clearly prone to an upright posture given how it tries to straighten his own relaxed gait into something stiffer.
Might be how tight this white jacket is though.
"I'm Captain Burnham of the USS Discovery."
The uniform has certainly changed. It's still recognizably Starfleet, but the jacket is a rich primary red, longer than he remembers with a delightfully asymmetric hem. There's no pips at her collar, but the oval-shaped commbadge seems to have them along its side.
Definitely a style improvement.
"I love what they've done with the uniform," he matches her smile with his own, "it's a little formal though. You mind?"
He gestures towards the stiff collar.
"Not at all."
His fingers find an easily opened clasp at the collar behind the metal plaque, and he chuckles when he's met with a zipper.
Haven't improved the technology in...eight hundred years?
It's much easier to breathe once the jacket is open, and he makes eye contact with the taller man standing by Burnham's side, giving him a once-over.
"What about you?"
He's not in uniform, clad in non-descript dark layers that wouldn't have been out of place in Jinaal's time, and the way he holds himself suggests he's Burnham's security.
"You're not Starfleet."
"Unaffiliated professional associate."
Nice euphemism. Starfleet is contracting mercenaries for security? Interesting.
"Ahh, got it. You solved the poem and the riddle," he turns back to Burnham, finding her still smiling. "Very impressive making it this far."
He means it sincerely. She's the first to find him, to properly answer the question, and there's a steadiness to her that reminds him of every good Starfleet captain he'd ever met.
"And now you're here for the clue."
"Yes," she nods, "you have it."
"No," he draws the single syllable out, watching her expression shutter in confusion while trying to maintain a calm front, "but I can take you to it, if you don't mind me getting this uniform a little dirty. I hid it in the canyon, it's not too far from here."
"Eight hundred years ago."
Jinaal is hardly insulted by the skepticism.
"Oh, don't you worry, professional associate" he lets his voice fall, finding the bottom of its range, "it'll still be there. I hide things very well."
"We can beam there," Burnham seems amused, "we have personal transporters now."
Huh.
Didn't consider that would be possible, did you?
"Oh, I don't remember the coordinates," he gestures carelessly, "I just remember the path. Besides, I can't tell you how much I miss the feeling of a nice, long, walk."
It's a lie, but there's no one alive who knows how to spot it. The walk should give him plenty of time to assess their worthiness, patience, and character. As expected, Captain Burnham drops the humor and snaps back into a commanding tone.
"We don't have time-"
"It'll be fine."
'You don't have a choice' is unspoken, and it's promising to see that no one tries to threaten him for the information.
Yet.
He turns, keeping them in his peripheral vision. Burnham speaks to the person to her left, someone shorter wearing a blue tunic. They've been staring at him the whole time as well, and he'll just have to wait and ask this body's owner who they are if Burnham doesn't tell him.
"Come on, keep up. You have a lifetime," Jinaal reminds them, "I only have a few hours."
Moving across the uneven cave floor is effortless, this body easily balanced. His sleeves feel tight when he flexes his arms, and he spares a longer look down his borrowed torso as his hands come to rest on the pronounced ridge of chiseled obliques framing defined abdominal muscles.
"Wow," he marvels, "this guy really works out."
Notes:
To be continued!
Wilson said on The Ready Room that his scene with the zhian'tara was the first one he did as Jinaal, and he knew his delivery and acting was on point because of everyone's reactions :D
Jinaal is a scientist, so I'm assuming he's both observant and able to make quick analytical decisions about people's character from a few data points.
Chapter 700: Spirit, Part Three (Conclusion)
Summary:
T'Vala's parting gift to Hugh and Paul.
Notes:
Follows on from Chapter 527 ("Spirit, Part Two") wherein T'Rina takes Hugh and Paul to visit T'Vala's katra in the Halls of Ancient Thought. I've been sitting on parts of this since November 2022, and am glad the muse decided I could finally finish it up.
Paul’s quote is from Chapter 301 (“Sane”) when he’s describing what the network allows him to see.
Multiple prior chapters referenced in Hugh's memories; instead of filling the notes, I've linked directly to them within the text.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
With Paul's steady warmth at his back, Hugh tries to take a step forward but isn't so much met with resistance as he's unable to feel his body at all.
"I can't move."
"We are in your mind, Doctor," T'Rina reminds him serenely, "you need only envision what you wish to do."
It takes a couple of attempts to separate his concept of self from his body, aided by the fact that there's no real physical sensation in here at all.
"Where do I go?"
T'Rina's spark of light glows brighter.
"Take us to where we may access your memories."
"...okay."
He can't close his eyes in here, so he simply imagines a pathway ahead of them and wishes himself forward. The nothingness around him turns first to mist, shrouding the shadows, then coalesces into a long corridor not dissimilar in appearance to Discovery. A row of doors stretches out beyond the limits of his sight, some marked with the Starfleet Medical caduceus, while others resemble those found in Aida's house, incongruous old-fashioned wood set into the duranium bulkheads. There are a few intersections, and he suspects those might lead to things he really doesn't want to think about. Instead, he leads T'Rina onwards.
"Very good," T'Rina's voice seems to be coming from all around him, "now, you must find and share those memories by which your friend would recognize you. When you have...built an impression of yourself and Healer T'Vala, we may then proceed to look for her."
"How do I open a door without hands?"
"The same way in which you've utilized the metaphor of doors, you may simply...wish them open."
"Ahh."
It was a rhetorical question, and something tickles like teasing fingers grazing his sides. Which is odd, considering that he doesn't currently have a torso to speak of, but-
"Paul?"
The glow emanating from behind him turns a cheerful blue and he has the vaguest sense of fingers entwined with his own.
"Okay," he mutters, "which doors..."
He doesn't have eyes to close to concentrate, but finds that he's being tugged towards certain doors. Those doors open onto memories, some hazy and others sharp as a holo-recording. It must be a side effect of the meld, because while his own memory is excellent, he experiences flickers of scent and taste and the emotions he'd been feeling when each memory was formed.
Hugh walks T’Rina from door to door, memory to memory. He shows her the first time he met T’Vala at Starfleet Medical, standing beside her and Tracy as they were commissioned, introducing Paul to her and their time on Starbase 12 tending the victims of war, and the last time he saw her raising her hand in the ta’al when he departed heading to Earth and Discovery. Hugh remembers her ability to calm frightened children, the way he could almost swear there was amusement lighting her serene countenance when she walked in on them. He recalls her taking notes as he spoke about Paul, of her solemn blessing during their partnership ceremony, of her recorded farewell he received after her death and his own re-embodiment.
Each memory piles feeling upon feeling, a mass of curiosity and joy and fear and deep, deep happiness. The emotions pull at him, his movement between moments slowing. With a growing ache, he remembers T'Vala sitting with Nella on the floor of his grandmother’s living room, cross-legged and patiently explaining meditation techniques while his niece scrunched her eyes closed and tried to follow. He watches her sharing her own grandmother's recipes with Aida, Nella helping to slice vegetables and Paul cuddled against his side, then sitting down to dinner with the Culber clan.
Home.
Family.
There are a few doors left he feels drawn to, but he can't seem to press forward.
"Doctor?"
"I-" he searches for the words, "it's a lot."
The swirling light surrounding him deepens into purple concern.
"Commander," T'Rina's voice is calm, soothing, "please. Your assistance."
A flicker of uncertainty, then the glow surrounds him and Hugh finds himself being steered towards another door. This one opens onto the main ward of Starbase 12, not long after a frantic triage of the hundreds of wounded arriving. Suture wrappings and field dressing packets are scattered on the deck, the sounds of alarms and monitors going off fill the air. He braces himself for the remembered exhaustion and tenuous control of too many emotions locked down behind Dr. Culber's mask, but it doesn't come. Instead, the sights and sounds of the crowded medbay fade, washed away by peace and safety and love. Paul is slouched against a bulkhead and cradling Hugh in his arms, both of them wrapped in a blanket. He's rocking Hugh slowly, head tucked beneath his chin, rubbing his back and murmuring quietly.
Then, the scene shifts just a little into something he doesn't fully remember: T'Vala sitting nearby in a meditation pose, speaking quietly with Paul and himself asleep. It's accompanied by a feeling of concerned protectiveness that didn't come from him, and he realizes that Paul must be augmenting the memory with his own. Underlying all of the worry is a fierce sort of devotion that dissolves the weight of emotions clinging to him, replacing them with affection and care.
Oh.
"Very well done, Commander. Indeed, I..."
"Madam President?"
"My apologies, Doctor. The magnitude of emotion is certainly to be expected, but I had not- I believe I have enough. If you would permit me..."
He follows the T'Rina spark around a corner that he doesn't think was there before, stopping in front of a tall gate covered in ornate Vulcan script. It swings open at their approach and a guest of metaphorical wind rushes by, sweeping past him and through the portico to form a luminous orb. Hugh catches echoes of the memories he'd shown T'Rina impossibly etched on its silver surface, like a drop of mercury suspended in the ether.
S'dar T'lhai T'Vala
Hugh feels T'Rina's call resonate in the bones he doesn't currently possess.
Healer T'Vala
Something ripples through the fabric of the mindscape, traveling out from the orb.
"Is that...?"
If Hugh had spoken aloud, he would be whispering.
"Indeed. Now, we must wait on your friend's katra."
It's both an eternity and mere seconds before something changes. The orb, previously bobbing like a buoy on an invisible current, dims and then turns a rich gold with hints of emerald. Before he can ask, it floats back towards them and stops just on the other side of the threshold.
As if from across a distant bridge, there’s a flicker of…something, a brightness not visible to his eyes but a deeper sense that he can’t quite capture as it passes. In his body, Hugh thinks it might feel like a drop in pressure that sweeps a gale towards it, or the scent of petrichor in the desert. No face appears or voice speaks, but he recognizes that indescribable something. It lingers, like a darting glance that pauses the feet passing by with unexpected familiarity.
There’s a sense of gentle inquisition, calm and polite.
"T'Vala? It's Hugh."
Thoughtfulness then, and curiosity.
"Can we speak?" he asks T'Rina.
"What would you wish to say?"
"That I miss her. I'd tell her that I love her as dearly as my family, that her friendship was important. And having her with me near the end, I couldn't have done it without her. That I'm sorry if Paul and I ever embarrassed her, and I loved how certain she was that we were meant to be together. I wish we could have known each other longer. Can she hear me?"
"Not as such," T'Rina replies, "I'm afraid that would require a level of telepathy which few humans possess. You may share an...understanding, perhaps, would be the best way to describe it. A memory which encompasses a thought and the feelings you wish to express."
Okay.
Hugh gathers his thoughts. He brings to life a memory from years ago, in the on-call room at Starfleet Medical, Tracy passed out beside him and Paul asleep with his head in Hugh's lap while he tries to explain the importance of physical affection. Concentrating, he recreates bits of their conversation as best he remembers, the fond amusement while he tried to explain how he experienced love. He thinks about her at the Culber family dinner table with Paul and Tracy, the happiness at both parts of his family being together.
The orb spins, metaphorical light glinting off its surface in a way that reminds him of the warmth he sometimes thought he saw in her gaze. Its illumination spreads, crossing the threshold, and it's so many things at once. He feels gratitude, then intense curiosity, satisfaction and the barest hint of amusement as the light continues to expand past him, into the glow behind him.
For a brief moment, he thinks he might hear her say, "mate", then the corridor and gate dissolve away and the only thing he can feel is Paul's presence, a single star in the vast emptiness of space that he's hurtling towards. There's no fear, only certainty as they grow closer and closer.
They collide.
Union.
Connection more intimate than anything achieved through physical touch, closer than their most tender lovemaking.
Trust.
He knows how much Paul loves him, feels it in every glance and touch. This though...he experiences Paul‘s love from the inside, the utter abandon and trust it’s given with. Hugh sees himself through Paul’s eyes, and it's almost too much. He’s teased Paul about thinking of him with some sort of halo, but he understands now how good his partner sees him as, Paul's pride and delight and joy.
("You shine, Hugh," Paul murmurs, "I can see your love for me. Like a light in the dark...I wish I could show you.")
Hugh surrounds himself with the golden warmth, opens himself to it and gives his own in return. He offers his own sight so that Paul can’t shy away from the adoration there, shows him sunlight and the vault in his heart overflowing with their moments.
It's being held in Paul's arms, heartbeat beneath his cheek, the certainty and sweetness and presence.
It's the softness and fire of their first kiss, the wonder of waking up beside him on that first morning and the rightness of every day since.
It's the first time Paul murmured "I love you".
It’s a synthesizer programmed to automatically produce Hugh’s favorite hot drinks when he gets home and Paul isn’t already there.
It's desire and hunger for each other's bodies as a way to communicate their love.
It’s watching Paul and a ten year-old Nella halfway up a tree in Amazonia, identical expressions of scientific delight when they find a rare sample of fungus.
It’s waking up in the middle of the night to find Paul sitting up to listen to Adira talk a light year a minute from where they’re perched on the edge of the bed.
It’s finding Paul barefoot and wearing his faded old Starfleet Medical t-shirt.
It's Paul explaining a new theory, face animated and hands emphasizing each point.
It’s Paul shaking like a leaf in the wind in the purple light of the network with his hand outstretched, terrified and brave and hoping.
It's bruised knuckles and fear and pain and heartbreak and disappointment and grief and determination.
It's all of the places they’ve experienced hurt, grown and healed and chosen to come back together.
Hugh shows him everything and feels it reflected back again, overwhelming as it wraps around him. He's so full and alive and everything he's ever experienced is the palest shadow of what he can feel now. There are no barriers between them, boundaries of self blurred and insignificant.
It's everything.
It's...
...with more than a twinge of regret that he settles back into awareness of his own body, mourning briefly for the place of separation where he ends and Paul begins.
He opens his eyes with a gasp, the icy-hot psi touch points fading, and finds Paul watching him with so much tenderness that his eyes sting.
"You..."
Felt that too, is on the tip of his tongue, but it's unnecessary.
Paul cradles Hugh's face in his palms, leaning forward until their foreheads touch, noses brushing and dampness on his cheeks.
"Yes, dear doctor," his eyes shine, "I do."
Their kiss is gentle, bridging the infinitesimal distance between them as their lips meet.
The scuff of a boot sole against the immaculately clean stone beneath their feet reminds him of where they are and that they're not alone. He takes an automatic step back, finds Paul's hand waiting for his as they turn to face T'Rina who appears to be studiously examining the katric ark.
"Madam President," Hugh's throat is scratchy with raw emotion, "that...thank you. I don't have the words."
T’Rina’s countenance is serene, but the amount of wonder and understanding in her eyes when her gaze meets his is vast.
”Doctor, Commander,” she murmurs, “it is I who must thank you.”
In his peripheral vision, Paul looks as confused as Hugh feels.
"For?"
”For letting me bear witness to the depth of your bond. We of Ni’Var who choose it…it is undertaken and evaluated for compatibility of purpose and temperament. It is based on mutual respect, support, and understanding. Yours is,” she pauses, a tiny frown creasing her brow, “profound."
Paul squeezes his fingers, and Hugh smiles.
He and Paul thank T'Rina again after they finish the descent. Not long after, they're returned to Discovery's familiar corridors, brightly lit and full of crew walking them, the lifeblood of a ship. They don't say a word as they enter their quarters, during their shower, or while brushing their teeth. Rather, they exchange looks and the small touches that speak for them until they're tucked into bed and the silence evaporates.
"Wow."
Hugh snuggles into Paul's side, nodding as he tucks his foot between Paul's ankles and brings them as close as their physical bodies allow.
How could words ever describe that?
"I...yeah."
"She gave us that."
Paul's arms around him tighten and he returns the embrace fiercely.
"Thank you, T'Vala," he whispers into the crook of Paul's neck, the warm space that belongs to him, blinking away the moisture threatening to spill.
He doesn't hide there long, not when Paul's hand gently coaxes him up for a kiss that lingers, close-mouthed and chaste.
"I love you."
Paul's eyes are just visible in reflected starlight, full of a familiar softness that Hugh now knows from the inside out.
"I love you too, sweetheart."
Hugh lets Paul roll him onto his side, spooning up behind him with a content sigh. There’s a little bit of shifting, sorting out whose feet go where and getting Hugh’s shirt pulled up enough for Paul to rest his hand on bare skin, but they settle soon enough.
He’s drifting on the edge of sleep when a thought floats by, and he smiles.
I think T’Vala understands now.
Notes:
In my headcanon, since Hugh is psi-null, he wouldn't have the same realistic experience in a meld like Michael does with Sarek. While T'Rina is able to bring him and Paul into the meld, they don't manifest in their bodies and she's only able to "speak" with Hugh directly.
This began as two parts - Hugh saying goodbye to T'Vala as one, and his experience sharing feelings with Paul as the other. As I edited and expanded it out to just under 2,500 words, it only seemed right to keep them together to celebrate not just the joy that is Culmets, but reaching 700 chapters.
Thank you all for making this possible. I am so very grateful to wake up to comments from Finnegancat, LadyRiona, absolutedisaster, goblinofthewords, and alcemydd every time I post a new chapter these days. Thank you to everyone who reads - for those who kept me writing when I started this adventure in early 2020 and those who may have just stumbled into the fandom.
We Go Together began as a means of creative expression that turned into exploring my own perceptions and experiences through Paul and Hugh's stories. It introduced me to the term demisexual, and helped me understand myself even as it gave voice to the characters themselves. This has been a refuge when I burned out writing too many multi-chapter epics at once (which I promise are not abandoned), and I'll keep writing as long as there are still stories to tell.
Chapter 701: Surly, Part One
Summary:
*** SPOILERS FOR S5 E04 "Face the Strange" ***
*
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*
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A few moments between moments.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Reviewing the Romulan tricorder data is giving Paul a neck ache.
Or maybe it's being 52 and sleeping on Hugh's pillow instead of yours.
The memory of exactly why they were too tired to move all of the bedding back to where it belonged last night almost makes up for the muscle spasm. ‘Almost’ being the operative term, and he grimaces as it twinges again. In fact-
What?
His neck falls further down the list of priorities when he notices the small mechanical spider skittering across the wall of spore canisters behind him.
Huh.
Please tell me that isn't one of Reno's new drones...
The spider leaps from the wall to the power distribution subsystem access panel, and the action sends a shiver down his spine in a peculiar way that he hasn't felt since-
"Oh no," he shakes his head, "no, not again."
Between one blink and the next, the spider seems to dissolve into the panel.
"Stamets to-"
FLASH.
>> 2255 <<
It's a sunny day in San Francisco, one that could really only be better if Hugh were here to watch Discovery's space frame being built. Paul's still torn between pride at an entire starship being built to house his spore drive, ambivalent about Starfleet's decision to finally pay attention to "that Stamets-Straal mushroom project", and abhorrence of the war that's driving this sudden change. He'd been happy on Deneva, albeit too far apart from the man he loved most of the time.
They'd enjoyed the past few weeks living together in Hugh's flat overlooking the Bay, even with days full of a grueling pace of shipbuilding and some of the worst war-wounded being brought to Medical for treatment. Being able to fall asleep and wake up beside each other, to make love as often as they wanted ("Hugh," Tracy grouses without heat, pointing at the hickey on his neck, "I swear, the two of you are worse than the Academy dorms.") was amazing, up until Hugh received orders naming him temporary CMO of Starbase 12, effective immediately.
Still-
Paul's train of thought comes to an abrupt halt, gaze no longer focused on the blueprints on his PADD. He blinks in the late morning sunlight, eyes widening as an odd sensation crawls over his skin. It's the wrong time of day for mosquitoes, and he's not even outside. He doesn't have long to dwell on that as his ears start ringing and he sways with sudden vertigo.
"What the..."
Dread coils in his stomach, and he has no idea why. He takes in a shaky breath and clears the blueprints off the screen with a flick of his fingers, opening up his messages. Paul's never been much of one for premonitions - not the kind that can't be explained by scientific phenomena - but it can't hurt to check on Hugh, right? Surely-
FLASH.
>> Stardate 1051.8 <<
Something stronger than deja vu crashes into him as the world tips sideways and he tries to draw a deep breath, but his chest explodes with pain.
Fuck.
No, the ship exploded into you.
This is-
Bad.
Time travel.
"Paul, what happened?"
Hugh's voice cuts through the haze, a raw edge to it that he remembers all too well.
"A bug..." he manages, "a scary bug."
Why did it have to bring me here?
Hugh runs the scanner probe over his chest, jaw clenched.
"Listen, please, I need to get to Engineerin- oh god! I forgot how bad this hurts..."
Struggling to sit up with several inches of duranium sticking out of his heart is a terrible idea, and the white-hot pain shooting through his chest reminds him why a few seconds too late.
"You've been impaled Paul," Hugh shakes his head, checking the biobed readout, "you should be in an induced coma."
Because he's no longer the Paul Stamets who, hours before, said a non-goodbye to the love of his life, he can see the carefully concealed panic hiding behind Dr. Culber's mask. He suppresses the urge to reassure him, to tell Hugh that he - that they - are going to be fine.
Can't contaminate the timeline.
His vision is blurring at the edges, and his fingers are starting to go numb.
"No, no no no, you can't do that. Zora?"
"Who is Zora?"
That's Dr. Culber engaging his patient to keep them calm and conscious, and he kind of hates it right now.
"She doesn't exist yet."
"You're okay-"
"No no no, I-"
"-I've got you."
He remembers how much easier and yet more difficult this was the first time around, when he wasn't sure if he was just hallucinating Hugh in his dying moments, when he wasn't sure if he'd actually wake up on the other side.
This is so much worse than Mudd's time loop.
At least that always started out with seducing Hugh.
"I need to get out of here, I need to find a way out of this."
"You're not going anywhere," Hugh's face swims back into view, brow furrowed, "you need to rest."
"No, Hugh, I need to help," he pleads, "I might be the only one who can."
"It's okay," Hugh's voice is soothing, right hand moving closer with the hypospray even as his left squeezes Paul's wrist.
"No no no, please-"
FLASH.
>> Stardate 865422.4 <<
Duranium fails to dent duranium as he tugs futilely at the cuffs securing him to the railings in Engineering.
Why does it have to be today?
Ironic, considering he'd happily let Hugh tie him to the headboard last night.
Not helpful.
Thankfully, no one seems to have noticed that he's awake yet. He slouches forward again, chin down, and wracks his brain.
Not a time loop, but a temporal flux of some kind.
What's causing it?
How do I stop it?
He glares at the power distribution access panel from beneath his lashes.
Bug.
What's it tapping into the power for?
In Mudd's loop, he'd at least had Michael's help in figuring things out. Until he learns otherwise, he's going to have to assume he's on his own for this one. He needs data, needs to analyze the variance and check for tears in subspace.
Where's it going to send me next?
FLASH.
Once the ringing in his ears stops, he breathes a sigh of relief when Engineering is delightfully free of Emerald Chain hijackers.
"I'm waiting, Doctor Truffles."
Reno approaches before he can even check the stardate, tone suggesting it's not the first time she's asked whatever question it is.
"You mean..." he pastes on what he hopes is an amiable smile, “right! Of course, you need...for the..."
Planting her hands on her hips, Reno rocks forwards and back again.
"The reference calculations for the injector coil."
"Right," he nods again.
"And I don't need anything. You suggested," she holds her hands up in mock defense, "quite dramatically if I might add, that I double check the reference numbers of a fix that I've done a million times."
"Yes! Yes, of course," he glances down at the PADD, hoping past-him had conveniently had the information available, "for the injector coil that burned out during the OBD diagnostic."
"Way back ten minutes ago."
Reno's biting sarcasm and badge, the length of Harrington's hair, and the press of augments in his forearms tells him they're sometime during or after Discovery's retrofit in the future. She'd been justifiably cranky about the whole thing, although he'd been more than a little distracted thinking about how he and Hugh were slowly finding their way back towards each other.
What a difference time travel and saving the universe makes.
"Right. Well, uhh, yeah," he indicates the PADD, "they're, they're right here."
She leans in to look with the air of someone making a concession.
Cranky or not, she's a great engineer.
Actually...
"Hey, so, since I've got you here," he tries for casual and probably fails miserably, "and I'm not sure when I'll get you again uhhh, I thought I might get your take on umm, a theoretical predicament I've been mulling, in case it ever came up?"
He's not any better at lying, and his voice is pitching upwards in a way that isn't helpful. Reno hadn't known him quite as well at this point, which could be a good thing.
"Okay..."
"Say some...temporal unpleasantness were to hit the ship. Umm, to nullify it,” he taps his chin, “I just need to calibrate a chroniton stabilizer to partition world lines per Scaravelli's constant, right?"
"Theoretically yes," Reno fixes him with a look that says she's humoring him, "so long as you factor dimensional variations."
"Ahh."
Her eyes narrow, and she tips her head with a shrewd stare.
"Are you stuck in a time loop right now, Stamets?"
…wait.
"What?" he laughs, although it sounds more like he's suppressing a cough, "No. What?"
She huffs a laugh of her own and shoves at his shoulder.
"I'm just messing with you. Don't bury your mind in the abstract for too long," she tosses over her shoulder as she turns to leave, "you'll turn into a Rothgow painting."
Well, that could have been worse.
He sets the PADD down, straightening when a flash of red appears from the access ladder.
"Psst, Stamets," Michael hisses, beckoning him.
I don't remember her here rapidly changes to wait, that's the wrong uniform...
Maybe he's not so alone after all. He needs to clear Engineering though, if they're not going to accidentally change the future. There's no time to create a distraction, so he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind:
"Uhh, there's been a spore breach! Evacuate now or umm...mushrooms will grow on your lungs! Go. Go!"
It's telling that the crew doesn't stop to question him once they hear his tone of voice, and he's going to have to revisit that later. For now, Rayner emerges from behind Michael, and Paul's disproportionately happy to see them both.
"How are you two even here?"
"We were beaming when the cycling started," Michael shakes her head, "and we get sent back to the ready room after each reset."
"I am so happy to see you, I could cry."
It's slightly hyperbolic, but it's the truth.
"I'm so happy to see you too. Have you had any problems?"
"No, no no no," he waves his hands for emphasis, "I've just been repeating my past actions, some of which have been deeply unpleasant, but I did get to see Linus stuck in the replicator again."
If I don't laugh I'm going to scream.
"...some kind of a time bug."
"Yeah, aptly named, and I know where it is," he crosses to the panel, pulling it off. "Yeah, it embedded itself in the power distribution subsystem."
"Okay," Rayner shrugs, "so let's wrench it out-"
He barely catches Rayner's wrist before he makes contact. His forearm feels like steel, but he doesn't resist when Paul redirects him away from the panel.
"Oh no no, easy now! It's not that simple. If removed improperly, incalculable timelines might converge at once, ripping every molecule around us into infinite directions over and over again for eternity."
At least they seem to believe him.
Time passes faster.
"Nice and quiet," Michael remarks as she clears the ladder.
"He cleared it with another spore breach," Rayner adds.
"Yeah, I'm a little disturbed that my crew doesn't know that isn't a real thing."
"All right, I am very grumpy," he announces as he sweeps into the spore drive bay. "just absolutely irate, and I need to be left alone."
Being back in Lieutenant Stamets' body is...well. He'd forgotten how much the damn augments itch, but it's versimilitude.
"That was faster than your spore breach excuse," Rayner comments, coming into view.
"I was a tad more surly pre-tardigrade DNA."
Just a bit.
Notes:
1) I was worried because last week's episode was a bit of a mixed bag (Hugh and Tilly were amazing!), but this...oh this. Right back to classic Trek time travel and I was here for it. I loved "Magic to Make the Sanest Man Go Mad", and this surpassed it. The seamless cutting together of past scenes was awesome, Paul clearing Engineering with overblown declarations of grumpiness made me laugh out loud, and so much more.
2) Rayner turned a corner, Michael learned to compromise, and Paul got to be "grumpy Stamets" at his finest.
3) Props to the props and costume department for ensuring Paul's wearing the correct number of pips on his commbadge (and the correct badge, which was in question during "Magic to Make the Sanest Man Go Mad", if I recall correctly). I'm on the fence about whether they darkened Wilson's hair for the medbay scene, because there's a lot less gray visible but it might also be the lighting.
4) Seeing that moment when Paul is looking up at Hugh in the medbay...so many feelings because they've both changed so much since then. Also, Paul's muttered asides ("she doesn't exist yet") make the scene both slightly humorous and even more serious.
5) Tangentially related, I like that they've cut back on the makeup this season. It's more noticeable on Anthony because his natural complexion is a bit pink and too much coverage makes him washed out in Discovery's blue lighting.
6) My headcanon has Paul enticing Hugh to bed to keep him out of Mudd's way during that time loop in Chapter 21 ("Sane").
7) Michael telling Rayner that Paul exists out of time because of the tardigrade DNA was gold. My only quibble is that the DNA enables him to be aware, but it's clear that he's not jumping through time in his physical body. So, technically the pre-DNA Paul in the final (past) timeline wouldn't have had that ability.
I'm working on how to fix that, as well as Linus stuck in the replicator. Stay tuned.
8) You can tell Anthony and Tig were having way too much fun in their scene :D
9) It's 3 am and I have to work in the morning, more to come later. Lots more.
Chapter 702: Shrink
Summary:
*** SPOILERS FOR S5 E04 "Face the Strange" ***
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Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Okay, I need you to press pause on the gruff candor routine," he rounds the console, every bit of fear and frustration finding a sudden outlet, "you have no idea how much pressure I'm under."
Rayner looks thoroughly unimpressed.
"I thought that was your thing. Brilliant scientist that everything's hanging on."
Maybe that was who Lieutenant Stamets was, the man he'd had to be because of the damn war. The man who'd worked too many late nights and took his partner for granted, who used a veneer of arrogance and distance as defense against a domineering Terran imposter, who lost everything.
"Yeah, well, things change."
Hugh.
Adira.
"And not every problem is something you can figure out on your own. You try being the one to keep this ship together so we don't die, and- and erase everything we've ever done from history. And,” his mouth speaks without clearing it with his brain, “even if we make it back, this Progenitor technology we're after? It's...different," he shakes his head, throat tightening, "it's bigger than anything I've taken on before."
Fuck.
Shouldn't have said that.
It's too late to take it back, so all he can do is brace and wait for the inevitable pushback. Rayner had been so quick to cut him off when he’d first addressed the tech, and that had just been excitement.
Here it comes.
Rayner opens his mouth, closes it, and seems to finally stumble over what to say. When he looks up though, his expression isn't one of disdain. Instead, there's an understanding in his eyes like he's finally figured out how to fit the last piece into a puzzle. His shoulders slump almost imperceptibly, and when he speaks, his voice has lost its edge.
"Well, you're not in any of it alone. What can I do to help, right now?"
The tension drains out of the room like it was never there to begin with. Thus far, all of his experiences with Rayner had shown him to be someone whose character stretched far beyond himself, whose presence was solid and unmoving. This person, shrunken back to fit into his physical body, must be the one who was friends with Admiral Vance - Paul couldn't reconcile that before - and who, despite his rough exterior, captained a crew who trusted him with their lives. And Paul can work with that.
Work with him.
We can do this.
Notes:
I absolutely loved this scene with Paul and Rayner. It deserves more than my sleep-deprived brain can give it right now, but this is a start. So much emotional vulnerability, and some odd parallels between Paul's early armor and Rayner's prickly exterior.
Anthony's acting here was so believable.
Chapter 703: Surly, Part Two (Interlude)
Summary:
*** SPOILERS For S5 E04 "Face the Strange" ***
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They have eight minutes from the moment Paul steps out of the turbolift.A lot can happen between Deck 13 and Engineering.
Notes:
Text up until Michael heads off to her quarters is taken from the episode.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"...Paul, we saw our possible future. We can't let it happen. We cannot fail."
Just what he needs.
FLASH.
It's easier to slip out of Engineering this time and he heads straight for the nearest turbolift, his frown an effective deterrent as he walks as fast as he can without running.
"So the next reset is in eight minutes," he barely waits for the doors to open before speaking, "so let's be quick. The good news is that this timeline has everything I need to make a chroniton stabilizer..."
Michael's eyes are still a little wild, whatever future she and Rayner saw reflected in them. It's under good control - he doubts anyone who doesn't know her well could tell - but it must have been horrifying.
"Great."
Rayner has all the demeanor of a sentient storm cloud, expression grim and looking completely unsurprised when he hears the sentence trail off.
"And the bad news?"
"The main ingredient is a field-disruptor fluid that's in thirty-second century holodecks," Paul sighs, "and-"
Scared or not, Michael's mind works quickly.
"And around this time, the holodeck in my quarters would have just been installed."
He nods, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling and wincing in emphasis.
Nothing is ever easy on this ship, is it?
"I can go so you don't risk running into anyone."
"The Captain's quarters are biometrically secured, it has to be me. Let's do it now," she declares, "don't know when we'll be able to again."
"In that case, be safe."
It might be all of the time jumping, but Rayner sounds less antagonistic than Paul's ever heard him.
"And fast."
"Meet you in Engineering."
Michael pivots and heads into the turbolift, and he and Rayner set off down the intersecting corridor.
"Okay," Paul rubs his right thumb and forefinger together as they walk, the left hand manipulating the model floating from his tricomm. "We just have to clear Engineering. We're close enough to the present that probably no one would notice, but I'd rather no one recognize you and start asking questions."
"Fair enough."
Paul leads them to a service junction, bypassing three decks. He's just about to set foot back outside the maintenance hatch when his tricomm beeps. His hand rises to flick away the notification - whoever it is won't matter once they reset things - but hesitates when he sees who's calling.
Oh hell.
"Stamets," Rayner pauses, gripping the handle on the hatch, "you said we don't have time-"
Sighing, Paul shakes his head.
"Just...ten seconds."
"Hmph."
He swipes open an audio channel and tries to school any trace of unease out of his voice before answering the person on the other end.
"Hugh? I'm kind of busy right now."
"...are you actually busy, or," Hugh's tone turns teasing and slightly suggestive, "do I need to come down there and order you, Lieutenant?"
Paul's face heats, and he closes his eyes briefly, running a hand over his face. When he opens his eyes, he makes sure to look anywhere except in Rayner's direction. It's the kind of private conversation no one besides them - and occasionally Tracy, much to her dismay - ever hears, but ignoring Hugh or cutting him off would be a great way for him to find himself face to face with the one man in the universe who's never failed to notice when he's not telling the entire truth.
"Actually busy. Later, dear doctor?"
Hugh chuckles.
"All right. See you for dessert?"
He can practically feel Rayner's stare boring holes into his shoulder.
"Promise. Stamets out."
Sighing, he inhales deeply and pulls his focus back to the problem at hand.
"That was-"
"More than ten seconds," he ducks his head, taking two steps towards the hatch, "I know."
Rayner doesn't lift it yet, and Paul's not sure what to make of the squint he's giving him.
"I was going to say, Commander. That was Doctor Culber, the CMO?"
He taps another set of variables into the model to give his hands something to do.
"Yes."
"Your husband?"
"Yes. Not yet now," he flaps a hand, indicating the ship and time around them, "but yes."
If he tries to lecture you about professionalism...
Rayner's eyes narrow further, then he shrugs.
"Huh."
Notes:
Couldn't resist. I figured Rayner read quite a bit off Paul when he snapped at him in Engineering, but wanted to add an extra layer of detail.
Doing a rewatch tonight. I apologize for the previous "Surly" chapter getting spotty at the end, but there was so much content to replay last night that my brain was shutting down. Currently running on four hours of sleep + spending the afternoon being professionally social for work = I need a Culmets fix to wind down.
(Re: Hugh calling Paul ‘Lieutenant’ when he hasn’t been one in a while - let’s just say, their former rank disparity could be fun in bed ;))
Chapter 704: Simultaneous
Summary:
*** SPOILERS FOR S5 E04 "Face the Strange" ***
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'Understatement' would be an understatement.
Notes:
Over 700 chapters and how have I *not* previously used 'simultaneous'?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"...these twenty-third century systems are muddying up in my head with the thirty-second century systems we have now."
As disorienting as jumping through time has to be for Burnham and Rayner, Paul would honestly prefer it. The half-second in the liminal space between Paul-then having Paul-now shoved into his mind and consciousness feels like he's simultaneously drowning and suffocating. Hyperbole aside, the shrapnel to the heart doesn't hold a candle to the sensation of his neurons rewiring in tune with his future self and all of his past selves that the time bug is causing him to overlap with.
Existing in a state of awareness of other that's beyond the three dimensions of Euclidean space is made possible by the tardigrade DNA now fully incorporated in his own genetic code, giving him the capacity to comprehend it all, but it can't do anything about the volume of knowledge temporarily flooding the consciousness of his past self. He's never regretted his choice to hybridize himself, to be able to navigate the mycelial network with even a fraction of the understanding of the tardigrade. It's literally helped him save the universe, but it also came with the burden of other things that can't be undone. So many things.
They've had the time to talk through it, and Paul and Hugh have forgiven each other for their past mistakes a dozen times over. Still, there's probably an adage out there about how hurting someone you love leaves an impression on your own heart, no matter how well-intentioned it might have been. It might be Paul-now's consciousness, but the emotions of Paul-then - whichever one he's briefly possessing - are there as well, an after-image of reaction.
Like an artist painting the same thing year after year then stacking them up, the same shape has a hundred subtle nuances that vary between each iteration, tiny deviations of the brushstrokes by a millimeter that eventually are incorporated into subsequent versions so that it's impossible for all of their edges to line up perfectly. Paul's canvas was already full when the tardigrade DNA catapulted the colors and lines into flux, brightening some brushstrokes and shadowing others, altering his perception enough to see patterns he couldn't have understood before. He's not sure he'll ever be able to fully explain it, not to anyone locked into a corporeal existence bound to the fabric of reality.
(The one constant though, the golden thread running through every iteration in every possibility, is his love for Hugh. It steadies him, gives him something solid as bedrock to cling to when he might be otherwise swept away by the currents of other. Out of everyone, Hugh comes closest to his state of being, and that feels right too.)
So, 'muddying up' is hardly an accurate descriptor, but it's the best one he's got.
Notes:
This scene between Paul and Rayner shows so much character growth for both of them - Paul and his long arc to finally admitting he's come up against something that's beyond the scope of even his intellect to comprehend, and Rayner realizing that connection really is key.
As someone who talks with their hands, I love that it's a Paul trait as well :)
Chapter 705: Spider
Summary:
*** MINOR SPOILERS FOR S5 E04 "Face the Strange" ***
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Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The time bug is exactly where he saw it last when Paul removes the panel. Powered down, it's no more than an inert bit of metal, dark and smoking. He reaches in and plucks it off the conduit, holding it up for a closer look.
"Would've been more satisfying," he tells the device between his fingertips, "if I'd been able to squish you."
"What is that thing?"
Adira finds him examining it, as if using his eyes would be any more effective than the multitude of scanners available.
It reminds him of nothing so much as the kind of synthesized toys Hugh's nieces and nephews had spent one holiday week planting in various locations around Aida's house, to be discovered on the inside of lampshades and on chairs at the most unexpected moments. The house had been full of adult exclamations of surprise - most of them remembering not to use profanity - followed by snickers and giggles from the kids lurking around the nearest corner. Aida had indulged them for five days, but the fake bugs magically vanished when she found one tucked into a simmering pot of soup.
(As Nella's favorite uncles, Hugh and Paul probably had it a bit easier than the other adults. Tío Paul's bag was sacrosanct, as was Tío Hugh's bed, courtesy of a brand new interactive compendium of microbial species for her reader and a solemn promise not to tell anyone else about their deal. Of course, their paranoid checking under tables and cups and shaking out towels was probably entertainment enough in itself.)
"...long story."
"Uhh-" Adira gives him a skeptical stare, "would it have anything to do with how I just blinked and six hours have somehow gone by?"
Looking at his brilliant child, Paul can't do anything but smile.
Notes:
So much Paul content, but I require more Culmets onscreen, darn it.
Chapter 706: Similar
Summary:
Reno makes an observation.
Notes:
Contains a SPOILER PHOTO from S5 E05 - I'll place it at the end and mark it with a series of * if you'd like to skip it.
I literally have a browser tab open to the chapter index so I can check for titles, but how have I not used 'similar' before?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"We have a theory," Paul leads the way out of the science lab and back onto the bridge, "what if there's different layers of encoding happening? And we're at the surface level, but if you go deeper, it's really telling us something else?"
Rayner looks both intrigued and bemused.
"Different layers?"
"Yes, Commander," Tilly takes up the thread as Paul tosses a model up to hover at the center of the bridge, "see, what we have here on the pieces of the- the puzzle so far, symbols and all, right? And the coordinates for the next clue on the piece Jinaal gave us, the pattern of Trill facial markings on the first part, they're obvious. So-"
"So," Adira bounces on their toes, "we've got Zora helping with a cryptography analysis, but we were hoping the crew could help with the pattern matching."
"Sentient supercomputer with all the knowledge in the universe," Rayner stares at them, "and you want to ask the crew?"
"Technically, Zora only has a hundred thousand years of sphere data, so it's not everything-" Tilly interjects.
Paul sets the model spinning, and everyone watches as different sections light up.
"According to Jinaal, the scientists wanted to make sure whoever found the Progenitors' tech was worthy of it. Not just smart enough to follow the clues. How could they design a test that could prove that an indeterminate amount of time in the future? So..." he folds his hands together, "there has to be more."
"Say that is the case," Rayner frowns, "still don't see how it'd help."
Tilly takes a step forward.
"Sir, this crew is...special. We- you all figured out the Ten-C, how to communicate with them. Made it outside the galaxy, and," she gestures at Paul, "other dimensions. Even with Zora, it's not just that."
"It can't hurt, right?" Adira's voice is tentative, "we're not asking people to stop what they're doing, just like, think about it."
"So-"
"Should listen to them," Reno drawls, lounging against a console, "have to admit, Space Dad and his kids have a point."
The bridge falls silent, only the hum of monitors and indicators.
"What? Look at you all," she points at them with her chin, ignoring Joann mouthing 'Space Dad?' at Keyla, "tell me I'm wrong."
Blinking, Paul narrows his eyes and turns to find Tilly and Adira both with their hands folded in an (probably) unconscious mirror of his own stance before self-consciously dropping his hands to his sides.
Huh.
Rayner gives Reno a look that fails to make a dent in her expression before addressing Paul again.
"Is anything on this ship normal?"
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Notes:
All I could think when I saw all three of them in their matching blue uniforms and posture was "Space Family" :) Also for an episode focused on mirrors (dare I guess Mirror! things?), it seemed fitting.
Chapter 707: Suffuse
Notes:
Takes place post-S5 E04 "Face the Strange"
'Suffuse' refers to filling with something completely.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Saving the universe is one thing, but recovering from having one's consciousness ping-ponged between physical bodies over the course of multiple years during a six hour period is...unprecedented.
Paul should know.
Some people might decompress and process such an experience via meditation, or the consumption of copious quantities of intoxicating substances to take the edge off their nerves. Others might go the route of exercise or picking a fight, or seeking out the kind of physical pleasure that takes them completely out of their mind. It's not that none of those are options - and he's particularly fond of the latter in other circumstances - they just wouldn't work to calm the echoes in his psyche.
Instead, Paul Stamets' preferred mode of winding down involves a simple dinner and a long, hot bath with Hugh on the other side of the tub listening while he verbalizes every thought, theory, and tangent his mind has been on, followed by aggressively cuddling in bed without a stitch of clothing between them. Talking helps release the metaphorical pressure in his head, but it's not until they're tucked under the duvet with all four of his limbs wrapped bodily around his husband that he feels like he's no longer going to vibrate out of his own skin. Hugh happily obliges, though the frown of concern is probably still parked between his eyebrows. Paul can't tell with his face buried in the crook of Hugh's neck and shoulder, nose smooshed against the prominent trapezius connecting the two.
A hard knot digs into his collarbone, and he pauses in his quest to maximize every possible square inch of bare skin touching long enough to unclasp and deposit the gold chain on his nightstand before repositioning them, rolling onto his back and squeezing Hugh's hips between his thighs. With his ankles crossed over Hugh's backside, they resemble nothing so much as being caught in the middle of sex. Hugh responds by getting his knees under himself, further cementing the illusion as he hauls Paul's legs up to wrap around his waist and slipping his arms between Paul's shoulders and the sheets beneath them.
Nothing of the sort is happening tonight. His right hip isn't going to let them stay like this for as long as he'd like, and he's determined to not be distracted from the one thing that best keeps him grounded in this reality. It's far more intimate to concentrate on the rhythm of Hugh's breathing, to feel his heartbeat as Hugh's chest bears down on his and his own hands move in endless abstract patterns over Hugh's back. He breathes Hugh in, filling his lungs with the scent of them both on the bedsheets, together.
In.
Out.
Thud-thump.
Hugh kisses his cheek and nuzzles at his jaw, freeing one hand to cradle Paul's head and catch fine strands of hair between his fingertips. He lets the silence sit between them, communicating in sighs and wordless hums and how tightly Paul is holding onto him. When they move again, it's only onto their sides to let Paul be the big spoon and scatter kisses over Hugh's shoulders. Legs entwined, he rubs his instep soothingly over the hair on the back of Paul's calf where it fits perfectly into the arch of his foot and smiles as Paul's fingers splay wide and possessive over his stomach.
"I'm here," he murmurs when he feels the last of the tension finally draining from the body behind him, "I've got you."
Paul smiles into the nape of his neck, stubble rasping over delicate skin.
"You always do."
Notes:
More to come on the last two episodes - second parts to both Jinaal ("Sublet") and Hugh's ("Symbiosis") take on their experience together, and more follow up from all of the time-hopping.
Also did a full re-read of Survival and dusted off the plot outline that ended up far more complex than originally envisioned. With luck, there'll be a new installment of our favorite Terrans in the near future.
Chapter 708: Sangria
Summary:
Sometimes the counselor needs a little counseling.
Notes:
Contains SPOILER PHOTOS from S5 E05; I'll mark with a series of asterisks before them if you want to skip (two photos).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He's not hiding at a corner table tonight, although there's just as much of a crowd as ever. Leaning on the bar, Hugh lets his eyes unfocus, listening to the ebb and flow of voices and feeling it resonate with that part of himself that always seeks out those in need. There's no current emergency to worry about - outside of the existential, impossible-stakes ongoing one - and he takes the time to settle himself inside before Paul arrives.
"Room for me?"
Tilly's question brings him back to himself, blinking at her friendly smile. He returns it with one of his own and doesn't comment on the two meters or so of empty bar to either side of him that her polite question avoided.
"Always room for you," he replies honestly. "How are you?"
She gives him a frown, but it doesn't last more than a moment.
"Am I supposed to tell Doctor Culber?"
Chuckling, he shakes his head.
"No, not unless you need him right now."
Tilly waves down the bartender and orders something with a full sentence for a name. It doesn't take long to produce, and she grins at his expression when he sees the monstrosity of a neon green drink complete with four cherries, a slice of pineapple, and purple granules along the rim.
"Apparently, this is Deltan sangria."
She tips her head at it, clearly offering to let him taste it, but he waves her off and they sip their drinks in companionable silence for a couple of minutes.
"Actually," Tilly sets down the glass, stirring with the now cherry-less pick, "I was going to ask how you were doing."
Ahh.
"You know a few months ago, I remember this conversation I had with someone about taking a detour and finding her purpose."
It's said with a smile, and she leans both elbows on the bar.
"I'm still not sure who she was, but- well. I think I know who I am now. Or it's starting to feel like it?"
"I'm glad. You seem..." he takes a step back and really looks at her, "good. Like it feels right."
She nods and starts weaving her discarded cherry stems together.
"You didn't answer my question."
There's no accusation in the statement, and he suspects he could deflect again and she'd let him get away with it. That's not the point though, not when the person standing next to him now took his advice and ran with it so far that he can't imagine where it will take her next.
"We're on this quest to find the thing that created us."
"Deep stuff," Tilly says around a bite of pineapple, "but on this ship? It's another Monday."
He hums in agreement.
"You missed it."
It's also not a question, but she answers him anyway.
"I missed everyone. My family. And," she grins, "yeah, I missed the whole let's save the galaxy thing."
"We missed you too."
"Stamets has been- actually, I was going to ask, he seems...different? Better than the reception, too."
Hugh sighs.
"The whole thing is something else. He's still upset about the spore drive program, but I think the Progenitors' tech is more than enough to make up for it."
"What do you think we're going to find?"
"I don't know. It's...it could be beyond our comprehension."
"You don't like not knowing."
She seems surprised, and he quirks a wry smile.
"Apparently not."
"Me neither."
Shaking his head, he picks up his drink and waits for her to do the same. Their glasses make a crystalline clink that fades seamlessly into the background noise.
"To the unknown."
"To us making it not unknown?"
Hugh laughs, and something warm curls up inside his chest.
"I'm glad you're here."
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Notes:
I'd meant to do more with the promo photos, but I'm in the final push to finish our group's strategic plan and it's been sitting *forever*. I've been working until 10:30 pm every night this week on it, and it's cut into my usual writing time.
Chapter 709: Sangria, Part Two
Summary:
*** CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR S5 E05 "Mirrors" ***
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Chapter Text
Piano music greets him as he enters the lounge, Linus busy at the keys with Rhys and Christopher nearby. Hugh doesn't have to look far to find the person he came to see: she's standing at the bar, elbow propped on it in and chin in hand. Her expression probably matches the one he had when she found him last night, but it morphs into a smile as soon as she spots him, a bit of Cadet Tilly's effervescence peeking through as he squeezes her shoulder.
"It's a bit of a day, huh?"
The deliberate understatement
"I feel like I've been through a gormagander's digestive tract."
"Mmm," he hums in understanding, nodding.
It's a graphic but effective description, and above all, accurate.
"I guess I'm not the only one?"
"Thanks for noticing," he grins, " 'doc'."
Her eyebrows raise and she leans a little more on the bar, arms folded.
"Are you here to take me up on my offer? Because I'm all ears."
Now that he's here, part of him is tempted to deflect again. Tilly tips her chin up at him, cutting neatly through Dr. Culber's insistence that he focus on whatever is bothering her instead of himself.
She's family.
You can talk to her.
"So it's a bit umm..." he shakes his head and inhales shakily, searching for the words. They're not usually difficult to find, but nothing about this entire mission has been normal.
She gives him the space to look for them.
"These experiences I've had," Hugh glances at her and the compassion written on her face makes him look away again, gathering himself and forcing a breath past the tightness in his throat. "I mean, I died."
Really, she knows better than most what that simple statement means, for both him and Paul. There's a patient stillness about Tilly that's new, something of what her cadets must see at the Academy. She's come so far from the nervous cadet trying so hard to please Lieutenant Stamets and pride rises up in him, gently pushing back the sharp edges of his nerves. They're both blinking rapidly, and it feels like an unspoken mutual agreement not to call attention to the fact for now.
"I came back to life. Then with Jinaal, I was there, but I wasn't. It was weird."
He shakes his head, but it doesn't really clear anything.
"That's as close to a scientific term as I can get for it. And now we're on this quest, to find the thing that created us? I mean, it's all so big, and impossible to grasp, and..." he shrugs helplessly, "part of me kind of loves that, I think, as terrifying as it is. But Paul-"
"Oh," Tilly's eyes are bright with shared understanding, tension melting away, "hates the unknown."
Hugh nods.
Say it.
"And we've always been able to find the answers together."
The words linger in the air between them and he swallows convulsively, stomach twisting. Tilly's smile is small and fragile, and it encourages him to finish the thought.
"I don't know how to talk to him about this."
She doesn't seem surprised, or worried, or anything of the sort.
Actually, does she look relieved?
"Change is hard, but it can also be freeing."
"I know, it's just...I'm not sure what all of this will look like."
"Well, it sounds like he's not the only one who hates the unknown," she lifts her glass, raising her eyebrows pointedly. "Should talk to somebody about that."
He huffs a laugh and nods.
"They're not really that far apart," she continues after swallowing, "the intellectual and the spiritual. Both reach for understanding, both bring us to new places."
"...I didn't say spiritual."
"Yeah," she nods, "you kinda did.
Hugh's caught off-balance, physically rocking back before planting his elbows on the bar again. Instead of filling the space with words, Tilly seems content to let him consider everything, and it's a lot.
Spiritual.
The more he lets the word sit with him, some of the tightness in his stomach uncoils. Hugh's a man of science, and even his own resurrection was rooted in scientific principles, albeit extradimensional as they were. He'd never fully understood his grandmother's occasional reference to inexplicable higher powers - or at least being unable to conclusively prove there weren't any - but respected it all the same. This somehow feels like more.
Paul is his anchor, and it's not so much a divide between them as his own uncertainty. His love has latched onto solving the mystery with every bit of intent that Hugh knows and loves about him, and he's worried about distracting him. It's not like after being brought back to life, not that directionless unknown with fear burning beneath his skin. He knows precisely who he is and how he feels about everything except this. But now...
"You went through a lot looking after everyone," Tilly tells the ice cubes at the bottom of her glass. "With the DMA, I mean."
"Yeah."
She sets down the mostly-empty drink and turns to face him. The full force of her attention is gripping, the same way it was when she swore that Paul still loved him despite everything else, when Hugh decided to follow him into the unknown future.
"This isn't like that though, is it? Stamets- Paul deserves to know, even if you can't really explain it. Or," Tilly tips her head to the side, "even if you don't know how to talk about it. But tell him that, not me. Not that I'll ever not listen, but...you've been through so much. This is just the latest in a long string of weird things."
"I-"
"You know," she interrupts him gently, "I knew your story couldn't end just because you died and came back to life. The way you two love each other, are you afraid he won't understand what you're feeling, or that he will? Don't talk yourself into being okay with not knowing if you're not, or if you are, and-" Tilly flaps a hand at her glass, "wow, that's hitting way stronger than I thought it would, but I think that made sense."
Hugh catches that hand as it lands back on the bar, squeezing her fingers.
"It did."
"So..."
Something tickles at his memory, and he lets it through.
"You know, he told me during the DMA that we should be terrified together."
Tilly smiles.
"Sounds like something you should talk to him about."
"I will."
Notes:
This episode dropped a half hour earlier than expected - thank goodness, because I don't think I can stay up super late. Thoughts:
1) Why didn't Michael and Book take Detmer as their ace pilot? Since Book's ship was destroyed, there's no advantage to him piloting. And the line about sending Owo and Detmer to fly the I.S.S. Enterprise home makes me wonder if for some reason Oyin and Emily's schedules meant they couldn't be present to film a few episodes.
2) It's five episodes in and they owe us some Culmets in their quarters. The scenes in the premiere were awesome, but where's the bed conversation? I'm incredibly aware of how short and final this season is, and to get halfway through without it makes me nervous.
3) The fact that Hugh is talking to everyone but Paul is...odd. Like not odd overall since we don't see everything, but odd that there wasn't a scene after "Jinaal" where Paul and Hugh were talking to demonstrate why Hugh thinks they can't actually talk about it. Hopefully Tilly has him steered in the correct direction. It doesn't feel like a precursor to disaster, but I hope the writers don't make us wait to have them resolve it.
3.5) In When Sorrow Turns to Joy, my headcanon is that Tilly helped convince Hugh to stay.
4) It's 1:30 am and I need sleep. My next task: Writing that conversation between Hugh and Paul.
Chapter 710: Sangria, Part Three
Summary:
It's not meddling if it's necessary, right?
Notes:
*** CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM S5 E05 "Mirrors" ***
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*
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tilly's gotten a lot better about not saying everything she's thinking. Granted, teaching at the Academy always works better when she's rehearsed what she's planning to say, but she's also a firm believer that, as the person doing the talking, she should know as much as possible to be able to answer questions. She's quite literally ancient history to the new crop of cadets, but post-Burn, they all just seem so...young.
Anyway.
She's not completely surprised at what Hugh tells her, although she would have sworn that his rather justified identity crisis after being brought back to life would have led into spiritual territory somewhere along the way. While Tilly didn't realize it at the time, she knows now how much of a toll supporting the crew through the DMA took on him. Paul had confirmed it in not quite so many words before taking Hugh home, Earth-side, and she'd thought that was very much that.
Still, with the DMA, the unknown of that whole situation shadowed everyone's mood and mind, lurking in corners and following people like something stuck on their boot (able to be forgotten until you get up to move). The Progenitors' technology seems to sweep an odd mix of excitement, wonder, and dreadful fear in its wake that's exponentially bigger than a planet-destroying anomaly that turned out to just be another species' mining tool. Too big to wrap her head around, that's for sure.
The thing is, Hugh and Paul are both trying to do that right now. She meant what she told Hugh about them coming at it from different angles, but she's starting to wonder if they're getting in their own way right now.
Not what anyone needs.
Sighing, she stares at the empty spot beside her where Hugh had been before heading off for the night. Dr. Culber is such an island of calm in the middle of a typhoon, his gentle care given without question and someone everyone understood was safe. Given the magnitude of what Hugh's willing to do on behalf of others, Tilly's positive that Paul returns that care in his own way because maybe Hugh doesn't do enough for himself.
She remembers the early days aboard Discovery, then the ones after she realized Hugh and Paul were together, the moments she could tell they weren't necessarily happy with each other because of the tardigrade DNA and Paul's obsessive perfectionism, but the way they understood each other seemed to underlie everything. Hugh dying, the shell of a man walking around wearing Paul's face, the heartaching looks of longing - and how they seemed even better, stronger, after coming to the future.
Maybe it's not so much that Stamets is so wrapped up in deciphering the clues that he doesn't notice, but thinks Hugh can handle it?
That doesn't sit quite right with her either, and she takes the thought back to her old quarters to stare at the stars with. Tilly's definitely good at research, so that's next on the list.
It's 0930 when she steps into the medbay, freshly showered and with two espressos powering her brain. She's also not on duty until the afternoon, which gives her time to talk to a few people.
"Is Doctor Pollard busy?" she asks Perretta. "Not an emergency, I just had a question."
He directs her towards the corridor leading to the surgical suites, and she finds who she's looking for bent over a piece of equipment and muttering quietly to herself. Tilly considers whether she's interrupting something important, but also figures Perretta wouldn't have sent her back otherwise.
"Doctor Pollard?"
Thankfully, Dr. Pollard seems quite willing to be interrupted.
"Hi Tilly, what can I do for you?"
"I wanted to ask you something. It's not technically medical, but umm-"
The doctor gives her a shrewd look.
"You're worried about Hugh."
"I was- yes. How...?"
"Aisha saw you talking to him at Red's last night and mentioned it this morning. Also that you came by yesterday to access the EPS grid, and Hugh suddenly found a need to go do paperwork."
"Oh."
Dr. Pollard cants a hip against the equipment cart, waving the door shut.
"So."
Tilly chews her lower lip, considering where to begin, and decides the beginning is probably the best place after all.
"You've known him a long time."
"Since before you were born," Dr. Pollard smiles, "it's been quite a while."
"...and you've known Stamets- Paul, the whole time too?"
"Mmhmm. The stories I could tell about those two," she shakes her head, although it's clearly with exasperated fondness, "but I'm sure you don't want to hear those."
"Umm. Probably not. I just...Hugh's family isn't, wasn't religious, right?"
"His grandmother used to light a candle every now and then, but no, not particularly."
"I mean," Tilly briefly wonders whether she ought to be sharing, "he seems weirded out by spiritual stuff."
That draws a huff of laughter.
"Not weirded out, it just isn't something, as far as I know, that he's worried about besides respecting what others believe. Paul either, for that matter. Not a crisis of faith between them."
That confirms two things that she was fairly certain of to begin with, so at least there's that. But the second part...
"What if it actually is?"
A notification chirps on Dr. Pollard's tricomm, but she dismisses it with a flick of her fingers.
"Sorry?"
She really wants to talk about his resurrection, but him dying probably isn't the greatest thing to remind his best friend about.
"Spiritual doesn't mean religious all the time. I was thinking- faith. Believing in something even when you don't completely have ways to understand why, you know? All this with the Progenitors, it could change the way we understand everything about the universe. And Hugh said he kind of liked not knowing, but it also scared him."
Dr. Pollard smiles, but there's a slight frown as well.
"Hugh used to say he didn't have to see something to accept it. We had a friend, a Vulcan. Another doctor. Fascinated beyond belief by the two of them together, but logic and love aren't always on the same plane. She...always told Hugh he had a bond with Paul, not telepathic like Vulcans, but something else."
Tilly's not at all sure where she's going with this, but nods anyway.
"So..."
"Hugh's psi-null. Paul, with that tardigrade DNA of his, seems to be able to perceive things outside the linear flow of time. Some people might consider that mystical, but even though we don't completely understand it, there's a perfectly valid scientific reason out there. Hugh's accepted that, even if it wasn't always easy."
Ahh.
"And since this doesn't fit into things we can figure out, at least now where we're at now-"
"Hugh's practical, Tilly. Even if he gives Paul a hard time about always having to know how everything works."
"But-"
Doctor Pollard, Zora's mellow voice cuts over her, I apologize for the interruption, but you have an appointment in two minutes.
"Thank you, Zora. Tilly..."
Her mind is already fitting what she's learned and confirmed into the larger picture, and it seems like enough for now.
"Thank you, Doctor. I'm- okay."
The doctor takes two steps towards the door, then pauses at the threshold.
"He needs to talk to Paul. And Paul needs to listen."
Swish
Tilly nods to herself.
Definitely.
She tries Adira next, which is made more challenging by the fact that they're standing in the middle of a data set with Paul three meters away staring at his own display. They're distracted - rightfully - and since Tilly probably shouldn't be talking about their CMO like this with other people around, she decides to bypass that route and approach it directly.
"Commander?"
Paul glances through the algorithm at her, hands still moving across the calculations.
"Hmm?"
"Can I talk to you for a second?"
The bemused Stamets stare he gives her is about 50 times less intimidating than it used to be. He probably thinks she's had an idea about the cryptography, which is why bemusement turns into outright confusion when she gestures at the cultivation bay doors. Nevertheless, he follows her in, though not without a backward glance at the variables being fitted and discarded on the display.
"...oookay?"
Tilly inhales, exhales, and dives in.
"I-" she clears her throat, "...should talk to your husband."
Paul blinks at her, brows knitting together and eyes narrowing.
"You should talk to Hugh, and you're telling me because...?"
"No, I meant," Tilly waves her hand, "you should talk to him."
"About?"
The crow's feet to either side of Paul's eyes have deepened in the months she's been gone, or maybe it's just the simulated late morning sunlight.
Just tell him.
"He- don't take this the wrong way, please. I just...he's worried that. No, wait, that isn't what I mean. Have you talked to him? About being Jinaal, and, well, everything?"
"Of course. What-"
"He needs you, Paul."
There's silence for a few seconds that feels like eons after her declaration, just the sound of the artificial rain starting at the other end of the bay. Tilly maintains eye contact even though she really wants to look away, which is how she sees the blank expression on his face rapidly flit from processing to vaguely annoyed followed by concern and confusion before settling on uncertain.
"I don't..."
"It's not. Well, actually, it is my business, because," she gestures vaguely between them. Her entire conversation with Dr. Pollard flits through her head, but Tilly figures she's probably come too close to stepping over the line already. "Trust me? Please?"
Paul's frowning, but he doesn't seem peeved, which in itself fills her with a strange kind of warmth. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, and she sees him rubbing thumb and forefinger together on both hands. His jaw clenches, eyes unfocused for a dozen heartbeats. Eventually though, he nods.
"Okay."
Notes:
Tilly and Paul's conversation post-DMA can be found in Chapter 453 ("Should").
Tilly's grown up so much, and I feel like she wouldn't be satisfied with just pointing out the sort of crisis of spirituality that Hugh's having to him, not with the way she cares about the people who matter to her.
I still need to do a full rewatch to address Adira apparently feeling guilty about the time bug. I'd have liked even 30 seconds of them fretting about it rather than all of the time spent shooting at each other on the Terran Enterprise. Sigh.
Chapter 711: Spider, Part Two
Notes:
*** Contains mild spoilers from S5 E05 "Mirrors" ***
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*Takes place post-"Face the Strange" as a continuation of Chapter 705 ("Spider").
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Figuring out how Moll and L'ak managed to sneak a Krenim chronophage onboard Discovery is surprisingly straightforward once Paul knows what he's looking for and has the time to dissect what remains of it. (Reading about the Krenim Imperium and their ability to create temporal incursions is both extremely fascinating and horrifying at the thought of erasing entire civilizations with the ease of sending a ship to warp.) Coupled with the time bug's ability to seep through solid objects without being rejected as immiscible, the temporal element at work probably leaves trace amounts of chronitons wherever it's been.
It's easy enough to have Zora run a scan that traces the path of the bug all the way back to personal quarters on Deck Seven. Adira's mortified, even though Paul can see them trying to hide it as they blink rapidly and shake their head.
"I- but how? When? I was with Kalzara and Guardian Xi the whole time."
"I know," Michael nods, "somehow, they must have gotten onto Trill and planted it somewhere they knew we would be. It could have been any of us."
Paul gestures at the readout floating from his tricomm.
"Given its temporal shielding, we wouldn't have been able to pick it up during transport. Thirty-second century ships have built in deterrents because of the Temporal Cold War, but..."
Michael winces.
"Discovery didn't get any during the upgrades because the war's been over for centuries."
"The Antares had them in her specs," Rayner adds, and Paul wonders if he's imagining his jaw clench. Certainly, Rayner's voice doesn't stumble over the name of his former ship, but Paul doesn't know all of his tells yet.
"Well, that explains how it got onboard. Zora's going to be sweeping for them now that we know, so we should be safe."
Crossing his arms, Rayner sets his feet shoulder width apart as if he's expecting a blow.
"Moll and L'ak have plenty of other tricks, Captain. This won't be the last."
Adira is quiet at dinner, but no one at the table seems terribly talkative. Hugh seems preoccupied, although he offers a smile when Paul nudges him with his shoulder, squeezing his thigh under the table. Across from him, Tilly also appears to have something on her mind, dragging her fork through the remains of dinner on her plate. Paul doesn't think much of it, and it's not until they're tucked in bed together that he realizes Hugh's been touching him all night.
Touch and physical affection are so ingrained in them both that he doesn't necessarily notice the hand that lands on his knee or Hugh leaning into him. Tonight though, he hasn't been more than arm's length away from Paul except to use the facilities. It's probably just unspoken concern, especially with how much he telegraphed his own need for comfort last night.
Satisfied with the conclusion, he snuggles a little closer to Hugh and lets sleep claim him.
Staying on the line is only going to slow Tilly down, so he turns his mind back to the problem at hand.
"What about the graviton pulse idea?"
"Yeah," Adira frowns at the readouts, "I'm just re-checking my calculations."
He'd watched them run a double check not a minute ago, so...
"You've done that twice already."
"Just want to make sure."
They're staring at the numbers in a way that makes something tickle between his shoulder blades. Hugh insists it's parental instinct, and while Paul isn't completely convinced, it's been more accurate than not. Adira's jumpiness and hyperfocus on checking their work clicks into place, and he suppresses a sigh that would probably be taken the wrong way.
"Adira," they finally look up, and he does his best at the reassuring tone he's heard Hugh use countless times, gentle but not condescending, "the time bug wasn't your fault."
Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to land. They shake their head, turning away.
"Yeah, well I brought it on board, didn't I?"
In an instance of terrible timing - which seems to be very on-brand - Rayner chooses that moment to appear in the science lab with a Command track officer's insistence that there has to be a solution. He knows enough now to not take the shortness personally, but there's every chance in the world that it won't help Adira one bit. Thankfully, Rayner doesn't stay long, but Adira immediately goes back to staring at the display, fingers tapping the virtual controls with more force than probably necessary.
"Adira-"
"It's fine," they insist, and while he doesn't believe it for an instant, there also isn't the time to worry about it more now.
Should talk to Hugh about it.
He'll know what to say.
Notes:
Side note: I could totally see Paul asking "is that the Enterprise?" given their history with Pike, but I don't think Discovery had any inkling it was the Mirror version to add the "I.S.S." to it at first glance. He's clearly looking right at the main view screen, so possibly the registry information was being processed and displayed there as well, but that bit of logic bothered me.
Chapter 712: SpaceDad, Part Two
Summary:
Reno isn't buying it.
Notes:
Follows on from Chapter 697, but takes place after "Mirrors".
Chapter Text
"So," Reno's empty mug lands with a thud on the console, "how did they work things out?"
The past couple of years have (mostly) inured him to Reno's sudden appearances and non sequiturs, so he doesn't jump at the sound of ceramic on transparisteel. He finishes the alterations to the equation he's working on, then looks up to find her staring at him through the display with an expression suggesting she expects him to know exactly what she's talking about.
"What?"
She waits for him to minimize the display with a flick of his wrist, then casts her eyes upwards briefly.
"For the love of- your kid, Space Dad. Did they work things out with Gray?"
"Why don't you ask them?"
Reno paces closer, unimpressed.
"I did. They said they were going to 'be friends'," she air quotes, "and they were totally okay with it."
Blinking, he nods.
"Yes. So..."
"And you believed them."
It's not a question.
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Kid's not walking around like they're two millimeters away from an overload, so something had to give. They go down to the planet, your husband gets possessed by a Trill, kid accidentally brings back a hitchhiker, we get stuck in a time loop then haul a ship from a parallel reality into ours, and suddenly Adira's fine? I don't buy it."
Paul hates to admit it, but Reno does have a point. Dealing with everything as it happened doesn't lead to a longer perspective, unfortunately. Adira had spoken to him and Hugh - or rather, they'd talked awkwardly about it over dinner while Hugh mostly just smiled encouragingly and left Paul to do the talking - and he knows better than to pry further.
"They're..." he pauses, considering how to phrase it. "They both decided it wasn't working the way they wanted it to. And so-"
"Stamets," Reno waves her hand, interrupting him, "are you really sure they're okay?"
Swish.
They both look up as Tilly enters, attention on the graphs projected by her tricomm. Shaking his head, Paul lowers his voice, palms resting flat on the console in front of him.
"No. But if that's what they want us to think while they figure it out? I'm not going to say I think they're lying."
"All right. You know as well as I do it's the calm before the storm."
"Probably."
Her expression is both knowing and compassionate for the span of three seconds before it slips back into neutrality.
"They've cut back on the raktajino at least?"
"I'm not their-"
Reno rolls her eyes.
"Yes, you are."
Chapter 713: Sammen
Summary:
Paul takes Tilly's advice.
Notes:
***Contains SPOILER PHOTOS for S5 E06. All photos will be preceded by a series of asterisks.
Takes place after Chapter 710 ("Sangria, Part Three"), but can be read as a standalone.
Title translates to 'together' in Danish. Dialogue-heavy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Tilly's insistence that he talk to Hugh means he takes a day to consider both her very obvious concern and Hugh's behavior. It's subtle, but now that he's looking for it, he picks up the occasional half-second-too-long delay in responses and the way Hugh's expression briefly dims when Paul brings up all of the possibilities for the Progenitors' technology. He doesn't push, just carries on as normal for the evening.
When they've settled beneath the covers for the night, he rolls onto his side and takes Hugh's hand in his own. He squeezes back immediately, offering a soft smile.
"Yes?"
Hugh looks so relaxed right now, the grey in his beard set off by their white sheets and the sapphire blue pajama top. It's tempting to put it off, but Tilly is seldom wrong.
And her heart is always in the right place.
"I've been meaning to ask," he starts, swallowing past the tightness in his throat, "did you want to talk about it?"
For a moment, a storm rolls through Hugh's eyes as he glances down at their hands. It lasts just long enough to be blinked away, then he frowns at Paul in seeming bemusement.
"About what?"
Paul licks his lips, scooting a little closer until they're sharing the pillow. He's spent enough time loving the man in bed with him to know that the avoidance is a sign of bigger things, and mentally braces himself. Hugh's always been better at approaching things gently, so he dives right in without dissembling.
"Jinaal. And...everything? Everyone's just been- well, it's a lot."
Hugh's expression shutters.
"You know I can't break doctor-patient confidentiality..."
"That's not what I'm asking," and you know it, "I meant for you, Hugh."
"I'm fi-"
Shaking his head, he bounces their joined hands.
"You're not fine."
Hugh's shaky exhale gusts over his own lips, their faces inches apart. He wonders if he ought to tell him that Tilly tipped him off, but decides it feels too much like backing him into a corner, and that's not what he wants at all. So Paul waits, thumb stroking back and forth over Hugh's knuckles. Time stretches out, thick as pulled taffy between them as Hugh opens and closes his mouth a few times, indecision sparking. At last, he seems to settle on something.
"It's not the DMA."
Blinking, Paul frowns.
"...no."
"I mean. With that, I hated not knowing if I was lying to people by telling them I believed it would all be okay. This though, it's just so much bigger. Incomprehensible. Protecting it meant everything to Jinaal, I could feel it in him."
Ohhh.
"And that scares you."
As soon as it's out of his mouth, he knows it's not the correct thing to say, because Hugh closes his eyes and his jaw clenches.
Fuck.
Fix it.
"Hugh-"
The squeeze of his fingers silences him, and he respects the request for a moment to think, biting his lower lip to keep from saying anything else.
"I'm not scared, Paul. I just..." Hugh gives him a wobbly half-smile, "you're so excited about the possibilities. And I don't know how to talk about it, not like this. Not yet."
He waits a full count of 30 before responding to give Hugh space to continue. When nothing else seems forthcoming, Paul untangles their fingers. Hugh tenses, but only for as long as it takes for Paul's arm to circle his waist, pulling him even closer until their noses bump.
"You can tell me anything."
A nod.
"I know."
"Whatever it is you're thinking, or feeling, I want to know."
Another nod.
"And," he continues, "we're in this together, all of us, and whatever we find on the other end, it's going to change everything we know. Forget mycelial travel, this is going to redefine everything. But that's not..." Paul sighs, catching himself. "I might be excited about it, because it's something so different I've never- because if I'm not? It's terrifying."
This close, they barely have to whisper to be heard.
"Yeah."
"Remember what I said about the DMA?"
The side of Hugh's mouth quirks upwards.
"You said a lot of things."
He huffs an amused exhale.
"And you let me. What I meant- let's be terrified together. Okay?"
"Okay."
In the morning, Paul carries his thoughts down to Engineering with him. They hadn't said much more last night, beyond offering his assurances, and Hugh had been thoughtfully quiet over breakfast. Now though, he turns his attention back to the Romulan data.
Tilly comes on shift a couple of hours later and makes a beeline over to him.
"So."
Paul squints at string of calculations, tapping in another variable to account for half-life.
"So?"
"Did you talk to him?"
It's with an uncanny sense of déjà vu that Paul moves the floating display to the side.
"You know, that's the second time in two days someone's asked me that."
Undeterred by the sidebar, Tilly flicks her own notes over to the data before turning her attention back to him.
"Hugh."
"Yes."
She props her elbows on the console, tipping her head to the side.
"Yes you two talked?"
It would be well within his rights as a superior officer to send her back to work, but avoiding Tilly is usually the best way to spend the rest of the day with her giving him significant looks and dropping unsubtle hints.
And, she's family.
"Sort of. He's...wait, did he tell you what he's not telling me?"
Her smile is an answer in itself.
"Clearly," Paul concludes, "it's not that bad, or you'd tell me. Right?"
Tilly presses her lips together, humming.
"When you two do talk? Just...consider everything he's gone through."
If it were anyone else, he'd bristle at the implication that he of all people wouldn't be exquisitely aware of what Hugh's experienced. Since it's Tilly, he literally bites his tongue before answering.
"All right."
After lunch, he's surprised to see a flash of white in his peripheral vision. It could be any of the Medical staff, but it quickly resolves into Hugh crouching down to talk to Harrington as she works on an EPS relay, checking again for traces of trouble from the time bug. Tilly clears her throat noisily, although she's intently studying a star chart when he looks over.
"Hi Tilly," Hugh calls once he's done with Harrington.
She waves, and Hugh makes his way over to stand beside Paul.
"Are you busy?"
He is, but since it's not life-or-death (at the moment), there's no reason to say so.
"If you're coming down to check, I did eat lunch," he offers, "you can ask Tilly."
Hugh chuckles.
"No, I'm not, but I believe you."
"You-"
"I," Tilly declares loudly, "am going to take a coffee break. Did you want anything, Commander?"
Both of their heads turn, and she raises her eyebrows at him pointedly, arms crossed.
*
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Paul might be oblivious, but he can take a hint. Shaking his head, he doesn't bother to suppress a smile at the blatant nudge.
*
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*
Once the doors swish close behind her, he turns back to Hugh, who's been watching the whole scene with bemusement.
"What was that about?"
Truth is their currency, so he doesn't lie.
"Tilly thinks I should talk to you."
Hugh's face goes through several expressions before finally settling on vaguely trepidatious fondness.
"She's really something, isn't she?"
"Force of nature," Paul agrees before sobering. "Everything okay?"
"I..."
Eyes sweeping the drive bay, Hugh hesitates. They're alone save for Harrington, and while they've both known Saoirse for years, Paul figures it's a conversation to be had without anyone else overhearing.
"Come on," he tips his head towards his private lab before calling across the room, "I'll be in my lab if anything comes up."
Harrington's smirk suggests she thinks it's a euphemism, and he rolls his eyes but he doesn't bother to correct her.
Swish.
The sounds of Engineering dampen down to nearly nothing once the doors shut. Paul sits, waiting for Hugh to join him, watching as his husband fusses with his sleeve cuff. Eventually, he sinks down beside him with a sigh.
"Between her and Tracy, I'm starting to feel like an idiot."
That's not what he's expecting to hear.
"Harrington?"
A head shake, followed by a wry smile.
"Tilly. How much did she tell you?"
It's not accusatory, just curious, and he makes a mental note to find out what Tracy apparently said to him.
"She said you needed me."
"Mmm," Hugh nods, "I...do. I just haven't been sure. How to talk to you about it. Which is..."
He shrugs helplessly, and Paul slides a little bit closer on the stack of crates.
"Not really a problem we usually have?"
That earns him a smile. Some of the tension tightening Hugh's body relaxes, biceps no longer straining against the white jacket sleeves.
"Not usually."
"So..."
"You remember how Abuela used to light a candle sometimes?"
Paul's not sure how it's related, but nods anyway.
"Sure. To pray, right?"
"She always believed there could be something more, something beyond science. Which I don't think I ever really understood, not the way she meant it. But I remember her telling me that not every question has an answer."
From someone else, it would seem like a light aphorism. Aida though, Paul considers, usually dispensed wisdom without too much emphasis. It hasn't come up in conversation in the better part of two decades though, which he hadn't ever stopped to think about before.
"Maybe we just don't know enough to answer them," he offers, resting a hand on Hugh's knee. "Not yet."
Hugh shakes his head, not negatively, but as if to clear it. He covers Paul's fingers with his own, palm warm and dry.
"How do I tell the man I married, the most brilliant scientist I've ever met, that this- all of this, is making me wonder if she was right? I mean," Hugh gives a short laugh, "I've done that before. The existential crisis. Twice, even."
All he can do is nod encouragingly, clearing his conscious mind of anything besides Hugh and what he's trying to say.
"So," Hugh continues after several breaths, "I didn't, I don't ever think I thought about it like this before. Things that aren't absolute, that we can't grasp or explain completely. And, honestly, what if we're not meant to?"
Something clicks into place, like a spore canister connecting with the drive system and flooding the pathways with light.
"And you're worried I'm going to keep telling you there is an answer."
Gazing down at his boots, Hugh nods before standing. He doesn't let go of Paul's hand or look like he's about to leave, but there's a nervous energy Paul's not sure he's seen before, shifting his weight between his feet.
"Sounds ridiculous like that, doesn't it?"
"No, it doesn't."
He tugs gently, and Hugh sits again, facing him with their knees touching.
"No?"
Paul taps Hugh's instep with the toe of his boot, then lifts his free hand to cradle Hugh's cheek.
"I might not always be great about paying attention and sometimes you'll still have to remind me, but I will always listen, dear doctor."
"I-"
Chirp.
Buzz-beep.
SCREECH.
The priority alert from Hugh's tricomm startles them both, a message popping up to hover between their faces. Hugh scans it and dismisses the text, exhaling and closing his eyes. When he opens them again, Paul can see Doctor Culber waiting to take over.
"You need to go."
"Yeah. I'm-" Hugh pauses, half-rising. "Thank you, sweetheart."
"I'll see you at home?"
Leaning over, Hugh steals a kiss. It's light and sweet, an acknowledgement that there's more to say but that they're okay with it.
"Promise."
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Notes:
I checked the newly released photos while still in bed this morning and was 100% awake after seeing a Culmets kiss! (Hugh's bending down to kiss Paul, so I'm guessing Paul is sitting on something since they're the same height.)
Finally - and they better not cut it from the episode like they did with the bed kiss in Season Three. There's no tension lines on their faces, so I'm going to hope that the "Culber tries to connect with Stamets" part of the synopsis is successful and not unnecessarily dragging things out.
Paul's smile has a touch of pride in it, so it's probably for Adira in the second photo, but I'm using it here for Tilly.
Took an early lunch to write what stretched into almost 2,000 words, and I'm pleased with how it turned out.
Spoiler photos from startrek.com's episode preview.
Chapter 714: Sublet, Part Two
Summary:
Jinaal meets Hugh Culber.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Jinaal wasn't exaggerating when he told them how much he missed walking. Awareness of what Bix's hosts were doing - their movement and emotions and experiences - was one thing, but it's been far too long since he had his own (borrowed) body. He'd emerged briefly for each of their zhian'tara over the centuries, impressing upon them the importance of their mission to safeguard the clue, yet this time is different.
His previous zhian'tara hosts had never been this...compatible. While he hasn't yet relaxed his hold enough to communicate with the owner of this body, there's a sense of purpose about the way it moves, a controlled force. The even, careful sculpting suggests time spent honing it not for warfare but for grace, the hands strong but also extremely dexterous. At a guess, Jinaal would probably say this man is a dancer or athlete in his spare time, someone who enjoys physicality to balance out whatever he does as his day job.
Speculation can wait.
The host nudges him again, and he gently pushes him aside.
Not yet.
Not until he's formed his own opinion of this Burnham and her as-yet-unnamed associate unclouded by the attachments and perceptions of another. As they walk, he sways back and forth just a little, reveling in the finely-honed balance and complete lack of arthritic hips and knees.
"For starters," Burnham manages once she and her companion have caught up with his brisk pace, "how did you get the clue? Did you... did you know Dr. Vellek? Were you with him when he found the Progenitors' technology?"
Jinaal smiles.
"You ask a lot of questions. How about we just enjoy the walk, smell the air?"
It's a deliberate goad to see how they react to delay, and he's not disappointed.
"We don't have time to smell the air, okay? Others are coming," the man insists, "and they're way less friendly."
Interestingly, for all his impatience, there's no implied threat. He does seem to be keeping an eye on their surroundings, eyes sweeping the canyon every time he looks back at Burnham, which is fairly often. There's a peculiar way he looks at her too, one which Jinaal hasn't seen in a while.
Not just the hired muscle, then.
"If they got their hands on what you're hiding, it would be a disaster."
A screech cuts through the dusty air, making his ears ring a way he's missed.
"What was that?"
His smile widens.
Good timing.
"An itronok, a carnivorous quadruped about three times your height, extremely vicious. I studied them while I was still alive," Jinaal keeps his tone deliberately blithe, "these canyons are their hunting grounds."
"Yeah. That seems like something you could've mentioned before."
Sharper and urgent, but still not demanding.
Promising.
"Would that've changed your mind?" he asks, rhetorically, before dropping the casual indifference. "Anyone sane knows to stay away from this place, which made it perfect for hiding the clue. These answers you want, if I give them to you, they might cost you your life. You sure it's worth it?"
"We've already risked our lives to come this far," Burnham glances at her companion, "we're sure."
Spoken like a Starfleet Captain. Let's see how that plays out?
"All right," Jinaal turns and continues down the path, keeping his explanation to the point. "Eight hundred years ago, the Federation president brought together six scientists in secret: me, Doctor Vellek and four others, Federation and non-Federation. Don't ask me their names. I won't tell you."
The path slopes downward at a low grade, moving deeper into the canyon alongside a shallow stream that wasn't here before. Erosion and seismic events may have rearranged the stone, but the overall topography is the same as he remembers. He considers how circuitous a route he could lead them on before they notice how far they aren't progressing.
"I will tell you," he offers, "that our mission was to research the Progenitors and their message."
"The one Captain Picard found."
"Yes. It took years, but eventually led us to a sector of deep space where we found a technology beyond anything we'd ever seen. One of our group tried to activate it," he turns to face them again, "he was killed. It was horrible."
For a moment, as he gazes across the tumbled boulders, a memory of a far different place replaces the landscape, one he's wished he could forget.
"After that, the rest of us made a pact. Told the president that we'd hit a dead end, destroyed all of our research, removed our names from every database we could access. And we hid the location of what we'd found."
And that had hurt. As a scientist who dedicated himself to finding and sharing knowledge, the decision to hide it hadn't come easily, but Vellek and the others had agreed that no good could possibly come of it being found by those who would only see its power to dominate, to destroy.
"Why didn't you give it to the Federation for safekeeping?"
He pivots, almost incredulous at Burnham's naive question.
"The Dominion War was raging," he reminds them, searching their faces for understanding, "everyone saw an enemy in everyone else. And we knew that technology could be used for great destruction. Protecting it became the focus of our lives. Nothing was more important."
...of course that would be ancient history to them by now.
That fact that Starfleet still seems to be trying to uphold the ideals of the Federation - while automatically assuming that it could be trusted with such a technology - is both promising and frustrating.
Another itronok call, the kind exchanged between mates as a warning of approaching danger.
"That was way closer."
Closer, but still a few hundred meters to go. With luck, it'll still be near a nesting site.
"We'd better pick up the pace."
The hosts pushes again, stronger than before, clearly agitated by the noise. They're not in immediate danger yet, so he relaxes his mind just enough that he can feel this body's owner at his shoulder, careful to keep the transference one-way.
Who are you? he asks as Burnham and her companion have a low-voiced conversation behind him.
It's not quite like speaking, nor the connection he felt with Bix or any of his prior zhian'tara hosts. This one is human, lacking the correct Trill neurochemistry for easy communication. Instead, it's as though he's straining to hear words murmured, echoes and impressions.
...compassion and caring, a desire to understand.
...a fierce need to help, to heal.
...deep self-reflection and the sense of invisible wounds patched over.
...looking down at hands performing surgery.
Ahh.
A doctor, then.
Excellent.
Someone who understands the importance of protecting lives should be able to grasp his intentions, although he suspects the host isn't going to like the kind of test he's about to put his friends through. That can't be helped though, so he puts the mental wall back up for now.
Dusk is nearing, and he's actually starting to sweat a bit. Hungry, too, which isn't something he's felt directly in so long that he'd almost forgotten the sensation of lowering blood sugar.
Guess this guy didn't eat a ton before beaming down.
"You know where the technology is," Burnham starts in again, "why not just tell us so we can secure it? We can actually skip this whole clue trail.
And there it is.
The impatience took longer than he'd expected, and he almost laughs at the firm insistence of someone used to having orders followed.
Starfleet Captain down to the core.
Which also means, she's not going to be satisfied with him putting her off much longer.
It's time.
"No," he rounds on them, dropping any pretense. "We created the clues so that no one could reach the end unless they follow the full path. We wanted the power to be found, but only by a worthy seeker, and only when the time was right. A time of peace," Jinaal wills them to understand, "when species have evolved enough to use it only for good. So tell me, in thirty-one ninety-one, has that time come?"
"This is a time of peace," the man pronounces, "yeah."
Burnham's expression suggests a large but as she sighs.
"You don't look so sure."
"Oh, I am. But I can't promise you it'll last," she shakes her head, "advancement isn't linear. I do know that the Federation is driven by a will to do good. Most sentient beings are."
He does have to hand it to her, her belief seems sincere and measured.
Still...
"There are plenty who would disagree with that," he challenges.
"Good outweighs the bad," she insists, "truly believe that. I think you and your fellow scientists must have believed it, too."
Huh.
A smile tugs at his lips, and he stifles it
"Otherwise," Burnham's eyes flick to the side before studying him as if he were an intricate puzzle, "you wouldn't have left these clues. You would've destroyed all evidence it ever existed."
Let's hope they're worth those principles.
"That, Captain, is a very fair point."
"Book," Burnham frowns - and he finally has a name for the man - and leans to look at something, "what is it?"
Jinaal observes the way Book's hands twitch, moving around a couple of boulders for a better look. Behind him, Burnham inhales sharply.
"...oh."
He uses the excuse of examining things to confirm his bearings, nodding to himself.
"An ina raptor, itronok prey. Fresh kill. They're closer than I thought. Have your phasers ready."
Pivoting, he strides off at an oblique angle to their prior path. The shadows lengthen before overtaking them, casting the entire canyon in hues of indigo. Burnham and Book are mostly silent as they follow him, although he doesn't need telepathy to tell that they're exchanging loaded glances behind his (well-muscled) back. They're a dozen meters away when his eyes pick out the roughly-shaped circle of rock fragments denoting an itronok nest. Even better, he can just make out a clutch of intact eggs inside of it.
The territorial screech is right on cue.
"We might have company soon. How close are we?"
"Right around this corner...okay, there." He stops just short of where the itronok could consider them an imminent threat, pointing. "That's where the clue is hidden. There's a carving. Just below it is a crack that opens into a compartment I built into the rock."
Burnham calls up a scan, arrowing in on the carving.
"That's it. Yeah."
Thankfully the stone is dense enough - and they're under enough pressure - that she doesn't stop to check that the compartment he'd built actually contains anything more than a few centuries worth of dust. He shifts his weight forward onto the balls of his feet, waiting to see what she'll do.
Come on, Starfleet...
She has time to take two steps forward before an itronok shimmers into view directly between them and the nest, screeching.
"Wait!"
Jinaal grabs Burnham's left arm as Book catches her right, releasing it as her phaser swings up.
Will they fire first?
He's cautiously pleased to see both of their fingers hovering alongside but not over what he assumes are the firing pads, although Book's certainly twitches as the itronok flares into a bioluminescent defensive display, shaking its head in a figure-eight and snapping its mandibles before vanishing again.
"They can cloak?"
The image of an itronok sized Romulan warbird flashes through his mind, and he barely controls the urge to smile even as he starts counting, edging slightly out of the itronok's likely trajectory.
"Their scales control the way light refracts."
"That's another thing you could've mentioned, Jinaal," Burnham hisses.
Oh, I like her.
...four, five.
The barb explodes outwards, embedding itself in the rock beside them.
"Ooh! Take cover!"
He latches onto Burnham's arm, pulling her into the nominal shelter of the rocks.
"Whoa, the hits just keep on coming."
Book's still got a sense of humor, apparently.
Let's see how they react to a major change of plans.
"Once agitated, they don't back down," he informs them, "we have to go. Now!"
"No, we can't," Book insists, "we need the clue."
"You're not getting it tonight."
"What? There has to be a way."
Itronok generally only miss their targets once to ward off raptors scavenging for eggs, but he'd hazard to guess the two of them aren't going to be interested in the finer points of behavioral analysis now that he's introduced danger as a mitigating factor.
"There's no way. We stay, we die. This body, your friend, dies. I'm not gonna let that happen."
"Jinaal!" Burnham hisses as he pushes off the rock, heading back the way they came.
The sound of another barb impacting something isn't followed by a cry of pain or distress, so he resolutely keeps moving. Predictably, the body's owner doesn't seem to like this turn of events, but he stifles the mounting aggravation and scrabbles up a slope strewn with gravel before pausing at the sound of Book's shout. It's accompanied by the whine of a phaser discharging, and he hopes they're actually smart enough to do something besides the brute force approach that's only going to piss off the itronok further.
He continues climbing, hopping between boulders with an ease he never had in his own body and carefully avoiding other nests. Acoustics in the canyon bounce screeches back at him, and he uses them as a means to track events - more territorial signaling, then aggression, a call summoning a mate, and another defensive display before silence falls. The commbadge device on his jacket activates with a swipe of his hand, and he does his best to navigate the menus in Standard, eventually finding the combination of commands that display two life signs associated with the other two badges nearby.
Good.
They seem to have stopped moving, and he hopes that Burnham might consider the other part of her Starfleet training and try retreat instead of advancing again. Either way, there's not much he can do at this point except wait, so he continues upwards until he's just below the lip of the canyon and finds a nice flat rock to stretch out on next to the clue's real hiding place.
Jinaal stares up at the stars. They're no discernibly different than 800 years ago, but they've never seemed brighter alongside the luminous silver glow of the moon. The dust smells of minerals and decaying vegetation, hints of moisture and itronok musk carried on the breeze. He thinks about how he never appreciated the view as much until he no longer had his own eyes to see it.
Sighing, he turns his focus inwards, lowering his mental walls again. His host is waiting with what's probably impatience, and Jinaal chuckles before activating the commbadge again and locating identifying information and the linked personnel file.
"Hugh Culber," he speaks the name into the still air as he reads and scrolls, "nice to meet you. Jinaal Bi- well. Usually Bix."
There's a pulse of pointed inquiry, and he smiles.
"Your friends," he flicks the life signs display up again, "will be fine, assuming they stop trying to shoot the itronok."
Uncertainty prickles between his shoulder blades, and he shifts on the rock, untucking his hands from behind his head.
"Not sure if you can actually hear me, but thank you for loaning me your body, by the way. It's a nice one."
Jinaal stretches out his left arm, flexing and squeezing the muscle appreciatively with his other hand. It's so solid, and he takes a few moments to prod his equally firm stomach again.
"Really nice. So. Hugh. What made you who you are?"
Something of what he means must make it through, because his host - Hugh - recedes briefly, as if he's gathering thoughts. Jinaal waits, curious, wondering how much human perception is providing. Then-
Images, like glimpses of a dream and laced through with fleeting hints of emotion, flash through his mind:
...an older human woman with gray hair and keen eyes accompanied by the smell of spices and sense of safety.
...looking up at a cliff side with his shoulder on fire.
...a frowning man with alabaster skin and blond hair.
...another human woman, younger, with dark skin and hair braided up around her head.
...performing surgery, saving lives, too focused to think of anything else.
...amusement looking at a tall Vulcan, one eyebrow raised and a PADD in her hands.
...desire and passion, lust ignited with every touch.
...unfamiliar hands on the chin and forehead, the sound of bone snapping.
...running from a nameless something, hunted and trapped in a twilight world of fear with no way out.
...a child laughing, knees covered in dirt and holding up some sort of plant.
...tears and pain, so much pain, heart-wrenching and awful.
...the pale man covered in blood, brilliant blue eyes full of loss and longing.
...watching the man stand behind a sleeping child, overwhelmed with pride and affection.
...the man asleep, held close with a desire to protect and to love.
...love, so much love.
The flow of scenes cuts off, and Jinaal lets out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. It's far different than his awareness of Bix's hosts or the symbiont itself, and he's surprised to find tears forming in Hugh's eyes at the intensity of emotion he's just walked Jinaal through. Dabbing at the moisture with the tip of his middle finger, he runs his palm over the bottom half of his face, beard prickling beneath his touch. He drops his hand to rest on his chest, pausing when it lands on something solid.
"What's this?"
The jacket is still open, so all he has to do is reach beneath the collar of the undershirt, lifting out a gold chain holding two rings. They’re body-warmed, moonlight casting them with a bronze glow. He opens the commbadge display again for some light, examining them.
Both are simple bands, nothing elaborate or showy. One is obviously older, tiny scratches and a divot where it's rubbed against the chain holding it. The second seems new, the sheen of platinum unmarred by signs of wear. He runs a fingertip over the inside, squinting at the engraving:
~ We go together, dear doctor ~
"Married, huh?"
Between the personnel file and Hugh's memories, it's a rhetorical question. Jinaal tucks the rings back under Hugh's shirt, and folds his hands beneath his head again.
"Lucky you, being in love."
He dismisses the display when he hears two sets of footsteps on gravel approaching.
"Jinaal!"
Burnham sounds exasperated, but not angry.
I'll take that.
"I've missed this, the simple pleasure of gazing at the stars."
He sits up, propping his arm on an upraised knee and turning to find Burnham and Book watching him with matching looks of disapproving disbelief.
"I see you survived."
"Skin of our teeth."
Burnham's stare turns thoughtful, and he can almost see the pieces clicking together for her.
"You knew that was their nesting ground, didn't you? And you had us draw our phasers to incite them. Why?"
Smiling, he pushes himself to his feet and hops off the rock.
"I had to know what you'd do when you encountered a life-form vastly different than your own. Would you just see an enemy," he paces towards a rift in the boulders, "or would you try to connect?"
Moving a few small stones aside, he reaches in and retrieves what they've come looking for, cool and heavy and angled in his hand. Blowing dust from it, he returns to them.
"That's vital for whoever gets the Progenitors' technology," he continues, "as is the belief in the potential for goodness in all beings."
He holds out the fragment to Burnham.
"Proceed wisely, Captain. Associate."
A smile creeps across her lips, head tipping to the side in understanding as she nods.
"And the carving on the rock face?"
Jinaal grins.
"I believe you'd call that a 'red herring'."
Burnham makes an amused noise, although Book still seems indecisive. Granted, Jinaal can't really blame him given the gouge the itronok left in his thigh.
Been wanting to ask this for a while...
"Never understood that. Herrings aren't even red."
"I think that's the point."
"Ah. I still don't get it."
Book fixes him with a look.
"Out of curiosity, if we hadn't proven worthy, would you have let the itronoks kill us?"
"To protect the Progenitors' power?"
"Uh-huh."
He's not ashamed of the answer, even if he's rather glad it hadn't come to that in the last 800 years.
"Yes."
Burnham and Book seem to digest that, and Jinaal wonders what Hugh Culber will have to say once he has his body back.
"These are the coordinates for the next clue?"
"They are. Good luck, Captain."
He starts off up the path again, heading for the Caves of Mak'ala to return to Bix and hopefully soon to a very long-deserved rest.
You're definitely going to need it.
Notes:
Apologies for being three weeks later than intended with this! It grew into 3,500 words because I couldn't stop writing.
If you're interested in reading one take on Hugh's personnel file, I included an earlier version of it in Chapter 18 of When Sorrow Turns to Joy.
Wilson posted today on IG that tonight's episode contains some of his favorite scenes from the series overall - excited and hopeful given the Culmets kiss in the promos. Also, love the new "character portrait" of Hugh that he shared :) (Although I don't know why they waited until halfway through the season to release them?)
I couldn't resist the engraving on the inside of Hugh's wedding ring.
Chapter 715: Symbiosis, Part Two
Summary:
*** CONTAINS MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR S5 E06 "Whistlespeak ***
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Notes:
Decided to hold off on posting this after watching "Mirrors" and how Hugh's conversation with Tilly makes it clear that he hadn't gone into the right kind of detail with Paul before then. I wanted to wait until after "Whistlespeak" to give him a chance to do that onscreen :)
Scene expansion.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Swish.
Alone in the office he uses for counseling, Hugh sits at his desk and considers his conversation with Tracy.
("So," Tracy taps her fingers on the edge of the console, "Zora's been helping me modify a grief alleviation program that just came out of clinical trials. It combines brainwaves with records of a particular person or persons to create an interactive holographic interface of that person."
Hugh nods, pausing the patient data they've been reviewing.
"How's that different than a regular hologram programmed with someone's personality, taking mannerisms and speech from their logs?"
"It uses records to build the physical likeness and as much of any other data available like logs or recordings. Then it takes active brainwaves and uses them to...well. I suppose the best explanation is it allows someone to interact with that person in real time, using memories to fill in mannerisms and all of the nuances associated with them. So it appears more real than a hologram that's been programmed, because it knows the same things the user does and reacts the same way they used to. And," she flicks away the data, calling up a summary of the programming, "it's been effective in helping reconnect PTSD patients with those they've lost."
"Well," he narrows his eyes in thought, scanning the parameters and publications on it, "I could see how that would be better than just talking to a loved one in a dream, or even a standard hyper-realistic hologram."
"Mmhmm."
"Trace," Hugh catches her side-eye, "did you test it?"
Propping her hip against a stool, she nods.
"I did."
"And?"
Tracy gives him a half-smile that's only marginally wobbly on the edges.
"Let's just say crying in front of T'Vala while she explained to me why Vulcans considered it to be illogical but she was quite fascinated by it because 'surely emotional distress in response to this projection of the person you remember is indicative of its effectiveness' was both cathartic and convinced me that they're onto something."
Hugh swallows past the lump in his throat.
"That sounds exactly like what she'd say."
"And," Tracy chuckles, "she asked how you and Paul were doing."
"What did you tell her?"
"That you'd finally decided to get married and it's been two months since the last time you snuck out for a quickie at lunch."
That pulls a startled laugh from him that grows into a fit of giggles once he makes eye contact. It's been a while since he laughed himself to tears, but given the subject matter, it's not surprising. Eventually, they stop hiccuping and sniffling.
"I needed that."
"Makes two of us. Did you want to give it a try? I was thinking..." Tracy wipes at her eyes one last time, "it could let you talk to Aida again.")
"Zora," he schools the wobble out of his voice, "can you compile all records from my grandmother, Aida Echevarría? Include all saved communications, recordings of her lectures, and holos on file, and create a program based on the grief alleviation parameters."
Of course, Doctor Culber. It will be ready momentarily.
"Thank you."
Would you like for her to appear as in the most recent communications? Or perhaps an earlier time?
That's not something he'd considered, but it makes sense to ask.
"I- umm. How about from around twenty-two thirty-six?"
Of course. The program is now ready to initialize.
Aida flickers to life in front of his desk, and it takes everything in him to not rush into her embrace.
"What can I help you with, mi corazón?"
He replies with the first thing that would have come to mind if they hadn't been thrown into the future, if he hadn't died and been brought back and a thousand and one other life-changing moments. Something simple but still full of meaning to test the program's responses.
"I want to make our mofongo for Paul but I don't remember the recipe."
"Nene, I don't have time for mofongo! I have patients to see tonight."
The distinction between office hours and mentoring students in her official capacity and those she invited to their dinner table who were struggling or needed a bit of grandmotherly care makes him grin.
"Please, Abuela," he can feel his cheeks starting to ache from smiling, "you promised."
"The 'mofongo' we make is inedible," she laughs. "Did you know: I wait until you take a nap, then I throw out what we cooked and I replicate it for you. And you always say: Abuela, you have such a gift!"
It was one time when he was 19, but she'd never let him forget it. There must have been at least a dozen references to it in their messages, and the program has managed to capture the spark of teasing in her eyes every time she brought it up again in the ensuing years.
"Zora, pause the program."
He rises, moving around the desk until he's standing in front of the living memory of his grandmother.
"Send a message to Doctor Pollard: We might be onto something with this grief alleviation therapeutic. Brainwave patterning is incredible, this holo of my grandmother is..." he blinks back moisture stinging his eyes, "exactly as I remember her. Sending over my data in a few minutes.
Every detail is perfect, from Aida's yellow suit to the hair coiled into a knot behind her head and the earrings his grandfather gave her as a 50th anniversary present. She looks like he has a hundred, a thousand memories of her, as if she's just come home from giving a lecture at Trinity, ready to make dinner.
"Zora, start the program again."
"What can I help you with, mi corazón?"
"I wanted to ask..." he turns to face her again, seeing the same patient understanding he's missed so very much, "I experienced something on Trill: My body was inhabited by another and since then, I've had a feeling. It's hard to describe."
Aida's brow creases and she gently cradles his face between age-worn hands.
"Are you feeling it right now?"
He nods.
"Can you help me understand it?"
She leans back a little, dropping her hands to squeeze his.
"No."
It's said with such gentleness that his chest aches.
I miss you so much, Abuela.
"Program, check the database. She should be able to answer that. We spoke often about her spiritual feelings and practices."
"That is true, nene, but I also trained you to be a doctor, a man of science. How can we consider the soul when you have not yet examined the body?"
The look she gives him invites him to change his perspective, just a little, a mental sidestep. Her words echo in his head, spinning and reversing until the answer hits him.
"Yes, of course..."
Aida's hologram smiles at him, expression fading into one of compassionate understanding. She opens her arms, beckoning, and this time he doesn't hold himself back. Her embrace is as strong as he remembers before arthritis slowed her joints, guiding his head down to rest on her shoulder and swaying back and forth.
"I can't tell you the answers," she murmurs, "you have to find them for yourself. You already know them."
"I-"
"Talk to your novio," Aida says as his vision blurs with tears, "he'll help you."
Notes:
OMG.
1) This episode was classic Trek - the Prime Directive, technology / higher power question, Starfleet officers accidentally getting themselves into literal life-threatening danger without thinking ahead, everything.
2) So...we've met Aida. In the holographic flesh, and I *never* imagined we'd get to see Hugh's abuela! I need to absorb the conversation they had, but I feel like there is so much I can do with that, and best of all, nothing in my headcanon directly contradicts canon. I just have to figure out how to work in spirituality when it's not something I'd considered prior to this season. I do have her older than 100 just before Discovery begins, but since we know people live longer in the future without appearing as aged, let's say Hugh uses her appearance from earlier on.
3) Can we agree that Wilson speaking Spanish is swoon-worthy? And the fact that I have Hugh and Aida's conversation in When Sorrow Turns to Joy mentioned to be in Spanish is so very validating I can't even explain how I feel right now.
4) Culmets playful banter and a kiss! Paul flirting with Hugh about "working together" being romantic, I'm going to guess part of him actually does find that extremely sexy. And I love that he calls Hugh's brain handsome. It's 2 am, so I'll need to get some sleep before I dive into the two lovely scenes. Contrary to what Hugh tells Book, I think Paul does understand more than he realizes - Hugh seems intent on questioning himself more than others do.
5) Kovich using a 21st century legal pad has me wondering if we'll ever find out who he really is. Now I'm beginning to wonder if he's a member of the Time Agency from the past who was displaced into the future too?
Chapter 716: Scanning, Part One
Summary:
*** CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR S5 E06 "Whistlespeak" ***
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Notes:
Can I extend a one-minute scene into something deeper? Oh yes, yes I definitely can and will.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The third puzzle piece slots into place as neatly as the first two, edges interlocking.
It's such an anachronistic way to code the key to technology beyond our comprehension.
Frowning thoughtfully, he props his elbow on the table and rests his chin on it.
Maybe that's the point.
Swish.
"Paul," Hugh's voice is unexpected but far from unwelcome and he moves quickly, although without any sign of alarm or concern. "I need your help with something. Can I pull you away?"
His husband has been so...contemplative over the past couple of weeks, and the affectionate smile in response to the sense of purpose following Hugh down the stairs widens. He raises his eyebrows in silent encouragement, leaning into the hand squeezing his shoulder.
Go on.
"I'm looking to do a full neural scan on myself and," he lets his hand trail down Paul's bicep, tickling at his inner elbow through the sleeve, "I could use an assistant."
Blinking, Paul straightens, catching Hugh's retreating wrist.
"Neural scan...is everything all right?"
"Yeah, yeah yeah, everything's fine. We don't have a lot of data on the neurological after-effects of zhian'tara, and this is a chance to gather some."
Hugh's eyes flick away briefly as he mentions the zhian'tara with a small shrug, although there's no tension in the set of his shoulders or the tone of voice. Still, something feels a little off in the forced casualness and the fact that Hugh came down in person to ask rather than sending a message.
"Are you having after-effects?"
He leans forward, tugging Hugh's sleeve cuff for emphasis. Certainly, he's been quieter of late with more restless shifting and pillow-fluffing once they're in bed than might be usual.
"No, no," Hugh starts to shake his head, half-smile in place.
This seems weird.
Paul's eyes narrow, and Hugh's expression melts into one of abashed admission as he bounces on the balls of his feet.
"...maybe."
Tilly's concerns - and their conversation in his lab - aside, guilt wraps around his ankles, working its way upwards.
"Hugh...are you sure you're okay?"
It feels like he's been asking that a lot lately, and even if Hugh's hedging around something, he ought to be paying more attention. Even with the mysteries upon mysteries wrapped in enigmas and tied off with riddles that the clue trail is leading them on, Hugh deserves more of his time that he's given him since the whole thing started.
"Yeah, of course," Hugh's shaking his head ever so slightly, out of sync with his words and hasty. "We need this data and, well, when was the last time you and I got to work together? Might be nice."
The nonchalant shrug feels real. And while he's sure Hugh doesn't mean the last part as a dig at him for being preoccupied, he does have a very good point.
Quit overthinking it.
"Nothing as romantic as a neural scan," Paul offers a teasing smile in return, nudging Hugh's thigh with his knee.
Hugh sways forward, chuckling, and runs his hand down Paul's upper arm, lingering above his elbow.
"So is that a yes?"
"At your service," he promises, smiling.
"Great, I'll prep everything, and we'll get started in the morning."
He steals a quick kiss, pats Paul's knee, and pivots to head out of Engineering. Paul's not above watching Hugh's retreating form, jacket pulled tight to emphasize his shoulders and waist as trim as ever. The doors close behind him, and Paul's left alone with his thoughts and a stubbornly cryptic set of clues.
"Do better," he mutters to himself, tracing a fingertip over the carvings.
Notes:
The way Paul smiles at Hugh so warmly when he first gets to Engineering makes me melt. I say it over and over, but the acting is so damn believable.
Technically we only see Hugh touching Paul's arm and shoulder, but since they're standing close enough and their lower arms are out of frame, who's to say Paul isn't reaching right back?
Paul and Hugh's conversation takes place in Chapter 710 ("Sangria, Part Three").
Chapter 717: Scanning, Part Two
Summary:
There are no secrets between them in bed.
Notes:
*** CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR S5 E06 "Whistlespeak" ***
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(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"So, about these after-effects you may or may not be having?"
He pauses, elbow angled upwards. Paul's tone is light, spoken around his toothbrush, but the look he levels at Hugh in the mirror is serious. It's not accusatory or suspicious, just concerned. Tipping his head towards the doorway and quirking his lips to tell Paul he's not avoiding the question, he finishes as efficiently as possible and rinses his mouth.
Once they're done in the bathroom, he crawls over the sheets and settles with his back to the headboard, right leg bent and ankle tucked under his left knee. Paul's only a step behind, piling pillows and sitting beside him to gaze out at the stars. He doesn't say anything, just rests his hand warm on Hugh's thigh and traces circles with his thumb while he waits.
The idle, familiar motion is grounding as Hugh considers and discards four different ways of starting before deciding he should start with the thought that's been gnawing at his stomach even as something else feels like it's vibrating just beneath his skin.
"I should have told you."
Paul's hand pauses. A couple of breaths later, he turns towards Hugh, left elbow propped on the headboard.
"Why didn't you?"
Again, there's no accusation, none of the emphasis intended towards guilt or annoyance. Rather, Paul's frown is one of curiosity marked with a hint of uncertainty.
"I didn't know how to," Hugh looks down at his hands in his lap, watching Paul from the corner of his eye, "I still don't. Not really."
The frown deepens.
"Do you feel like something's wrong?"
Shaking his head, Hugh lets it fall back against the top of the headboard, looking up at the ceiling.
"I'm not sure how to explain it."
Paul's fingers cover his own, not holding, just present. Their weight is welcome, as is Paul caressing his knuckles with his thumb.
"Have you talked about it with anyone?"
Hugh nods.
"I tried, earlier."
"And what did they say?"
He lets his head roll to the right, finds Paul watching him with patient anticipation.
He doesn't seem to be upset that 'anyone' isn't him.
"You know how much I wish I could talk to Abuela again."
His slightly sad smile is reflected in Paul's own expression.
"Mmhmm," he scoots closer, sliding down on the bed until he can rest his cheek atop the pile of pillows and their faces are level, "I wish you could too."
"Well. Tracy's been working on a...grief alleviation therapy with Zora."
Paul's eyebrows raise, interest clear.
"Yeah?"
"I can send you the technical specs, but it's using active brainwaves and supplementing them with any records or other information. It feeds into a program that builds a hologram of a particular person and actively adjusts and maintains it in reaction to what someone says and how they're feeling."
He can see the moment it clicks, understanding in steel-blue eyes.
"You used it for Aida."
It's not a question, but he nods anyway.
"She was so- so real, Paul. Everything, just the way I remember her from maybe twenty years ago, when she was still teaching. Every detail, the way she laughed, how..." he blinks, eyes stinging, "I could hug her. It wasn't just a hologram, it's like she was there, with me. And I just..."
Heat rushes across his face. He gets one shaky breath that ends on a sniffle, then he's being gathered into Paul's arms. They're at an awkward angle, elbows and shoulders in the wrong places until Paul mutters, "hold on," and rearranges them both, urging Hugh to sit up and straddling his lap until he can wrap one arm around Hugh's shoulders and use the other hand to cradle Hugh's head against chest. Hot tears soak into Paul's pajama top, his own arms around Paul's waist as he's held and gently rocked.
"Shh," Paul murmurs, kissing his forehead before letting Hugh bury his face again, "I know how much you miss her."
Hugh nods, nose pressed to Paul's sternum.
"...I...I don't..."
Paul tucks Hugh's head under his chin, holding on tighter.
"It's okay. I've got you."
The spate of crying lasts a few minutes during which he's reduced to breathing through his mouth, nose too stuffed. All through it, Paul makes soothing noises, rubbing his back and generally placing himself between Hugh and the rest of the universe, solid and weighty and unwavering. Eventually, the tears trail off into hitching inhales and damp exhales.
He raises his head, Paul's hand moving to cradle his cheek.
"Feel better?"
Hugh feels drained, not empty but like the ground when a thunderstorm has passed, soggy with the rain of his emotions and the pounding noise gone quiet, air still and petrichor rising.
"Kind of."
He tries for a wry smile, but it feels wobbly. Paul's own eyes are reddened, although his face is dry. Wordless, he kisses the high points of Hugh's cheekbones and lets his lips linger at Hugh's mouth. When he straightens, it's to carefully untangle them long enough to rearrange the pillows and lie down before snuggling close. Paul reaches up and traces Hugh's brow with his fingertips, feather light.
"We don't have to talk about it tonight."
"I know. I want to, I just...I need to see the results of the scan before I try to explain."
"What are we looking for?"
It's said with the same serious focus as Commander Stamets taking on profound scientific challenge, and he can feel his body relaxing without conscious thought at the confirmation that they can tackle this together.
I love this man so much.
"I'm not sure. Anything out of the ordinary."
Paul's eyes narrow in thought before he nods.
"Okay."
He settles the duvet over them properly, smoothing down the sheets.
"Thank you."
"For helping?"
Hugh kisses him again, slow and sweet.
"For being you."
Notes:
Had to balance the fact that Hugh clearly hadn't told Paul about the spiritual invigoration until after the scan the next morning with the fact that we *know* they talk in bed, so I needed to find a way for Hugh to tell Paul enough that he would be as unworried as he seems to be after the scan. Sidetracking with the emotional bit talking about Aida's hologram seemed to fit.
Conclusion in Part Three ahead, wrapping up with the neural scan scene.
Chapter 718: Scanning, Part Three
Notes:
The blonde medical officer who we've seen in the background across multiple seasons but goes uncredited is played by Shelley Owens. As with Zarrin Darnell-Martin and Marco Perretta, I've chosen to use her actual name for the character.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul wakes up first for once, a rarity in and of itself during the long course of their relationship. The chrono reads 0623 to his bleary eyes, but he's warm and comfortable with Hugh's arm slung low across his stomach and chin resting on Paul's shoulder.
Hugh.
Slowly so as not to disturb him, Paul rolls onto his side to be able to see Hugh's face. Hugh makes a quiet grumbling noise, stirring as he's shifted, but falling still again with a handful of Paul's pajama top between his fingers. They've migrated to the middle of the bed and are mostly sharing Hugh's pillow - because Paul's is far too soft, according to certain people - the covers tangled around their legs.
Rubbing more of the sleep from his eyes, Paul tucks his left hand beneath his cheek and contemplates the man in bed with him. Hugh's lips are a little chapped, but no other evidence of last night's tears is visible on his face. Paul glances down at the front of his own shirt, mentally tracing out the long-dried salt of Hugh's grief. It's not the first time either of them has cried thinking about family, sometimes sorrowful and other times cathartic. Last night was something else though, as if Hugh were buoyed and weighed down simultaneously. He hadn't pushed too much, not when Hugh's obvious introspection didn't seem to point to anything alarming.
Yet?
If anyone asked, Paul would guess Hugh's thinking his way around the edges of a larger thing of some kind, hypothesizing and trying out ideas to see how they fit. It's got to be tied into the search for the Progenitors' technology, he's just not sure how yet. Exhaling slowly through his nose, Paul considers his own preoccupation with the puzzle key, with Adira's sudden realization of their own independence while also being terrified by it, with the enjoyment of having Tilly working by his side again. Much as they tended to talk about everything, they also respected each other's thoughts. Hugh had said he wasn't sure yet how to talk about whatever's been inhabiting the frown between his brows, not until after completing a full neural scan. It would be well within his right and permission to check Hugh's medical file to see if there's something amiss, but he trusts him not to hide something major and while doing so wouldn't breach any boundaries at all, he's not at that point of worry.
Tilly would have said so.
Some of that might also be reciprocal apology for his own concealment of the side effects of his tardigrade hybridization and all of the jumps what feels like an entire lifetime ago. Without a war looming overhead or a Terran Captain masquerading as a Starfleet officer goading him, he's tried hard not to slip back into old habits. Well, the extremes of them at least; Hugh had said on more than one occasion how much he loved Paul's dedication to his science, to knowledge. With hindsight and literal life and death for perspective, he's grown - they both have, really - into a better partner, a better husband, than he could have been before.
Ergo, he can't imagine Hugh hiding something deleterious to his health, and certainly never anything that might in any way be a danger to others. Hugh asks for so little for himself, of course the only thing he could do when Hugh requested his help was offer it with a smile. He hasn't been given much to work with, but he'll just have to follow Hugh's lead.
As if on cue, there's an indistinct murmur. He can tell when Hugh's breathing speeds up because they're no longer in sync, feeling his fingers flex against his side and watching him rub his cheek on the pillowcase. Content, Paul rubs Hugh's hip with his free hand and slips it under his shirt, scratching gently at the small of his back.
"Morning," he whispers when Hugh's eyes open.
Regardless of what he was feeling the night before, Hugh greets him the same way he always does when they're not in a hurry, the tiny smile curving his lips and his sleepy gaze full of love.
"Time s'it?"
"You running this morning?"
Hugh rolls onto his back, covering his mouth as he yawns before shaking his head, scrubbing his palms over his face.
"Nah."
He's not fully awake, but going back to sleep doesn't seem likely so he disengages with a last tickle across Hugh's stomach and heads towards the bathroom. Surprisingly, Hugh doesn't follow him. By the time he's done with brushing his teeth and using the facilities followed by a detour to the replicator, Hugh's just sitting up and blinking at him owlishly. He does, however, hold out a hand to accept the steaming café con leche and makes a vaguely inappropriate noise at the first sip that probably has something to do with the generous amounts of cocoa and cinnamon dusting the top.
"Marry me," he half-moans into the rim of the cup.
Paul climbs back under the covers, rearranging pillows with a chuckle.
"I did. You were there, remember?"
Eyes closed, Hugh inhales the steam and hums in agreement.
"Mmhmm."
He presses a kiss to Hugh's cheek before leaning back and drinking his own coffee in companionable silence. When they're done, he collects both cups and sets them on his nightstand.
"We have time for breakfast?"
Hugh pauses in scratching his stomach, shirt rucked up to display the same lovely abdominal muscles that Paul has the privilege of licking.
"...mmm?"
"Wasn't sure how early of a start you wanted."
It's not abrupt, but Hugh seems far more awake when he turns to look at him.
"Thank you."
"You already said that," he reminds him gently, "whatever you need."
Sighing, Hugh reaches for his hand.
"I mean it."
"So do I."
Whatever Hugh's about to say next is cut off when his stomach grumbles audibly.
"Breakfast."
They don't linger long over the eggs and toast, just enough for Hugh to brush his teeth and collect a proper kiss from him before donning their uniforms and heading down to the medbay. Owens winks at them when Hugh tells her that Paul's going to assist, passing over the neural monitors for Hugh to place on himself. Once she initiates the scan, there's not much to do but wait.
32nd century technology is much faster than its 23rd century ancestors, but it still takes a few minutes for the process to complete. He busies himself with the readings as the computer traces connections and carries out activity mapping, silent so as to help Hugh not focus on anything in particular.
"Well," he starts, hearing Hugh sit up behind him, "we've checked for biological, chemical, and genetic anomalies, and, umm..." Paul gestures at the display as Hugh moves to stand at his shoulder, "turns out you have a perfectly typical, healthy and rather handsome human brain."
That last is said with deliberate mischief, hoping to at least pull a smile. Possibly the only thing he doesn't occasionally like about the holodisplays is the inability to watch reflections, so he has to turn to see Hugh's reaction.
"So," his shoulders rise in undertainty, "no lasting neurological effects of zhian'tara whatsoever?"
Why does he sound...disappointed?
Paul glances back at the results again and shrugs, shaking his head.
"None."
It's telling that Hugh doesn't hold his gaze for long, eyes flitting away. His body follows, taking a couple of steps before Hugh leans against a biobed, arms crossed. Interestingly, it's not a defensive pose, more that whatever Hugh's been thinking doesn't fit with their results. He could keep waiting, but leaving Hugh to stew on it hasn't helped so far. Making a decision, he follows and asks a question in the form of a statement.
"There's something you're not saying."
Hugh glances up then down again, still shaking his head, and sighs.
"It's just, I was hoping these scans would give me an answer. You know, a physiological cause for what I'm feeling and-" he shrugs helplessly, "and then I'd understand, then I could talk about it."
It feels like there's something missing, some key that should probably be blatantly obvious to him. Since it's not, he keeps his tone light as he tries for more context.
"I don't understand," he admits, eyes narrowing, "are you feeling sick, or...?"
He knows the answer isn't that, but can't feel his way towards the right words without more information.
"No. Uh..the opposite. Ever since Trill," Hugh continues, "I've felt more connected, more, umm..."
There's a flicker of something like nervous anticipation, like Hugh's sharing something he isn't sure of Paul's reaction to. Which, really, shouldn't be the case at all because there's never been anything they couldn't talk about together.
"...attuned to something greater than myself. Greater than all of us. But if there's no scientific reason for it, then..."
Huh.
He wants to reach out and smooth the frown from Hugh's brow even as relief and curiosity wash away the concern.
"So it's a... spiritual thing?"
Hugh nods. They really ought to discuss this later, in private, but right now it's important that he relieve him of whatever nebulous worry he has about telling Paul what he's feeling.
"Hey," he tries for a reassuring tone, "what matters most is that you're okay. The scans would have picked up anything with health implications."
Paul gives the display one more look to check, and doesn't miss the way Hugh's arms uncross to clasp his hands together instead.
Progress, right?
"So, in lieu of that," Paul smiles, "I say, why don't you just enjoy it?
Hugh blinks at him.
"Really?"
"The human brain, with its billions of neurons, each with thousands of connection points, is one of the most complex things in the known universe."
Of course Hugh knows that, better than Paul most days, but it seems like he needs to be reminded.
"So," he squeezes Hugh's arm (he'd rather kiss him, but the medical staff doesn't need any more material to tease them about), "enjoy it."
"Right."
As far as he can tell, Hugh looks the farthest thing from convinced. Paul also knows that the best thing he can do right now is give him the space to work all of the pieces together without feeling like he has an audience. He lets go of Hugh's arm, catching his hand and tucking his thumb under the cuff to stroke the tender skin on the inside of his wrist before heading out of the medbay.
In the turbolift, he swipes open his tricomm and types out a short message to Hugh.
[Stamets-Paul-CMDR/SCI-ENG] Definitely romantic :)
Collapsing the interface once he sees that Hugh's read it, he sets a part of his mind to keep contemplating the situation while the rest turns back to focusing on the greater matter at hand.
I need to talk to Tilly once she's back.
Notes:
I switched back to Paul's perspective for it to give some depth, because they know each other well enough that he wouldn't be completely oblivious to Hugh being worried. To me, the scene reads as Paul being relieved it's not a medical problem, and trying to get Hugh back on even footing. So he's gentle and encouraging, but I suspect he's going to go off and think about it more before going home for the evening.
Side note: Much as I enjoy Hugh and Book's friendship growing, I'm still vaguely annoyed with how they've written Book as single-mindedly being determined to make a connection with Moll, to the point he just keeps ignoring her experience with his mentor. Regardless if her impression doesn't align with his experience, it's how she's felt since she was a child and I don't like that it's being dismissed by his attempts to act like they could bond over it.
Side side note: The newest stills for "Erigah" show Hugh in some sort of overcoat and grey gloves. It's not a dress uniform, so I wonder if it's some sort of protective gear to treat Breen wounds? Pure speculation on my part, I just can't figure out what the intent of those garments is. The sleeves also appear to have more texture than the usual uniform jacket ones and the shoulder panels feature a return to the tiny Starfleet deltas that used to be on the side panels of the 23rd century uniforms, although the lighting makes it hard to tell. He and Michael seem to be looking directly at the camera, so maybe it's just a promo photo rather than an actual production still?
Chapter 719: Struck
Summary:
*** CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR S5 E07 "Erigah" ***
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Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Adapting a cryo-pod to work as a regenerative therapeutic is all in a day's work, as far as Hugh's concerned, particularly when all of his skills as a physician are of limited use for a species whose physiology doesn't follow the same principles as any other he's seen. The Federation database can't do much better, and he shelves the thousand questions he has about the Breen for later. More importantly, he understands that look in Moll's eyes, even if the willingness to violence and absolute indifference to collateral damage that could lead to genocide are the antithesis of everything he is.
Love is universal, even if the circumstances are...less than ideal.
In the two years since their leap into the future, he's collected bits and pieces - things Tilly's said, Tracy's quiet words, Reno's comments - to understand exactly what his own death wrought on the man he'd promised to spend the rest of his life with. They've talked about it together, tucked beneath the covers and holding each other tightly, Paul haltingly admitting the depth of his grief and Hugh listening with an ache in his heart. Their love had been constant and sure, something solid and unquestioned after so long. Knowing each other completely had been comfort in their long separations, brightly burning flares of passion on reunion always underlaid by the cozy warmth of enduring tenderness.
Moll and L'ak are like a supernova, an ever-growing inferno leaving destruction in its wake, two neutron stars locked in inexorable orbit and a singularity formed of it. To them, all they ever could have is each other and nothing else matters. Watching a glimmer of vulnerability slip from behind the hardness of Moll's stare when L'ak spoke about love...Hugh gets it, even if he'd never do the same.
Which is why he ends up with an energy discharge to the chest when he tries to stop Moll from fleeing.
He's half-distracted by a healer's instinct to tend to L'ak as he grapples with her, the hand-to-hand sparring he'd done with Rhys in the gym and his own greater muscle mass next to useless against her strength and ferocity born of desperation. The knee to his groin knocks the wind from him and he's helpless to resist the kick that sends him to the deck seconds before ice floods his veins and he blacks out.
His limbs feel heavy, numbness receding as he pushes himself to his feet and returns to the task of trying to save L'ak's life. It turns out to be an impossible task even with the Breen physician, and he's helpless in the face of death. He's completely aware of - and disgusted by - the Primarch's intention to capitalize on it, the knowledge that they're all balancing on the edge of a razor with the number of weapons in the room as it happens, and it takes decades of training to stay calm.
It's not until much later that the entirety of the situation sinks in, long after the Breen have departed and Tilly sends Paul home to him. His husband's single-minded focus on decoding every bit of information from the clue they're studying is a familiar comfort, even if Hugh knows full well that it's Paul's way of dealing with the unknown when he can't control anything else.
"...Hugh?"
His face must be doing something interesting, because Paul's giving him an odd look as they rinse shampoo and soap from their bodies in the shower.
"Sorry," he murmurs, shaking his head, "just...a lot today."
"Tell me about it."
Paul clearly means it as both commiseration and a request, and he very briefly considers not telling him what exactly went on in the medbay before reasoning that finding out from reading a report would be far worse.
"In a nutshell?"
Reaching out to switch from rainfall to steam, Paul nods.
"L'ak overdosed himself trying to cause a distraction, Moll went through all of Nhan's security detail to escape. And," he closes his eyes for a moment, bracing himself, "she kicked me in the balls and managed to stun me. I'm fine, no residual cellular damage, I just- well."
Silence.
Paul goes perfectly still, eyes wide and stormy grey, breath caught between his lips as the words sink in. What Hugh's planning to say next never makes it past his throat, because he's abruptly tugged into a fierce embrace, Paul's arms around his waist like duranium bands.
"Hugh..." his voice is tight, chin digging into Hugh's shoulder, "fuck."
It's a little difficult to breathe, but he clings to Paul in return, adrenaline and stress and uncertainty making him sway on his feet.
"Yeah."
"Promise me," Paul swallows hard, "I know you can't, but promise me, Hugh."
Another time he might try to lighten the moment by referring to his bruised groin, but tonight he nods, pressing his cheek into Paul's wet hair.
"I promise."
Notes:
1) Rayner's visceral Breen response gives me shades of O'Brien's violence-rooted response to the Cardassians. Not the exact same, but the "old soldier facing trauma" feeling is there.
2) Heart in my throat the moment Hugh was shot. Seeing him in hand-to-hand combat was impressive. It makes me wonder how much of the cryo-mist was used to conceal a stunt double...will have to go back and watch again.
3) Paul getting Tilly to stay gave me all the feels. Also, him focusing on the scientific mystery because he can't do anything about the rest of the situation feels very in-character, and I'm glad we get a sense of him forcing himself to only think about that. I'll have more to write about him, Tilly, Reno, and Adira after I've gotten some sleep.
4) Reno's jack-of-all-trades backstory is the cherry on top I didn't know I needed. She definitely *did* get around, Adira :P
5) Bold move killing L'ak. Granted, maybe he doesn't stay dead because of the Progenitors' tech, but it's in keeping with his and Moll's reckless actions.
6) Book being so obsessed with Moll is starting to move from annoying to creepy. Just saying. Him thinking he knew better than Michael / Starfleet / Federation is what almost got everyone killed last season. Re-treading it feels sloppy, but I also know I'm being extra critical because I know there isn't any more story after this season is over.
Chapter 720: Sock
Chapter Text
“…’ve never…”
Hugh’s drifting a little, body well-sated and heart still overflowing with affection and wonder that something so otherwise carnal could be so incredibly satisfying on every level. The slightly vacant smile he can feel curving his lips is the barest manifestation of the aftershocks still buzzing along his nerves, and he rouses himself enough to turn his head on the pillow. Beside him, Paul’s hair is darkened with sweat and sticking to his forehead in abstract waves. His cheeks are pink - Hugh’s entirely too boneless to check, but he’d guess the lower ones probably are too - and his throat is liberally dotted with brilliant scarlet love bites. He looks debauched, the manifestation of Hugh’s wet dreams.
”Mmm?”
The inquisitive hum almost sticks in his throat, and Hugh uses the hand not holding Paul’s to fumble for the glass of water he left on the nightstand from the night before. It’s a little stale tasting, but cool and wet and refreshing nonetheless.
”…nothing.”
Propping himself up on an elbow takes more energy than expected, although he manages to hold the glass steady in offering. Paul’s watching him side-wise, accepting and draining the remainder of the water in a couple of gulps before setting it on the edge of the headboard above them. As they settle down once again, Hugh’s head pillowed on Paul’s shoulder, he picks up the thread of semi-conversation.
”What’s nothing?”
Paul’s thumb is rubbing circles on the inside of his elbow, the hair on his forearm tickling Hugh’s chest with every inhale.
”Umm. Just…thinking?”
”Mmm,” Hugh nuzzles at Paul’s jaw, “I hear that happens a lot.”
The gentle tease draws an amused chuckle.
”Yeah.”
”About what?”
Someone’s sock is clinging precariously to the edge of the mattress at the foot of the bed, and he idly wonders how it wasn’t dislodged with all of the bouncing a few minutes ago.
”It’s silly.”
”So?”
Paul’s cheek is warm and damp with sweat as he rests it against Hugh’s forehead, shaking his head just a little.
”I just- I’ve never really thought…you know. That it could be this good.”
The hand previously resting on his arm moves downwards, lacing their fingers together. Hugh squeezes Paul’s fingers, lifting their joined hands to appreciate the way their skin tones contrast so prettily.
”I’d hoped it could be,” he murmurs, “and I’m glad we got to find out together.”
Notes:
Busy work week + visited my parents this weekend, so I have some writing to catch up on :). Mostly for “Erigah”, so hopefully I can get it in before the new episode this week.
Chapter 721: Single-Minded, Part One
Summary:
Paul knows he seems obsessed, but it’s the only choice right now.
Chapter Text
“Paul,” Tilly crosses her arms, voice tight, “why are we talking about the clue right now? The last time the Breen paid a visit to the Federation, they destroyed an entire city.”
Nervous and brilliant Cadet Tilly wasn’t so long ago at all, and she’s grown so much, and he’s absolutely going to tell her how proud he is of her when this is all over.
Assuming we’re all still here when it’s over.
Don't think about that.
Right now, he’s increasingly worried that the answers are slipping further away with every moment as if time is a predator on their heels.
“Which is exactly why we need to keep focusing on this,” he waves the metal clue for emphasis.
Her eyebrows raise, and he knows she’s half a breath away from speaking again, so he rushes ahead.
“Look, the Mitchell is out there, and their orders are to stand by in case...” he swallows, wincing, “well, in case they receive an encrypted message from us.”
“You mean, in case we can't complete the mission because we're all dead.”
For her part, Tilly manages to look mostly unimpressed, but the resigned sarcasm that accompanies her deliberately dry response means he’s making headway. It’s not that she’s wrong, but he can’t afford to head down that road right now.
“This clue is the most important thing in the Federation right now. We have to get the Progenitors' power and keep it safe.”
Lips pressed into a flat line, Tilly narrows her eyes. He's still a terrible liar, knows Tilly’s well-versed in all his tells (second only to Hugh these days, if he’s being honest), so all he can do is reach for what he can sincerely say.
“And honestly, Fed HQ is the safest place your cadets could be right now.”
She blinks at him, expression opaque as she weighs his words.
”So…can I let Adira know you’re on your way to help?”
”Yes,” she eventually answers, spoken with a force behind her nod, “of course.”
Paul’s received enough disbelieving looks to know he seems obsessed with the clue trail to the point where he’s blithely disregarding everything else. Which, in actuality, is the complete opposite of why he’s doing it.
Even for a crew who’ve experienced so much, Discovery might feel inured to existential threats with galactic consequences. He doesn’t doubt for an instant that everyone believes Michael and Rayner’s account of a future where the Breen get there first, courtesy of Moll and L’ak’s time bug sabotage. Still, he’s not sure he can explain the visceral conviction that beyond self-preservation and the greater scientific good, they cannot let it come to pass.
It’s a truth he knows as surely as his love for Hugh; and for the sake of Hugh and Tilly and Adira and everyone, they can’t fail. Paul had felt the echoes of the utter destruction in his psyche even though his own death must have been part of it all. So much destruction, and a finality of hopelessness amidst it all that he can’t explain to anyone.
Not even Hugh, especially when he’s clearly wrestling with his own inexplicable feelings. Paul’s personal views on spirituality aside, it’s not a journey he can accompany him on until - if - Hugh invites him and that stings. Everything since he opened his eyes amidst the chaos of Discovery’s crash landing to find a jagged scar over his heart and the man who put it back together smiling down at him has been working towards each other, building a stronger foundation. Even with the threat of the DMA and how deeply the fear and uncertainty affected Hugh, he’d still believed he could help.
This though, is beyond it all.
Finding the Progenitors’ hidden bounty is more than the momentous scientific treasure it’s reputed to be, more than ensuring the Breen and anyone else with ill intent doesn’t get there first. The fate of the Federation and all other peaceful species is a critically important motivator, but not the only one. It has answers for Hugh, or at least a different set of questions so that Paul doesn’t wake in the middle of the night to find Hugh staring out at the stars with a blank expression. So he can stop giving him space that neither of them is totally comfortable with, but that Paul knows Hugh needs.
Until then, all he can do is focus on decoding the clues, on fitting the pieces of the puzzle together as quickly as possible.
Notes:
I was saving “Single” to either tell a sweet story about Paul realizing Hugh is it for him, or an angsty one during their separation, but single-minded just fits this chapter so well.
I’m so behind on replying to comments :(. Promise that I’ve read them all, and they honestly keep me writing on the bad days <3
I was chatting with my bestie about Culmets (because reasons), and we agreed that there’s an air of awkwardness onscreen between Paul and Hugh. Since the writers don’t seem to be making it make sense, I hope my headcanon of the reasons behind it works.
Chapter 722: Single-Minded, Part Two
Summary:
Focus is easier said than achieved.
Notes:
Contains dialogue from "Erigah" and picks up right where the prior chapter leaves off.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Of course, the day doesn't get any better even after seeing Tilly off with Adira.
("Put me to work," Book says, so Paul does.)
Part of his mind acknowledges the lockdown alert - which, great, another crisis is exactly what they don't need right now - but the majority of it is still focused on narrowing down their options. They're currently safe, and until he hears otherwise, refuses to consider that three of the people he loves most in the universe might be in more danger than they're all already immersed in while facing down a Breen dreadnought. Paul shakes his head and prepares to put it out of mind, trusting in Nhan's more than capable sensibility to handle things.
Book clearly has other ideas.
So much for helping.
They don't have time for distractions, and he tries to remind him of it.
"Wait, Book," he crosses the bay, attempting to appeal to reasonable thinking, "we already have a mission."
Ignoring him, Book stares into the middle distance and queries Zora again.
"Have any terminals been used to access ship schematics?"
There was a log-in 30 seconds ago.
"Where?"
Terminal C-7 on Deck 5.
"I need to go."
Book's grabbing his jacket and turning to leave, and Paul moves quickly to intercept, stepping into his path. He's aware that Book wouldn't have any trouble physically brushing past him, but he can't back down now. There's far too much at stake.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no. No," he gives the growing frustration at everything an outlet in his voice, "no, Nhan's after her."
"Nhan doesn't know Moll."
And you do?
So much for duty and reason.
"We have to solve this!"
"I can help."
"Book," his fingers barely graze a bicep, but it makes the man hesitate, "the mission has to be the priority."
For a too-long moment he's left staring at Book's tense shoulders, his own left hand curled into a fist so tightly that his fingers ache as he waits. Book half-turns, face lit with blue from the spore cube. Paul rolls all of the thorny disquiet and worry into a spiky ball in the pit of his stomach and mentally stomps down on it.
"We need that final clue."
Book moves past him again, this time to toss his jacket back over the console.
"Okay. The scientist was Betazoid, but the clue has no trace elements from Betazed. What about from one of their colonies?"
He controls a surge of annoyance before it manifests as more than a frown and a shrug, as if he wouldn't have followed the obvious leads. Book's staying engaged for now, and that's all that matters even if it's tinged with a clear desire to leave.
You can work with this.
"They didn't have any 800 years ago."
"We must be missing something. It feels like we should be further along."
"Yeah. Yeah," Paul mutters, "you would think so."
An air current from Book's arrested motion tugs at the hairs on the back of his hand and something shifts in his brain, like the way his consciousness slips sideways and twists when he takes Discovery into the mycelial network.
Wait-
He grasps after it, but it flitters away, elusive.
"...what did you just say?"
"Oh, um...we must be missing something."
That's not it.
"No, you said something about-about feeling- That's it!"
Paul latches onto the fragment of thought, cupping the glowing ember in his mental palms and blowing to keep it alight the way he's always done it best: thinking out loud.
"Betazoids are telepaths, so what if Dr. Derex created a..." he searches for the right words to describe the feeling building itself into a concept, "transitive link between this card and the place it came from? And...and she would have left traces of her thoughts and emotions behind. And you're an empath, so maybe you could read them."
While there's no guarantee, there's also nothing to be lost by trying. He holds out the thin sheet of metal, body-warm from his grip, proffering the card. Book turns it over in his hand, eyes narrowing as he stares at it before closing his eyes and inhaling.
"Anything?"
"Not with you talking, there won't be."
He's fairly certain the parts of the brain engaged in speech and those with empathic ability aren't mutually exclusive, but point taken. Book's breathing deepens, then slows. The radiant bioluminescence he's come to associate with Kwejian empathy centers glows along Book's forehead and down the bridge of his nose.
"You were right. I see something. Empty space. Somewhere remote."
It's a start.
"Any cosmological details? Um, planets? Suns? Nebulae?"
"A dust cloud," Book eventually adds, "huge. A storm...not a dust storm. Plasma."
"Plasma storm. All right," he prompts, hoping there's more.
"And there's a noise, like an explosion. Plasma blast," Book frowns, "maybe a few?"
"Huge, remote plasma storm. Possible explosive plasma bursts, which would create ionic discharge," Paul's hands move of their own volition, tracing out the possible geometries. "That's good. That's-that's helpful."
The glow fades, the sense of calm fading out of existence, and Paul knows he's not going to be able to keep Book there.
"Okay."
Book hands the clue back, picking up his jacket.
"Any-anything else?" he asks,
"Uh..." he sounds dismissive already, "yeah. Another feeling. Eternity," Book gestures vaguely, "eternal. Don't know what it means. I have to go."
Left holding the card, he chews the inside of his lower lip and briefly contemplates comming Adira and Tilly. It would be another interruption in what he's sure isn't the easiest environment to concentrate in the first place though, so he heads back to the floating display, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
Think, Stamets.
The sharp mass of anxiety unwinds a little, scratching at him in a way he can't ignore.
I don't have time for this.
It pushes harder, crowding against the dozen other things vying for space at the front and center of his consciousness, and Paul clenches his jaw, inhaling and holding his breath. Zora is a far more patient co-investigator than anyone else, and he decides indulging the distraction long enough to quell it is a better strategy than fighting it off.
Fine. Two minutes.
Closing his eyes, he lets the usual sounds of Engineering and people working, the voices and footsteps and ship's systems, blend into a low-frequency noise. He reduces the rest of his immediate environment to its component parts: the smell of coolant that even 32nd century warp engines produce, the subtle prickle of air circulating from the ventilation systems, the way his palms are more damp than he likes. Once identified, he deliberately excludes them from his attention and turns back to the chart of star systems.
The focus lasts less than ninety seconds, and he tugs uselessly at a collar that isn't too tight just for something to do. It doesn't banish the sense of unease tightening his shoulders though, or keep him from flinching when Harrington steps around him on her way to reinforce the secondary power couplings.
"Shit."
Saoirse pauses, glancing over her shoulder.
"Stamets?"
She's thankfully one of the handful onboard who've known him for years, and he doesn't have to explain himself beyond a sharp head shake for her to nod and continue on her way.
Minimize the distractions.
Decision made, he sweeps the display towards his tricomm, collapsing it down while his other hand sets the clue back in its protective cradle. He takes two steps towards the cultivation bay doors before stopping and reaching out again, instinct driving him to tuck the card and holder into his pocket rather than leaving it out in the open.
Can't be too careful.
The doors swish close behind him and he does something he hasn't in quite a while: he sets the privacy lock. There's no reason for anyone else to be in here anyway, but the extra sense of security is another brick in the bulwark he's building. Once initiated, there's only five people on Discovery who could override - Michael as captain, Tracy as his secondary physician, and Hugh, Tilly, and Adira without any deterrent.
He strides briskly through the forest of stella, dusting spores off his sleeves and rounding the corner of a grow bed next to the secondary environmental controls. The little hillock he stops at is indistinct to most everyone else, but it's full of memories of stealing a few precious hours of sleep with his head in Hugh's lap here, of Tilly's instinctive compassion and care when he was drowning in grief. Paul sits on the ground, leaning back on the console and closing his eyes again.
Book.
What's changed?
It's different than the barricade against loss, against addressing the trauma emotionally crippling him in the wake of the DMA's accidental genocide of Kwejian. That had been a single-minded focus and denial of anything attempting to distract him from it. This isn't Book refusing to sleep or shutting Paul's holoprojection out on his ship when he was locked in a cycle of grief. That had been defensive, but this...
Paul knows helplessness from the inside out, from watching Hugh so lost within himself to the dull disconnect with reality while being dragged away from any chance to save him and Adira. He remembers seeing the despair and resolve in Book's eyes, treating his own life with casual indifference on a quest for revenge. There'd been someone for him to reach then, despite it all. Now, he's not sure it's even possible.
Hugh would know what to say, what to do, because despite his many assurances otherwise, Paul has no clue how to get through to Book. It’s not an option when Hugh’s busy trying to save the life of the reason for the situation they’re all in with the Breen, and he grimaces, hoping that Book doesn't somehow make it worse. While showering last night, Hugh had made a passing comment about the challenges of being around Michael for Book, and he does understand that part at least. Standing by while Hugh reclaimed his life without Paul in it had left him broken, thrown him into whatever scientific problem he could get his hands on that would create a temporary reprieve.
You didn't let an unethical scientist detonate an isolytic weapon and nearly turn a first contact into the last.
He's not friendly with Book like Hugh is, or in any position to advise him, but he recognizes obsession and it scares him more a little. It's desperate, and desperate is a danger to everything.
("He seems...unmoored. And latching onto whatever thread connects him with Moll," Hugh murmurs as they rinse soap from their bodies, " it's not going to end well."
The shower stops and Paul opens the cubicle door, passing Hugh a towel.
"No?"
"You can't make someone see your truth when they've experienced their own," Hugh sighs, more to himself than anything, "forcing it doesn't work."
Paul must be silent for a moment too long, because Hugh stiffens minutely.
"I didn't mean you-"
He catches Hugh's wrist, squeezing gently.
"I know.")
Notes:
Side note - for a sentient super-computer, I honestly wish they'd have Zora as more of an input on problems rather than just answering queries. They went through such lengths last season to emphasize her individual nature, but it feels like the crew mostly uses her as a database retrieval and data management tool. I would have liked to see either a reason she's not able to out-think all of them (it could have been a whole episode or season premise where she's limited) or more creative writing to show problem-solving in a more integrated fashion.
For a science vessel, there's an alarmingly low number of scientists working on "the most pressing question". At least a throwaway reference to "the whole XYZ department" if they don't show it onscreen, because it mostly looks like Tilly, Adira, and Paul are responsible for the entire thing. And Book wanting to help could have been a way to mention it.
Chapter 723: Soma
Summary:
*** CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR S5 E08 "Labyrinths" ***
*
*
*
*
Notes:
What was going on in Engineering before and after the jump?
'Soma' in this instance is the Latin term for 'body'.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Colliding with the door frame as he practically leaps for the spore cube, the deck pitching beneath their feet and Discovery groaning from the Breen attack.
Ignoring the sharp pain in his ribs and reaching for the transducers.
Another hit throwing him against the transparisteel.
Adira's eyes, wide and white against the blue strobe of spores.
Reno shouting orders to stabilize the warp core shielding and shunt the secondary stores of drive plasma into the nacelles.
Crawling forward and plunging his hands into the gel.
Resisting the call of the mycelia as the next hit sends Adira tumbling over the spore drive console-
Jump.
"...Adira!"
It's more of a choked cough than a shout, but it forces itself out of his throat anyway.
"What am I, ground tube worms?" Reno's voice is much closer to his ear than expected, but strong hands grip his forearms, pulling him to sit up. "You okay, or do I need to call the doc?"
Only she could manage to sound so blithely unaffected, and Paul appreciates the tiny slice of normalcy more than he's willing to admit.
"No. You-" he breaks off to cough again as Reno hauls him unceremoniously to his feet and pivots towards the warp core.
"Kid's fine," she tosses over her shoulder, "gonna go make sure we didn't fracture the dilithium matrix."
He staggers out of the cube, right elbow tucked tightly to his side. An engineering tech accidentally jostles him as they rush by with spare diagnostic kits, his exclamation cut short at the sharp pain shooting through his ribs.
"You-"
Paul shakes his head, waving Adira off back towards one of the consoles that isn't burnt out.
"We need...that really hurts..." he leans heavily on its surface, "drive status?"
Their eyes are still wide, but their hands move over the controls rapidly. Paul concentrates on breathing, gritting his teeth against the throbbing in his head.
"Uhh, it looks- oh that's not good," Adira shakes their head, pulling data up to float between them, "we-"
Not good is an understatement.
"Commander Stamets!" the Captain's voice cuts through the alerts and alarms.
"I'm not sure what happened, the spore drive malfunctioned."
"Sensors say it was damaged by the Breen assault. We cannot jump again until it's fixed."
"No warp either," Reno calls from the drive bay, "better get the mushroom machine working again."
Taking a deep breath is impossible, and raising his voice hurts. It's nowhere near shrapnel-to-the-heart agony, but he can't imagine Hugh's going to be happy because Paul's fairly certain something's broken, and he's doing his best not to consider what might have happened if Discovery hadn't been able to beam everyone back before the Archive was attacked.
Hugh could have died.
Again.
"Harrington," he calls out, "need you to help Adira. De-couple the transducers and I'll...handle the reserves."
Not now.
Saoirse is already heading for the access panel, so he turns his attention to the system schematic. Five hours to rebuild the damaged components with enough assurance they won't go into catastrophic failure isn't impossible, but it's not going to be easy.
"Go get that fixed," Reno is back between one blink and the next, sleeves rolled up.
"I'm fine."
She nudges him and watches the resulting gasp with narrowed eyes.
"Don't be stupid. Five hours, five minutes won't matter. I'll keep an eye on things."
Reno's right, annoyingly, and he swipes open his tricomm for a direct transport to the medbay.
He materializes in the midst of organized chaos, although it looks like there's more bruises and dislocations and cuts than anything life-threatening.
"Paul."
A hand lands on his shoulder, Hugh's scanner already open on diagnostic mode.
"Hit the spore cube," he offers by way of explanation, pulling open his collar left-handed. The hiss of the hypospray is followed almost immediately by relief, the fiery stabbing in his ribs banked down to a much more manageable level. "Sorry."
Hugh lets his free hand slide down until he can tuck the tips of his fingers beneath Paul's sleeve cuff.
"Won't take long to fix."
"What-"
"Later?"
There's no sense of avoidance, just Dr. Culber intent on his patients, and he understands. Flipping his own hand over, he taps his thumb against Hugh's palm twice. That earns him a half-smile, and Paul gives himself permission to relax just while the osteorenegerator whirs away.
"You're okay."
It's not a question, but Hugh nods.
"I'm okay."
Notes:
Thoughts:
1) What exactly is going on with Lt. Arisar? He can't be L'ak in disguise, but he also couldn't be his brother or some other Imperial relation. I find it hard to believe Moll could have made a strong connection in so short a time, unless we get a second flashback explaining something.
2) Much as I love Paul and Adira and Reno, couldn't Zora have analyzed the Breen shield tunneling technology and figured out how to neutralize it faster than any of our (genius) crew?
3) Paul isn't going to be happy Hugh's getting shot at.
4) I spent the first part of the episode wondering if Hy'Rel was plotting something, but she turned out to be just as nerdy book-loving and implacably defensive of peace as I'd hoped. It would have been a fun twist if she was somehow linked to Dr. Derex, but I'm not sure where the connection could be made.
5) Two episodes left, and I very much want to believe they'll make them count. So, Hugh telling Paul that Book needs him that was in the season preview...not sure where that's going but they don't have long to wrap it up. I'm not ready for this to be over.
Chapter 724: Soma, Part Two
Summary:
*** CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR S5 E08 "Labyrinths" ***
*
*
*
*
Chapter Text
Osteoregeneration takes less than ten minutes, and Hugh sends Paul back off to Engineering with a kiss on the cheek and too-brief nuzzle that nonetheless goes almost as far at helping him focus as the lack of pain when breathing. He uses the empty turbolift to re-order his thoughts, calling up damage reports across the ship and prioritizing spore drive component repair in line with other systems. When the doors swish open, he pauses at the top of the stairs for a moment to take in everything.
In the corner, Adira is halfway inside a conduit while Harrington replaces shunts under the decking. He winces at the sight of the fused, blown circuitry (a rarity remaining on Startfleet vessels), grateful that the industrial replicator systems weren't damaged. To his right, Tilly is standing in the middle of a map, relaying details with Gallo and Asha on the bridge. Beyond, the warp core's glow silhouettes Reno where she stands, hands planted on her hips and peering at a set of readouts.
(Not that Gallo and Asha aren't competent and trustworthy officers in their own right, but Paul finds himself wishing Detmer and Owosekun were with them instead of remaining at HQ trying to get the I.S.S. Enterprise up and running in case the damaged vessel is needed for defense against a Breen incursion.)
"Tilly," he stops at the edge of her map, "do you...?"
"I think- Zora, can you pull the last long-range survey data for me please? Sorry Commander," she shakes her head, "just, well."
Her gesture encompasses both the star charts and Engineering at large, and Paul hums thoughtfully.
"We know what we'll be jumping into?"
Chewing her lip, Tilly tilts her head, studying the feed Zora sets floating alongside the display.
"Can I tell you in half an hour?"
A younger version of Paul would have insisted on a report now, on knowing the details of everything going on to fit all of the moving parts together inside his head and check for errors. Today, he just nods and crosses to a different console to run his own projections. While his hands move on automatic, he lets his attention turn back to Hugh in the medbay.
He'd read Rayner's brief notes in the system on their engagement with the Breen, their brevity both neutral and chilling:
>> EXECOFCR report
>> Status: Incomplete
Captain unconscious - CMO reports nucleonic emitter affecting frontal lobe. Scan of emitter negative. CMO advises no action. Time advantage running out. Archive defenses robust but won't stop the Breen. Discovery withdrawn to Badlands, Breen shield disruption. Taking Booker to defend.
Thinking about Hugh and the archivists weaponless makes him feel vaguely nauseous, seeing what a glancing shot did to Book, and he shuts that away for when he can take Hugh to bed naked and hold him so close that not a molecule could pass between them. It's not up to him to keep Hugh from where he's needed, but he doesn't have to like it either.
If we learned anything, it's that we have to be honest with each other.
Fallout aside, at the very least he can look forward to being gently lectured and fussed over for getting himself hurt. Hugh knows as well as anyone that it's impossible to avoid, but it's a ritual of sorts and usually followed by him caressing and kissing the healed injury site as if to erase its memory from Paul's body. Paul will sigh long-sufferingly even as it brings them both comfort, the ritual itself almost more important than the reason.
Hopefully there's a later to deal with all of this.
Notes:
One of the things Discovery doesn't do well is pacing. Episodes either drag out or are very action-packed into a canonically short amount of time. It's especially the case when Discovery can just jump everywhere, cutting down the 'travel time' and ability to insert the quieter (Culmets) off-duty scenes that are also such an important part of the plot. All of Season Five feels like it takes place over the course of a week, so trying to write the in-between moments is more challenging.
Not sure if there was a scheduling issue with Emily Coutts and Oyin Oladejo? I like the secondary bridge crew, but I miss Detmer and Owo. Nilsson at least got a line saying she transferred to Voyager, but not sure why Detmer and Owo wouldn't have returned after flying the ISS Enterprise home.
Chapter 725: Splendor, Part One
Notes:
Takes place between Season Four and Season Five during Discovery's collective shore leave.
References Paul asking Tilly to join them on Earth in Chapter 453 ("Should").
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
A week after most of Discovery's crew makes landfall on Earth and scatter across the planet for shore leave, Tilly and Adira are finally ready to join them. Keyla and Jo invite them to surfing off the coast of Australia, but she politely declines with a promise of "next time, guys?" when they meet in the transporter room. (It's more a formality these days when they can transport from anywhere on the ship, but 23rd century habits are hard to break.)
Nodding, Keyla tips her head at the small duffels they're both carrying and Tilly's decidedly off-duty capris and heeled sandals.
"Where are you two headed?"
"Old Fort Lauderdale."
"We're taking an air taxi across to San Juan. To meet Paul and Hugh, I mean," Adira flaps their hand in a vague Point-A-to-Point-B gesture.
"But flying," Jo pipes in, "why not just beam there directly?"
("You have to see Puerto Rico from the air properly," Hugh smiles over the dinner table, "I promise it's worth it."
Behind him, two duffels are sitting side by side on the coffee table. Both are unzipped, one neatly packed and the other a jumble of items, and Tilly doesn't have to guess which one belongs to each of the men sitting across from her.
"Like a flitter tour?" Adira asks, spearing potatoes with their fork.
Hugh's smile widens around a mouthful of steak, and he nudges Paul with his elbow to prompt him to reply instead.
"We're beaming down to Fort Lauderdale at the end of the Florida peninsula. There's an air taxi service, takes about ninety minutes to the transport hub and you can get a flitter from there to the hotel."
Tilly glances at Adira who agrees with a nod to accompany their vigorous chewing.
"We'll see you in a week then?"
Hugh swallows and chuckles.
"Bring shorts and wear sunscreen.")
Tilly smiles at the memory.
"It's supposed to be scenic, and Hugh really wanted us to."
"Gotcha. Have fun? And say hi to Stamets and Doctor C for us please."
"Sure."
As promised, the air taxi gives them quite a view on approach of the mountain peaks rising above the verdant green foliage lining the coast. Tilly appreciates the natural beauty, marveling that humanity managed to preserve it despite centuries of change, but enjoys watching Adira's reactions even more. Everything reminds her that they'd never set foot on Earth as she remembered it, that serving in the planetary defense force post-Burn wouldn't have left much time for leisure.
They arrive just after noon, stepping outside to collect a short-distance flitter. The Puerto Rican humidity manages to be even worse than Florida, and Tilly privately apologizes to her hair as the curls react by growing frizzier by the minute. She breathes in the air, so different from Discovery's occasionally sterile-seeming environs, and busies herself checking messages while Adira handles the flight controls.
"...looks like they're not at the hotel," she mutters, "gone to- ahh. Hiking."
"Hiking. Paul?"
She can't particularly imagine it, but there's a simple explanation.
"Pretty sure Hugh can get him to do just about anything."
Adira side-eyes them.
"Eww."
"Poor choice of words. You know what I mean."
They nod, frowning a little.
"Are you sure it's okay...I mean, you saw how much Hugh wanted to go. And how happy he was when he said Paul was taking them here, and I just don't want to, you know, intrude or something?"
Swiping her tricomm interface closed, Tilly smiles.
"Paul invited us," she reminds them, "and you're- you're family. Of course they want you here."
"It's not going to be weird for Hugh, I mean, because...?"
Tilly carefully doesn't consider that the last time Paul was here was almost certainly to lay Hugh's body to rest almost a millennium ago. As far as she knew and managed to gather from the bits and pieces he'd told her, he'd stayed with Hugh's family until Discovery shipped out again after the peace accords.
We all have a past here, but that's not what it's about.
"I think," Tilly twists her hair into a higher bun, "there's a lot more good memories here than sad ones."
She lets that sink in, checking the map to see they only have a few minutes left before reaching the hotel. Adira is silent the remainder of the trip, although not uncomfortably so, until they reach the front desk to check in.
"...there's actual keys?"
It's a shame Paul and Hugh aren't here to see the look on their face when the clerk hands them two very familiar - and therefore anachronistic - plastic rectangles embossed with the hotel's logo on one side and a holographic map projection on the other.
"It's a bit old fashioned," the clerk smiles at them both, "but I believe the manager has a fondness for traditional Earth practices from the early second millennium. Lifts are around the corner that way," they point, "and please don't hesitate to let us know if there's anything we can do to make your stay more pleasant."
"A key," Adira mutters as Tilly steers them towards the aforementioned lift, "but- why not just use our tricomms? What if it gets lost?"
There's less than a decade between their technical ages, but for a moment Tilly feels impossibly old. It's not a bad feeling, just a reminder that for as much as they've all adapted to this century, things which are charmingly vintage to the rest of Discovery's crew still tend to be vastly outdated for Adira.
"Kids these days," she quips, getting an eye-roll from Adira as they step off onto their floor, "no seriously. Just remember which pocket you put it in."
Hugh had reserved them a room across from him and Paul, which Tilly suspects is for everyone's comfort because she's still trying to forget catching a glimpse of Paul checking the soundproof rating on various hotel reviews. After a round of checking drawers and cupboards and browsing the replicator menu (still a thing even in this century), they're left staring at their duffels.
"So."
"Let's go meet them?"
Adira examines the bowl of seashells on the coffee table, poking at them dubiously.
"Where are they? You said hiking, right?"
Tilly flicks opens her tricomm again, expanding the map attached to Paul's message.
"Cabo Rojo Nature Preserve. And..." she glances down at her own feet and the hot pink polish on her very exposed toes, "Paul says it's a little rocky."
Notes:
It's roughly 1,000 miles between Florida's southernmost tip and Puerto Rico. Current airplane flights take around 2.5 hours for a large passenger craft with a cruising speed of up to 600 mph and slowing on approach and departure. I've decided 32nd century vehicles ought to be faster :)
Looking back at the chapter where Paul's invitation comes from, I think about it being March 2022 and being so excited to see what Discovery had in store for us in Season Five. I expected it to arrive in early 2023 with a renewal announcement for Season Six and Trek continuing to deliver on an annual basis. So much has changed since then.
Continues in Chapter 774.
Chapter 726: Stesso, Prologue
Summary:
*** CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR s5 E09 "Lagrange Point" ***
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Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"What about a transpo lock?"
Adira's voice, quiet but certain, cuts through the tension in the room and holds it in stasis. Tilly's head swivels towards them, as does everyone else's in a moment that - once she has a chance to think about it - would objectively be impressively synchronized.
A what?
"We...used them when I was in the EDF. Mars had a lot of umm interference. The point being," they briefly close their eyes before nodding decisively, "is if we attach it to the structure, we can uhh, lock on and beam out instantly once we take down shields."
"-yes...good. That's good!"
Despite the gravity of the situation, Tilly can't help the burst of pride at just how much Adira's grown into their own, not too afraid to speak up. Someone else might feel a pang of envy at Paul's praise, but she knows full well that there's more than enough room in the Stamets mind (and heart, a tiny voice pipes in) to care for them both. Watching Adira's smile light up in response banishes any distant possibility of that, and a shiver runs across her shoulders.
I think we can do this.
"Problem is," Rayner interjects, "we can't do any of that unless we can get ourselves aboard the dreadnought."
That brings the mood crashing back down harder than a dark matter asteroid. Tilly bites her lip, casting her eyes around the console. Rayner is frowning - although his expression hasn't been much besides grim ever since they engaged the Breen - as though their inability to do so has personally offended him. Beside her, Michael's looking downwards, eyes narrowed, Book is staring up at the ceiling, and Paul's expression has gone suspiciously blank, turned inwards with a twitch of his jaw that says he's starting a list of possible solutions.
"Then that's what we'll have to do."
Paul's shakes his head at Michael's proclamation, and Tilly exchanges a look with him.
How?
Michael's plan sounds absolutely, ridiculously impossible to pull off, but that's Discovery's specialty.
"-are you asking to go on this mission, Ensign?"
Adira doesn't hesitate.
"Yes."
"What-" Paul's voice is high and tight with surprise.
"I am."
"-no. I can do the hacking," he shakes his head, "maybe not as quickly, but..."
"Speed will be crucial here," Michael shakes her head, turning to ask Tilly, "what do you think?"
Time slows, condenses down to a moment of clarity when she looks at Adira.
She blinks once.
There's no trace of hesitation, no fear of failure, and also no false pride or defensiveness. No hurt at Paul insisting he could go in their place, just resolve.
She blinks again.
Paul opens his mouth as her eyes land on him, then closes it again, jaw ticking. She can see the battle being fought behind his eyes, the instinctive reaction to protect, to keep Adira from harm, but also the knowledge that they're right. Fear turns to resignation, then determination.
Everyone is looking at her. Cadet Tilly would have balked at the attention, and Ensign Tilly would have let words spill out, buying time to argue with herself whether she ought to be making the decision. Lieutenant Sylvia Tilly smiles.
All she can do is tell the truth, one she feels deep in the pit of her stomach.
"I think they can do it."
Notes:
1) Again, much as I love Adira getting to grow up, couldn't Zora find a solution to all of this at a speed faster than any carbon-based lifeform on Discovery is able?
2) I love Rhys getting to go on an away mission! He's a good choice to look after Adira.
3) Hugh using the stair rails to slide down is strangely, horribly attractive.
4) Rayner is a badass, and I wish we'd gotten him longer than a season. His dynamic with Tilly is honest and blunt, but she's absolutely able to handle it.
5) I'm going to interpret Paul as throwing himself into a solution instead of freaking out over Adira potentially being trapped on the ship. I need to sleep and get through a four-hour afternoon meeting tomorrow, but will be returning to the scene with Hugh and Paul in Engineering, as well as the corridor prior to Adira leaving.
6) Nice cliffhanger - question is, will Rayner insist on flying Discovery through the portal? I really want to watch the Ready Room but it's almost 2 am...may just skip ahead to watch the preview for next week.
7) Were some of the promo stills released not in the episode? I swear we saw Paul standing in the spore cube, and Adira and Book at a console in Engineering, that I don't remember seeing here.
8) Seeing disembodied faces was a great way to give the audience expressions to go with the words inside the Breen suits, but I have to admit it looks a little silly :P
Chapter 727: Stesso
Summary:
*** CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR S5 E09 "Lagrange Point"***
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Notes:
Title translates to "same" in Italian, referring to their thoughts.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Here we go."
Adira is gone between one blink and the next, the meter between them suddenly feeling like an abyss. Paul winces, nails digging into his palms where his hands are clenched at his sides.
They're going to be okay.
They have to be.
His thoughts might not be apparent to anyone else, but he knows Hugh can see them by the gentle worried-but-hopeful curve of his lips as he closes the distance, three steps and head tipped in understanding. He tries to accept the reassurance, lips pressed together but too strained to really smile. Warm hands cradle his jaw, concern creasing the lines of care on Hugh's forehead even as his eyes are full of pride and determination and love. Paul sways forward, hands clutching the hem of his jacket to hide their white knuckles. When their faces are inches apart, sharing the same air, he breathes Hugh in and pauses.
Anyone else would see Commander Stamets and Doctor Culber sharing a silent moment, but they haven't needed words to speak for nearly two decades.
The fingertips at the back of his neck, careful not to disturb his hair, say it'll be okay.
His raised eyebrows reply, I'm scared.
Hugh's wrinkled nose tells him, me too.
Half of a real smile breaks free from the tension filling him, and his eyes fall closed as their lips meet. It's brief but firm, more than a peck but less than either of them really want right now. Hugh doesn't pull back at all, and Paul steps forward into his arms, his own fingers opening and hands moving to return the embrace.
Hugh's beard brushes over his jaw and he leans into it, cheeks pressed together. His chin meets a white-clad shoulder, arms tightening in turn. They rock each other for the space of four breaths, and when Paul opens his eyes again, it's to find Reno watching them from the far end of the corridor. For once, her expression is open and something like wistfulness passes over her face before returning to its usual wry neutrality. She nods, then pivots and is gone around the corner.
"Hugh?"
They separate, hands trailing over shoulders and arms, reluctant to let go. Hugh gives his hands one final squeeze before releasing them.
"Sweetheart."
Please be okay.
Notes:
Okay, that 30 seconds of Adira, Paul, and Hugh walking down the corridor? Is giving me EVERYTHING. This might be my favorite Culmets scene this season because it feels so completely *them* without anything between them, in a way that nothing else has in the last eight episodes.
(Plus, with Adira it gives total "parents walking their kid to the first day of school" feels, even if it's a Breen ship and an incredibly dangerous mission, not a classroom.)
...unpausing to continue watching the rest of the episode.
Chapter 728: Stesso, Interlude
Summary:
It's not his decision to make, but Paul's still nervous.
Notes:
Takes place between Chapters 726 ("Stesso, Prologue") and 727 ("Stesso"), bridging between the briefing room and just before the corridor scene.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Adira's too far ahead of him when they exit the briefing room for him to catch up without looking odd. Not that it would generally bother him to do so, but his worry doesn't override the fact that they need to prepare for the mission without distractions. Still...
"Hey," Tilly follows him into the turbolift, then looks at the ceiling. "Zora? Hold the lift."
Of course, Lieutenant Tilly.
He pauses in the action of swiping his tricomm open, hand slowly falling to his side again as he takes in her expression, lips pursed in thought and a tiny frown between her eyebrows.
"Tilly?"
She tilts her head to the side, studying him for a moment, before straightening again.
"You're not mad at me."
Paul blinks.
"...no? Why-" he shakes his head to clear it, "thank you."
It's her turn to look surprised, as if she was gearing up for a different conversation altogether.
"Sorry?"
Sighing, he gazes into the middle distance over her shoulder for the space of a few breaths. It's not the easiest thing to articulate, but he likes to think he's gotten better at the uncomfortable conversations that are part and parcel of family - family that he's chosen out of love - and examining his own reactions. Tilly's still looking at him quizzically when he focuses on her face again, and he's reminded that there isn't a lot of time.
"For supporting Adira."
Her frown deepens.
"I didn't say that just-"
"I know," Paul waves a hand between them, "I meant...they need that. And I...well. Hugh usually thinks I'm being overprotective."
"You're their dad," she says quietly, "of course you're looking out for them. But you let them make their own decision, because they needed to."
Despite his lingering trepidation, he smiles at that.
"I need to tell Hugh."
Hugh catches up with him halfway to Adira's quarters, the touch to the small of his back spreading warmth.
"You know," he steers Paul into a nearby alcove, "for once, I agree."
"...you do?"
Out of view of the foot traffic in the corridor, Hugh laces their fingers together.
"I know I've said you're being overprotective. And generally? I think them going on an important away mission is a good thing. Just-" his lips quirk up in a not-quite-smile, "not onto a ship full of armed Breen being led by someone who might honestly be losing touch with reality."
He huffs out a breath that's halfway between a laugh and groan.
"Yeah. I know they're absolutely capable of hacking into the ship's systems, but I still..." he shakes his head, "sorry."
Hugh squeezes his hand.
"Rhys promised he'd look after them."
"When-"
"I messaged him on the way here."
His tricomm chirps, and he checks the time with a wince.
"We should..."
Nodding, Hugh leads them back out. He doesn't let go of Paul's hand until they're standing outside of Adira's quarters, just beyond the range of the door sensor. It swishes open a minute or so after they arrive, and a Breen-armored Adira stops with one foot over the threshold.
"...hi?"
"I didn't mean it like that," is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, and Paul's exceedingly aware of both Hugh's side-eye and Adira looking even more nervous.
"Uhh. What?"
Glancing down the corridor, Hugh gently shoos them both back into Adira's quarters, remaining outside as the doors swish shut.
"Earlier," he rubs thumb and forefinger together, searching for the right words, "you're absolutely the right person for this mission. I'm just- well."
Paul gestures vaguely with his other hand, watching as uncertainty melts into understanding on Adira's face. They stand up a little straighter, the blocky Breen armor so incongruous when they smile.
"I know. It's...okay."
Notes:
A year ago, I was flying to New York City to see Without You, nervous over meeting Anthony. I can't believe that much time has passed, that the wait for Discovery is not only over, but that we're days away from the end of the series. I'm not ready for it to be the end on so many levels.
One good thing at least - I watched the new interview Wilson did with What Culture, and he says something like "through the magic of television, Hugh Culber is there" when it comes to the extra scenes they shot for the epilogue. So...I hope that means we get our happy Culmets ending. Part of me is wondering if it's a body double / digitizing and therefore won't give us quite the body language from Anthony we would have with Wilson there in person, but I also realize I'm borrowing trouble as it were.
Writing stories to accompany this season has been challenging. While the action-packed pacing is nice, and we do get some beautiful quite moments like with Hugh and his abuela, or between him and Paul, they feel brief. The relationships of all kinds between the characters are what's driven Discovery, and while I appreciate the emphasis on Michael's journey of self-reflection and Hugh's internal struggle with spirituality, there's less canon to work off of and more gap-filling that needs to be done.
Chapter 729: Saturation
Summary:
Hugh can’t modify the Breen cryo-unit alone.
Notes:
Takes place during “Erigah”.
I prefer my antagonists with depth and dimension, so here’s a little bit of expansion.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“…set it. To…” L’ak breaks off to cough, face contorting in pain.
Unsurprisingly, Moll cuts between them, bodily forcing Hugh to take a step back.
“What are you doing to him?
”I need to finish modifying the mixture of gases to help him.
He tries gently steering Moll out of the way with a hand on her elbow. It’s not unexpected when she twists away from him, teeth bared.
”Don’t touch me!”
Nhan’s security detail start to raise their phasers, but Hugh waves them down. He tugs the collar of the protective coat a little higher, pulling Dr. Culber’s calm around him (Moll had refused an offer of a thermal blanket, and Hugh doesn’t comment on her continued shivering).
“…Moll. Let- let him.”
There’s something heartbreakingly fragile in her eyes when she looks at L’ak, completely at odds with the smug swagger Hugh’s seen on the surveillance vids and Book’s brief holo conversation. He keeps catching glimpses of it beneath the belligerence and denials, and it’s both familiar and foreign at once.
Paul looked at you that way when you told him to leave you in the network.
When you both pretended you could move on before the battle with Control.
Violence and the power of creation up for grabs aside, the difference is also clear. The pull between them burns with a desperation that’s intense and sincere but also only sees the universe in absolutes. Nuance is impossible now, and Hugh worries about the storm brewing inside of her if the worst comes to pass.
”I’m a doctor,” he tries a different tact, “I took an oath to do no harm. So I-“
Sniffing with a sneer that suggests she’s personally offended at her own emotional reaction, Moll wipes the back of her hand across her face.
”Fine.”
He offers a small smile that she pointedly ignores, then reaches for the controls again, flicking a schematic to hover over the biobed for L’ak to see.
”All right. Can you tell me if the intermix ratios are correct?”
A stilted nod, cut off with a groan as L’ak clutches at his side. His respiration rate is uneven, but Hugh doesn’t have enough of a baseline for Breen vitals to begin to guess what might be considered healthy, much less relative degrees of severity.
“The cryo system. It’s…” L’ak exhales raggedly. A fresh smear of viscous yellow-green covers his fingers when he moves his hand to gesture. “This tech is- it’s old.”
“A few centuries,” Hugh rapidly initializes a cooling cycle, switching the air scrubbers within the containment field to recycle the internal atmosphere, “I’m afraid we don’t know much about your people.”
That earns him a weak laugh.
“How could you? Breen don’t…share. With outsiders.”
Interestingly, while the words are clearly directed at Hugh, L’ak is staring at Moll. She looks away when she notices Hugh watching, shoulders rising.
”You mean Starfleet and the Federation couldn’t figure it out? Before the Burn, I thought you were supposed to be ‘the greatest seekers of knowledge and goodwill’ “ the quotation marks are audible, “or whatever it is.”
Hugh sighs, checking L’ak’s vitals again. His blood chemistry - if whatever is leaking out of him is circulatory fluid and not some other secretion - is all over the place, not analogous to any other species Hugh’s ever seen. An alarm beeps, but he dismisses it. Oxygen saturation doesn’t seem to be as important as nitrogen as far as Hugh can tell. He flexes his fingers, chilly even with the thermal shielding gloves.
”We missed a few things along the way, but as I understand it, the Breen have kept mostly out of Federation space since the Dominion War. No diplomatic ties, no opportunity to learn more.”
“Wouldn’t help. We’re not…” L’ak reaches up to indicate another section of the schematic, “not like you. Humans. Vulcans, Klingons…we’re Breen.”
He coughs again, hissing in pain.
“I need to understand more to keep you alive.”
Moll steps into Hugh’s personal space, body still angled towards L’ak even as she leans in until their faces are inches apart.
”Fix him. He can’t- I…” her lower lip trembles.
For a moment, Moll‘s expression softens, and it takes suppressing decades of doctor’s instinct to not reach out and try to offer her comfort.
“I’ll do my best.”
Notes:
Just finished my full-season rewatch in preparation for the finale. Not that I’m prepared for the Disco adventure to be over. Not one bit.
There are a lot of in-between moments that still need to be covered this season, but I suspect I’ll need some time to process after my initial reaction tomorrow night.
Chapter 730: Saturation, Part Two
Chapter Text
Nhan's been staring at them - well, mostly Moll - for the last twenty minutes. It would be easy for Hugh to ignore, except for how Moll's twitchiness seems to increase with each passing second that L'ak remains immobile, breathing now a little less shallow.
For her part, Moll alternates between glaring at Nhan and turning to face the back wall. Hugh's stepped back out of the containment field and is trying to extrapolate from L'ak's readings (impending doom or not, medical knowledge is precious) at one of the consoles, close enough for an immediate response but outside of physical proximity. She doesn't seem to notice that he's able to see her chewing her lip and worrying at her cuticles, expression suggesting she's waging some sort of internal battle. He can't make a proper diagnosis, but Hugh's fairly certain that PTSD and abandonment feature heavily in her psyche, anger and impulsiveness covering terror and the kind of helplessness that comes with waiting on circumstances far outside one's control.
Waiting to see if the person you loves is going to live or die would do that to you.
...minus the homicidal recklessness.
Glancing at the chrono, Hugh waits until Moll's mask is back in place before breaking the silence.
"Are you hungry?"
Moll scoffs, the jerk of her elbows suggesting she'd be crossing her arms if they weren't cuffed. As she does though, L'ak stirs.
"...you should eat."
She shares a look with him and blinks rapidly a few times before shrugging.
"Yeah. Sure, whatever."
Nhan's eyes narrow ever so slightly, but she doesn't say anything.
"I was going to have something myself," Hugh continues conversationally, "soup maybe? Something warm."
Another shrug.
Hugh stifles a sigh, turning to Nhan. She nods at one of her security officers who lowers the forcefield isolating the main medbay from the surgical suites and offices, physically standing in the open doorway once Hugh enters the short corridor. The physician's distaste for weapons wars with the knowledge that Moll (and probably L'ak) still poses a significant risk, but it's not a helpful thought right now so he stuffs it in a mental drawer marked 'For Later in the Tub with Paul'.
The replicator in Tracy's office produces a credible version of Aida's vegetable soup, and he carries the steaming tray back. Moll looks unimpressed when he re-enters the containment field, grudgingly taking the bowl with both hands. Hugh doesn't comment on how she's wrapped her fingers around it rather than gripping it gingerly at the edges despite the heat emanating from it.
Probably for that reason, actually.
"My grandmother's recipe," he offers, lifting his own bowl to sip from the rim.
Moll glances down at the dish and the conspicuous lack of utensils for a moment before smirking.
"Afraid I'll kill you with a spoon?"
In truth, he'd been trying to be considerate of her cuffed wrists, but there's no point in antagonizing her further. Instead, he takes another long drink before replying.
"I've been dead before. Killed with bare hands," Hugh shrugs nonchalantly, "so..."
Surprise crosses Moll's face for a split-second, but it's L'ak who speaks.
"Humans- are easy to break."
It's not said with any threat or accusation, just a bleak statement of fact, so Hugh responds in the same vein even as he's pleased to see Moll starting to eat.
"Evolutionary flaw, I suppose."
She chews suspiciously, swallowing.
"You're not afraid of dying."
"Are you?"
"We've always come out on top," she tosses her head, "will this time too."
He lets the warm broth, redolent with oregano and garlic, soothe his stomach as he considers them both.
"And when the thrill wears off?"
L'ak gives a ghost of a laugh.
"...we'll. Be long. Gone. So far away...it won't matter."
Hugh's unsurprised, but decides it's worth saying.
"You know, you're not the only ones who've ever been in love."
Moll's eyes narrow.
"You don't know anything about us."
Sighing, he shakes his head, nodding at Nhan who waits to lower the containment field for him to leave.
"I know it's not easy to think about losing. And maybe along the way it feels like giving up, but it's for the greater good of...everything. In the end, love is what saved me. Saved the whole universe," he gives her a tight smile, "even though it comes with consequences that are still better than dooming countless other lives. Something to think about."
Notes:
A few thoughts prior to the finale tonight:
1) I watched the Collider interview with Wilson and Anthony, and was struck by a couple of things - first, that Anthony talks about coming full circle, and second that Wilson says there's a lovely moment of Hugh settling into himself. I wonder if Paul might end up teaching at Starfleet Academy? Yes, this is totally me wanting the Space Family to all show up on the new Starfleet Academy show, even if it's sporadic.
2) I've read a few predictions for the finale that might make sense if they'd known at the time it would be the last season (dramatic character deaths and fates, basically), but honestly? When I asked Anthony last May, he said all he could tell me is that Paul and Hugh's relationship was "in a bubble", and I'd like to think that means they'll make it out okay.
3) The episode preview shows a split second of Hugh wearing a tactical uniform. Since there's clearly a scene where he tells Paul that Book needs him, I suspect he's going to be following Book into whatever sort of dangerous scheme he comes up with. (Sorry, not as much of a Book fan this season).
Chapter 731: Sevgi
Notes:
Title translates to love/affection/fondness in Uzbek.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Most mornings, Hugh is awakened by his alarm, the only reluctance leaving the warmth of their bed. He dresses for a workout or a run, kisses a sleeping or grumpily-awakened Paul, and sets off to look after his body.
Sometimes though, he wakes early and silences the alarm, rolling onto his right side and tucking his hand beneath his cheek to watch his husband sleep. Over the years, he's seen Paul's sandy hair begin to silver with age, the frown lines deepen, jaw filling out and body no longer quite as slim as on their first meeting.
He's even more beautiful now than that day on Alpha Centauri, and Hugh is right where he belongs beside him.
Notes:
The final episode just dropped. It's 1 hr 25 min long, so here goes...
Chapter 732: Surety
Summary:
*** SPOILERS FOR S5 E10 "Life, Itself" ***
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Chapter Text
Paul feels his heart drop to the pit of his stomach at Hugh's statement even as his body is already moving, hand latching onto his bicep and pulling him a few steps away from Adira and Book.
"Hugh, what are you talking about?"
"Paul, this isn't a debate," Hugh shakes his head once, firmly. "Book is going to need me. I don't know how I know it, but I do."
The thing is, Paul believes him. Which is exactly why he's terrified, more than the deck pitching beneath their feet and the impacts on Discovery's hull could ever leave him.
"There are black holes out there, Hugh-"
Never mind the Breen…
"I have to do this."
There's a serenity that settles over Hugh's features, a certainty completely at odds with the fact that he's planning to join Book on his - frankly, suicidal - mission. Paul and Adira's solution will buy them time, but the radiation surrounding the black holes makes the dilithium planet look like a barely flickering bulb. Forget breathing, it feels like his chest is caught in a vice. A pain very much like seven inches of duranium embedded in his heart flashes through him.
"Ever since Jinaal," Hugh continues, a gentle smile in place, "I've been trying to figure out what it means, this change inside of me or whatever it is. I'm not sure if this will give me the answers, but it might."
He catches Paul's hands with his own, lacking their fingers together and squeezing.
"At the very least, I can help him," he glances over at Book, standing beside Adira, his expression of resolve at odds with the frightened shock on Adira's face. "I know I can."
Time freezes between breaths. Inside of him, a tiny voice stands against the avalanche of fear and disbelief, the scientific knowledge of exactly what fate likely awaits Hugh should their shuttle survive the Breen. It grows though, pulling emotions around itself as memories flash through Paul's mind.
...waking up from the network, to a universe without Hugh.
...burying his body and his own heart alongside it.
...finding him only to lose him again.
...Hugh choosing to stay, piecing his broken heart back together with careful sutures and the strength of their love.
...sickness and anger when he's torn away from Discovery, unable to rescue his family.
...falling asleep with Hugh safe in his arms.
Time begins to flow again. Hugh's watching him with a look in his eyes that pleads for Paul's understanding, and he strokes his thumbs over Paul's white knuckles.
Trust me, the touch says, please.
If Paul's learned anything, it's that holding on too tightly can only lead to disaster. He thinks about the nights he's woken past 0100 to find Hugh still staring at the ceiling or restless, unable to sleep. Thinks about the way Hugh's been half-distracted, the man who always knows what to say at a loss for words to explain how he's feeling. Thinks about being given a third chance to be together, a choice that they will both always make.
Let him go.
Smiling tremulously, Paul nods.
"Okay."
Hugh rocks forwards, kissing the corner of his mouth before releasing Paul's hands with one last caress.
"I'm coming," he tells Book before turning to Adira. "I'll be okay, I promise."
"Okay," Book declares, "let's do this."
Before they can leave, Paul catches Hugh's sleeve.
"Paul?"
They've never really needed words, but he says them anyway.
"I love you."
Come back to me.
"I love you too."
I promise.
They're gone moments later.
Notes:
There's over an hour left, but I had to pause and write this to work out why Paul doesn't protest more, and what he's thinking to get him to that place of acceptance.
Reactions so far:
1) The vertical shafts of light - the entire opening scene - is so visually stunning. Epic. That being said...why doesn't Michael just have the tactical suit (guessing the Breen outfit was programmable matter?) form a helmet to protect her from the elements? And why not use more caution when encountering the highly unknown portals?
2) The portal Michael and Moll fall through takes them to a planet that looks a whole lot like Kwejian.
3) Letting Book go is one thing, but I sincerely hope someone told Rayner that their CMO is joining him.
4) I figured Hugh was going to put himself in danger with Book, but to do it with radiation? Eesh. But the acceptance on Paul's face...that's growth, and trust, and everything that makes their love what it is.
Chapter 733: Surpass
Summary:
*** CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR S5 E10 "Life, Itself" ***
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Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It's different this time.
Hugh's been worried for Book, the obsession and desperate desire to tie himself to something, to someone. Losing Kwejian drove him to listen to sociopathic scientist. Losing Michael drove him to try to latch onto Moll, to her connection with his mentor. This though, it's like they're floating in the liminal space between everything, staring in the eyes of destruction and creation all at once.
Jinaal's memory was more than a shadow, more than a passing whisper. Hugh's not sure if he deliberately left it behind for him to find, resonating in the back of his mind to coalesce at the moment all of the rods and cones in his eyes showed him the portal, his body experiencing the gravity distortions.
It simply was.
Something settles inside of him, tension evaporating. Like an infinitestimally small creature trying to understand the seemingly limitless expanse of a beach without stopping to examine each individual grain of sand, or a living being made up of trillions of cells, it doesn't mean he has to choose which thing to believe is real. Not when it surpasses everything.
"I was hoping for an answer, but...there isn't one. Not long ago, that would have driven me crazy," he tells Book with a laugh. "It's still a process, but maybe there's something...kind of beautiful about the mystery."
Notes:
I know Book has a line of dialogue in there, but I'm focusing on Hugh.
Chapter 734: Swan (Song)
Summary:
*** CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR S5 E10 "Life, Itself" ***
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*
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"You know," Hugh's voice is quiet, "it doesn't seem quite fair."
The hand that's been carding through his hair pauses and Paul opens his eyes, looking upwards from where he's using Hugh's thigh as a pillow. The couch cushions are scattered over the floor, Tilly and Adira both snoring quietly on them next to the coffee table and empty popcorn bowls waiting to be recycled.
"Hmm?"
Fingertips brush over his temple, tracing a path over his cheek and jaw. He kisses them as they tickle across his lips, sighing in contentment when the gentle touch pushes aside the open edge of his dress uniform jacket and comes to rest over his heart.
"The Red Directive. Classifying Discovery back in the twenty-third century...all of it."
Hugh's frowning a little, and Paul reaches up to smooth the lines from his brow.
"It's okay."
"You deserve more, love."
Shaking his head, Paul sits up, tugging at Hugh's hand.
"Come on."
They step over their guests and head into the bathroom, brushing their teeth in companionable silence. Hugh still looks pensive, but doesn't comment after they change into their pajamas and wave off the vanity lights. Paul stoops to cover Tilly and Adira with Aida's quilt and clean up their Movie Night dishes while Hugh turns down the bed, dusting salt off the coffee table and setting Adira's tricomm to wake them at 0800.
The sheets rustle beneath him when he settles under the covers, rolling onto his side to mirror Hugh's position. Their knees are touching like this, only a couple of handspans separating their chests, sharing the same air. Sighing, Hugh scoots just a little closer.
"You..."
Paul hums thoughtfully.
"You know, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense."
"It?"
"My legacy. I mean," he holds up a hand to forestall whatever Hugh's planning to say next, "I realized, it all started because I wanted to be seen. Growing up, science, research, building the spore drive. Wanting to be remembered, but more than that, wanting and needing to understand everything I could."
"Sweetheart..."
"I know there's so much more out there to learn, to understand. But," he smiles, then, closing the minimal distance to kiss Hugh, chaste and firm, "if I've learned anything, it's not to take what I have for granted. Sometimes I felt invisible, but you've always seen me, Hugh. And Adira, and Tilly, and I just- well."
Hugh doesn't say anything for a few breaths, and Paul waits while he gazes into the middle distance. Beyond their sanctuary beneath the duvet, he can just hear the sound of Tilly breathing, regular and deep. Eventually, Hugh nods.
"You're brilliant. It's one of the many, many reasons I love you," the tease makes him chuckle, "and I wish everyone else knew that too."
Warmth blooms in his chest, golden and sweet and full of affection.
"I love you too, dear doctor. I'm not saying I'm a hundred percent happy about that many thousands of terabytes of data getting locked away, but I did talk to Admiral Vance at the reception."
"Right...?"
"He's convinced President Rillak to re-start the spore drive program."
A beat, then a grin appears in the shadows, lit up with reflected starlight.
"Really?"
"Really."
"That's wonderful! But how..."
They both pause as someone on the floor shifts, groaning. When no other sound or sign of awakening follows, Paul laughs again, quietly.
"The Pathfinder drive helped Saru make Tahal back down, but we're the ones who managed to jump an entire Breen dreadnought thousands of light years away from where they can do any harm."
The kiss that follows lingers, staying light even as they take their time, aware that they're not alone in their quarters. When they break for air, Hugh cradles his cheek in his hand.
"To new beginnings?"
Paul nods.
"To new beginnings."
Notes:
1) I absolutely cried at the ending. Tying up the loose ends for "Calypso", meeting Michael's son (which felt just a bit cliche, I would have expected him to be taking command of Discovery), leaving the door open for what might have happened in the ensuing 40ish years that go by in between.
2) T'Rina and Saru's wedding was gorgeous. They did, however, short us on the reception having Paul and Hugh dancing together, which I'm going to fix soon.
3) Nice digital editing in of Wilson's face onto whomever was standing in for him, and clever camera angles to only show him out of focus beside Paul in the bridge reunion scene. If I didn't know, I wouldn't have guessed that he wasn't physically there.
4) Adira and Paul's final conversation made me so very happy. The only quibble I have is that Hugh should have joined them.
5) Ha! I knew Kovich was a Time Agent.
6) Totally get that Discovery is the story of Michael and aging actors up takes time and resources that they likely didn't have in shooting the epilogue, but it sure would have been nice to see the "now" version of the crew, like snippets of their lives afterwards. I wanted more Culmets, but I am more than happy that nothing in canon is stopping me from taking them on even more adventures. I suppose those are stories I'll just have to write - Tilly at the Academy (possibly becoming chancellor?), Hugh as Surgeon General looking on proudly as Paul reaches the next generation of scientists...
6) It's nearly 3 am and I need to sleep for work tomorrow. I'll be back after I rewatch the entire episode again.
Chapter 735: Sàbhailte, Part One
Summary:
*** CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR S5 E10 "Life, Itself" ***
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Notes:
Missing scene. Picks up after the shuttle retrieves Michael and Moll, and before Hugh goes to treat her (which, I assume, is why he isn't in the ready room with Paul and Adira).
Title translates to "saved" or "rescued" in Scottish Gaelic.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Although he's minimally aware of Michael and Book's reunion and Rayner comming the shuttle, Hugh's attention is focused on Moll as the shuttle returns to Discovery.
"Hugh? Is-"
Michael's standing at his shoulder as he kneels in front of the seat, Moll slumped and staring blankly ahead from it.
"What happened in there?"
"Long story," Michael sighs, "but in a nutshell? Portals to other worlds, looks like one of the Breen that got pulled through attacked Moll, she had a pretty bad cut to the femoral vein. Used my regen for it. Probably also a concussion? And at the end, she was hit with some sort of paralyzing energy surge. The Progenitor said she'd be okay, but..."
He works quickly as Michael speaks. The medkit and its portable replicator provides him with the appropriate hypospray, and he gives her a local dose of anticoagulant to prevent potential thrombosis later on down the line along with a light systemic analgesic. Flicking Moll's vitals out of the way, he sets up a cardiac and neural diagnostic while using his tricomm to check for tissue damage.
Michael's guess about a concussion is right, although it's relatively minor. It's easy to recognize the hallmarks of suus mahna - bruises and strains evidence of precision strikes to disarm and disable rather than attack. Along with the assorted soft tissue injuries, Moll has three broken ribs, a fractured vertebra, sprained ankle, a bruised right kidney, and damaged spleen. Those last two should be easy enough to fix back in the medbay, and he turns his attention to the other readings.
"Neural pathway disruption," he mutters, "brain function elevated but activity mostly normal. Okay. Moll, can you hear me?"
Silence.
He can hear Book's leather jacket rustling as he turns in his seat towards them, Michael's more rapid breathing, but no sign of Moll acknowledging that he's spoken to her. Setting down the osteoregenerator he'd grabbed, he carefully takes her hand in his. It's limp, unresponsive when he squeezes, and Hugh shakes his head.
Not the painkillers at work.
"I need to get her to the medbay. In the meantime," Hugh catches Michael's wrist, giving her an apologetic smile when she winces, "let's get you fixed up?"
"I'm fi-"
She closes her mouth at whatever expression is on his face, holding still while he scans.
"You get knocked unconscious?"
It's a rhetorical question, given the readings, and he doesn't comment when she rests her hand on Book's knee. Administering a tri-ox to help with recovery, he quickly repairs her fractured left wrist and sends his scans over to Tracy.
"Discovery's almost in range," Book informs them, "our shields are still up for the residual radiation, but I could drop them if you need to get to sickbay?"
Hugh shakes his head.
"Will wait until we're back onboard. You though, Captain," he addresses Michael, "make sure you come down to Medical once you're done debriefing?"
Michael huffs a quiet laugh.
"I promise. You...?"
"I," Hugh closes his eyes, sighing, "we're bringing back the portal to the shuttle bay."
Blinking, she doesn't seem to follow his train of thought, but Book chuckles.
"Not sure Paul's going to notice any of us with what we're towing?"
Hugh's lips quirk upwards in a half smile. He doesn't refute it, because he could hardly blame Paul for being excited to receive the Progenitors' portal as a reward for all of the work he's done in deciphering the clues. Instead, he swipes open the message function on his tricomm.
[Culber-Hugh-CMDR/MED] Bringing you a present, sweetheart.
Notes:
I haven't done a full rewatch yet. It's been a long couple of past days because of the amount of sleep I didn't get on Wednesday/Thursday (at 39 I apparently don't bounce back from it anymore) plus some volunteer activism, so I'm running on fumes. Planning to sit down this weekend and really devote my attention the episode in a way I couldn't the first time I watched through.
I'll explore it in a later chapter, but I was thinking today that this season for Paul was about lack of control in a way. He's learned that he needs to let Adira and Hugh make their own choices, which is good, yet he's also had the spore drive program yanked out from beneath him. By the end of the episode, he loses the next scientific puzzle too, and while he seems okay while talking to Adira after Michael's decision, there's going to be a bit of fallout once he and Hugh are home together tucked in bed and both have time to reflect on everything.
Chapter 736: Sàbhailte, Part Two
Summary:
Above all things, Hugh is Dr. Culber when it matters most.
Chapter Text
Hugh's relieved to find two of the people he loves most waiting impatiently once they land. Despite the obvious excitement - Paul's almost literally bouncing on his toes, eyes wide and bright blue in the glow of the shuttle's engines powering down - Paul pulls him into a tight embrace and claims a kiss, on the lips this time instead of his cheek. Leaning back but not letting go, he studies Hugh's face, hands resting to either side of his waist.
"You're...good."
It's not quite a question, but it deserves an answer. Hugh briefly closes his eyes to take stock of himself with the adrenaline wearing off, then nods.
"I feel- well. Like me?"
A tiny frown creases Paul's brow, smoothing out as Adira approaches and he moves away to let them hug Hugh too. As he straightens, the DOTs maneuver the portal carefully down to the deck. It's surrounded by a containment field, the roiling mass it had been before now settled into a silver-bright sheen. Ripples pass across it, like waves on a sea of mercury. Looking directly into it makes his head swim a little, eyes aching as he catches glimpses of something beyond three dimensions.
The light of creation.
He squeezes Paul's hand, taking a moment to enjoy the identical looks of scientific wonder as he and Adira turn towards it.
"Go on, I'll see you at home."
Paul's fingers are warm and strong between his, trailing over Hugh's palm as he lets go. Adira follows so closely behind that Hugh's surprised they aren't stumbling over Paul's heels, and he spares a moment to remember Nella doing much the same. The ache he always feels when he thinks about the family he left behind is still there, though muted and softened at the edges, something that still hurts but a known quantity.
Ahh, Nellita.
"Hugh?"
He shakes his head a couple of times, pivoting back the way he came to watch Book supporting Moll out of the shuttle. Hugh gently separates her from him, holding up a hand when Book moves with them.
"You can see her later, okay?"
Book looks like he's about to argue, but is interrupted by the displaced air as Tilly appears beside Paul and Adira. Michael had beamed out once the ship was within range, and she's likely to be busy with a debrief so there's no sending him after her either.
"Hey Book," Paul calls over, "the readings from the shuttle, can you-"
It's not the most professional thing to do, but Hugh quickly taps his tricomm while Book's back is turned. They appear in one of the private surgical suites, away from the main medbay, and he's not surprised when the doors open to admit Nhan less than a minute later as he's getting Moll settled on the biobed.
"Doctor."
Nhan's phaser isn't drawn, although her hand is resting on it in its holster. She gives Hugh a once-over and, seemingly satisfied, takes a step back to stand against the bulkhead directly in Moll's path should she try to leave.
"I don't think she's a threat anymore, Commander," he says, quiet but firm, as he calls up the readings he took on the shuttle and compares them to the vitals currently displayed above them. "Not now."
Tilting her head to the side, Nhan hums.
"Kovich wanted me to keep an eye on things. And," here she gives him a wry look, "I'd rather do it from here than the other side of the door."
Hugh taps his tricomm, collapsing the programmable matter tactical suit back into a compact square that he sets aside. The tight-fitting undershirt and pants aren't his usual surgical attire, but there's no need to take the time to change for the procedures he needs to perform.
"Far be it for me to stand in the way of orders," he replies, moving to the corner for a quick sterilization sweep.
"Just doing my job."
He washes his hands too, a habit ingrained since med school that even the most advanced molecular scrubbers can't break. Turning back, he smiles at Nhan, then pulls Dr. Culber around himself.
"Moll, you've got a bruised kidney and some bleeding around your spleen. It's an easy fix, but I'll need to operate. And I want to make sure you don't have any permanent neural damage."
There's no sign from her that she's even heard him speak, eyes vacant, and Hugh shakes his head before trying again.
"Would you like me to leave while you get changed?"
Still nothing. In his peripheral vision, Nhan shifts her weight forward. Hugh would bet a good supply of latinum that Nhan's considering the possibility that Moll is trying to lull them into a sense of complacency, but his doctor's instincts say otherwise.
Emotional shock, not physiological.
While she's not in immediate danger, he does want to get the injuries fixed sooner than later. On the other hand...
No telling how much other trauma might be surfacing as well.
He calls Aisha into the room, deliberately turning his back as she maneuvers Moll out of her scorched and bloodied clothes and into a clean medical smock. She's withdrawn, not catatonic but pulled so far into whatever misery is in her own head that she's alarmingly complacent. It's not until Aisha starts to move away with the bundle of clothing that Moll's hand shoots out, gripping the black fabric tightly.
"No."
It's the first he's heard her speak since Michael brought her back to the shuttle, and her voice sounds rough and scratchy. Nhan's hand twitches, but her phaser stays holstered. Aisha glances over at him, and Hugh shakes his head.
"It's all right. There's nothing dangerous."
Now physically in front of the door, Nhan flicks open a scan and frowns.
"There's a portable pattern buffer on the sleeve."
A pattern buffer?
"Could it be used as a weapon?"
"Probably not," Nhan concedes.
From what he witnessed in the medbay only hours ago and the fact that she hasn't even asked after the dreadnought, pieces slot together in a way that makes his chest ache.
"L'ak is in there, isn't he?"
A single tear runs down Moll's cheek, knuckles whitening as she tries to pull it towards her. At his nod, Aisha lets go, lets Moll clutch the bundle to her chest. Despite everything - perhaps because of everything - he thinks about just how young Moll actually is, the universe in black and white and absolutes.
"Hey," he tries again, laying a careful hand on Moll's wrist. "I'm going to need to sedate you, but I promise we won't take him away, okay?"
She shakes her head, chin trembling.
"Hugh?"
That's Aisha, and he gives her a tired smile, pointing at the still-floating scans.
"Can you prep the growth medium? We might need to grow some grafts."
Nodding, Aisha steps around Nhan, and the doors swish shut behind her.
"Okay," Hugh addresses Moll, "why don't we just..." he points at the pattern buffer and her bare wrist, "keep it here?"
He's still wearing his own wrist strap, the programmable matter synthesizer mounted on it meant to produce basic medical equipment on command. Hugh removes it, setting it aside on top of the tactical suit pack. Moving slowly, he reaches for the small device. She stares at his hand but lets him pluck it off the dirty sleeve, attaching it to the empty equipment strap and securing it around her wrist. This time, she relinquishes the bundle of clothes, arms wrapped tight at her own midsection instead.
The biobed beeps, and Hugh glances at the readings.
"I need to fix your kidney and spleen, and we'll get your ribs regenned."
Silence again as he eases her back, acknowledging the message on his tricomm from Aisha letting him know the tissue regenerator is standing by. Moll turns her head on the pillow as he approaches with a hypospray of sedative.
"...why?"
Pausing, he frowns.
"Why what?"
The smoky shadow is smeared and streaking over her cheeks, but her reddened eyes focus on him.
"I tried to kill you. Why are you being...nice?"
A speech about how Starfleet and the Federation are fair and ethical doesn't seem appropriate, so he settles on the easiest truth.
"I'm a doctor."
The hypospray hisses and her eyes close. In front of the door, Nhan's stance relaxes slightly.
"What's going to happen to her?" he asks her.
"She'll get a fair trial," Nhan assures him.
"She did it out of love," he feels compelled to say, "misguided and dangerous and wrong, but still. Sometimes grief overrides reason."
Nhan tips her head to the side, studying him.
"Stamets wouldn't have given over a potential superweapon to a hostile species. Or not cared about the possible destructive consequences."
She's not completely correct. His brilliant, caring, genius of a scientist husband would have let the multiverse burn if Hugh had asked him to stay in the network with him. Telling that to her feels too private, even for someone who'd jumped through time with Discovery. Instead, he activates a sterile field over Moll's abdomen and shakes his head.
"I suppose not."
Notes:
On one hand I'm frustrated that Hugh's spiritual awakening seemed to culminate in...him knowing the right frequency for Book to use. After all of the buildup the entire season, I was disappointed for it not to play out longer or in different ways, or a flashback of some sort. Sigh. I'll explore it more in another chapter.
I keep saying it, but it wouldn't have hurt the plot to devote 30 seconds less to epic hand-to-hand fighting and more to the other characters. Nhan and Saru's scenes felt paced right and neat around the edges, the others not so much.
The scene with Moll here was meant to be short, but it kept growing in detail until it ended up at just over 1,500 words. The entire conversation at the end between Nhan and Hugh came out of nowhere too, but once I wrote it it felt too important to take out. I think there will be a part three to tie it up as well, either attached or separate from Paul talking to Hugh about Michael's decision on the portal.
Chapter 737: Splice
Notes:
Throwback (way back!) to Season One with links to Season Three’s “Scavengers”.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The thing is, Hugh hates them.
(It’s a strong word and rather unlike his usual ability to look beyond his own preferences, but this situation is so far past any of that, he thinks he’s justified.)
Hugh designed them, is proud of the harmony of medical and scientific understanding needed to fashion augments that enabled his partner to connect his own nervous system to essentially pilot an entire starship through an extra-dimensional plane using only his mind. And honestly, that’s precisely why he despises them.
He’s spent years mapping Paul’s body with his hands (and lips, and tongue). The feel of his prominent collarbone leading to a rounded shoulder giving way to a lean bicep is familiar, caressing warm skin and the invisible hair on his forearms. Hugh knows the exact part of Paul’s inner elbow that’s ticklish, has memorized the strong beat of his pulse beneath Hugh’s thumbs in deceptively slender wrists.
The augments change all of that.
They’re an unwelcome intrusion - no matter the momentous, paradigm-changing technology they enable - marring the lovely expanse of pale skin that Hugh loves to kiss and nuzzle. Even if he can forget about them for a while, he’s reminded as soon as the body-warmed casings come into contact with his body in the shower or he glimpses them while Paul’s changing. And, their unyielding presence interferes with the peace and safety to be found with Paul’s arms around him, still apparent through the sleeves of his pajamas when cuddling beneath the covers.
Worst of all, what they represent is unsettling at the best of times. Their presence is a direct consequence of a senseless war and a Captain who's not above emotional manipulation. They’re reminders that the man he’s planning to spend the rest of his life with is inextricably linked to a species they know next to nothing about, genetically hybridized himself without so much as consulting Hugh. The side effects Paul’s been hiding aside, the fact that he felt the need to conceal having them not only from Hugh as his partner but also from Dr. Culber as his physician sits like a lump of neutronium in Hugh’s stomach.
He loves Paul, more than words could describe. Loves every inch of his beautiful body and brilliant mind, frustrations and flaws and all, because they’re a part of him. The augments are a part of him now too, and Hugh’s responsible for putting them there.
And he hates them.
Notes:
Read Paul’s perspective of Hugh installing them in Chapter 181 (“Scalpel”).
Still unpacking the finale, trying to make sure I keep track of all of the ideas it’s given me. I’m disappointed we didn’t get a Culmets bed conversation or really any time with those gorgeous new blue pajamas…so I’ll just have to write some in.
Behind on replying to comments yet again, but I promise I read and love every single one!
Chapter 738: Spise
Summary:
Tilly absolutely can act normal around Jax.
Right?
Notes:
Title translates to “eat” or “dine” in Norwegian.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Is this seat taken?”
Tilly looks up so fast from her bowl that her hair probably does something dramatic, judging by the way Jax’s smile widens. It’s not derogatory at all, and she finds herself smiling back.
”What? No, no no…I mean, there’s plenty of seats,” she gestures at the half-full dining common, “but umm. You’re one hundred percent welcome to sit here. If you want.”
Rather than commenting further, he drops down into the seat across from her. He’s not carrying a tray, just a large mug of what smells suspiciously like raktajino.
”So.”
”…so?”
Good job, Sylvia.
Jax sips his drink, nodding down at her tray.
”That looks good.”
”What? It is good, I mean. Did you want to try some?”
He leans forward, propping his chin on his hand.
”What is it?”
“Something called asopao,” she looks down again, the intensity of his regard managing to be both gratifying and making her inexplicably nervous. “It’s- well. A stew, from Puerto Rico. On Earth.”
Jax’s eyebrows raise.
“You’ve been?”
”Where?”
”To Earth. And yes, please, I’d love to try it.”
That makes her smile again, picking up the unused spoon on her tray, holding it out to him.
”I was born there. Saint Louis,” Tilly wipes her fingers on the napkin, “you…ahh. Keep forgetting, that was a long time ago for people.”
Jax chews and swallows, making an appreciative noise.
”So you had this growing up?”
”Oh, no. Hugh, Doctor Culber, I mean, that’s where he’s from. He’d cook sometimes, and this was his family recipe.”
”The CMO on Discovery?”
”Yeah.”
Nodding, he sneaks another spoonful with a look that’s both mischievous and strangely serious.
”Married to Commander Stamets, right? I saw them dancing at the reception.”
At that, Tilly grins.
”Very married. Although, I didn’t realize it at first. They were pretty discreet.”
Jax frowns, which has the effect of making his eyebrows form a V that shouldn’t be as attractive as it actually is.
”Really.”
Given how anyone seeing them dancing probably would have come to the same obvious conclusion, she doesn’t blame the slightly incredulous tone.
”Long story.”
”Well,” he takes a third bite, “I don’t have anything until labs at fourteen hundred, and I think you’re off until tomorrow?”
He knows that?
Not like schedules aren’t public, calm down.
”…right.”
“If you wanted to tell me, I’ve got time. If you want, though, I don’t want to pry.”
”Pry away! I mean,” Tilly resists the urge to facepalm, “sure. Sure.”
Jax makes a go on gesture, and she takes a moment to set down her own fork, folding the napkin onto her tray.
”So. It started when I was a cadet, and…”
Notes:
Made the mistake of reading some comment sections about Discovery. As ever, it leaves me wondering “are we even watching the same show?”
Someone went off about Anthony’s acting being “too big” for tv, and that he had no chemistry with Wilson so they couldn’t understand why their characters were a couple other than to be “in your face” about being together 🙄. Seriously. Had to write this as a palate-cleanser.
Chapter 739: Sábana
Notes:
Fluffity fluff.
Title translates to “sheet” in Spanish.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“We-“ Paul pauses, blinking. “Mmm.”
From where he’s sprawled on his stomach reading, Hugh looks up.
“Babe? What is it?”
Leaning against the doorframe, Paul swallows, affection and amusement and deep, tender delight mingling in his chest.
Wasn't expecting to see those.
Hugh had changed the sheets this morning - a rare one where Paul was on duty first - and he hadn’t thought of it at all until now. Making up the bed with fresh linens together is something he enjoys, but it’s hardly a necessity. They could easily have the DOTs do it, have had in fact, yet there’s still something so mundanely and wonderfully domestic about them working around each other while changing pillowcases and tucking in edges.
He recognizes this set, faded to a soft silvery gray, one edge of the top hem with its stitching pulled loose - caught in a zipper - and worn thin at the seams. These were the ones on Hugh’s bed the first time they slept together there, when everything was new and terrifying and wonderful.
Still the last two, but it’s…comfortable.
”Your lucky sheets,” he jokes to hide the rawness it evokes, “are you trying to seduce me, dear doctor?”
”Do I have to try?”
Hugh’s soft smile takes the sting out of the implication. They both know Paul’s a sure thing where Hugh’s concerned.
”Only for you,” he murmurs, coming to sit on the side of the mattress and leaning down for a kiss, “only ever for you.”
”…I actually forgot to run the refresher,” Hugh admits when they take a break for air, nuzzling their noses together, “so these were the only clean ones.”
Laughing quietly, Paul slips his hand under Hugh’s pajama top, thumb tracing the waistband of his pants.
”Mmm, I see.”
”I can pretend I had an ulterior motive.”
”Oh?”
Hugh flops over onto his back, pulling Paul down with him.
”Mmhmm.”
He licks Hugh’s ear, teasing the lobe with his teeth.
”Do you though?”
Squirming, Hugh responds by squeezing Paul’s hip.
“I always want you.”
The sheets are cool against his skin, and Paul smiles.
”Me too.”
Notes:
Apologies for being MIA - commencement is this weekend, I’m volunteering, and we’ve been encouraged to wear our own regalia if we have it. So, I had to drive to my parents’ last weekend to get my hood, and have spent the evenings of this week making a doctoral robe (because the one I ordered online is *awful* for the price). I only ever got to wear the full get up once over a decade ago, so looking forward to it but also distracted from writing.
EDIT: 10 minutes after posting I realized there was more to add after “only ever for you”, so updated and continued just a bit more :)
Chapter 740: Subterfuge
Summary:
Playful dialogue-only Culmets :)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Sex.”
”What?”
”We should be having it.”
”Now?”
”All the time.”
”Might make working a bit difficult.”
”Nah. Tracy’ll just roll her eyes and kick everyone else out.”
”…actually, you’re probably right. Don’t think I could jump that way though.”
”No?”
”You're way too distracting.”
“Is that so?”
”You know it is.”
”Mmm. True. But I love hearing it.”
”Yeah?”
”Of course. My genius of a husband can’t science because of me? High praise.”
“The highest.”
*kiss*
*kiss kiss*
“So…”
”Are you actually in the mood right now?”
”I could be, if you are.”
”Give me ten minutes to finish this first?”
”I suppose I could do that.”
”…what are you doing?”
”Taking my clothes off, unless you’d rather not do it naked?”
”No, I mean that.”
”Oh. Huh. That’s your fault.”
”You could- well.”
”Hmm?”
”Grab a towel and get started without me?”
”Wouldn't that be distracting?”
”Oh, definitely.”
”I see.”
”Planning on it, actually.”
”In that case…one distraction coming right up.”
” ‘Up’?”
”Mmhmm. Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be finishing that?”
”I was done five minutes ago.”
”Really.”
”You offered a free show, how am I supposed to resist?”
”In that case, get your pretty face over here.”
”Just my face?”
”Oh, I want the rest of you too.”
”Promise?”
”Yes.”
Notes:
Still recovering from commencement - trying to get to everyone’s comments next!
Chapter 741: Simulated
Summary:
Tracy tests the grief alleviation program before telling Hugh about it.
Notes:
Expansion from Chapter 715 ("Symbiosis, Part Two") where Tracy introduces Hugh to the concept of the grief alleviation program.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"We should probably test this," Tracy mutters, checking the algorithms again.
All of the tests have exceeded parameters.
She smiles at no one in particular - Zora's interface nowhere in sight - and shakes her head.
"Sorry, I meant we ought to have someone try it out and see what the limits of the programming are. We've set up all of the conditions where it should operate as intended, but the human mind...any mind, is still more complex than we can probably account for."
I understand. Perhaps testing should start with you, Doctor Pollard?
"First-person data at its finest," she nods, "now, who should I pick?"
As the program is intended for grief alleviation, might I suggest someone for whom there is both ample supplementary data and a strong connection?
Tracy pauses, chewing her lower lip. She taps her boot against the biobed support, then nods again, decisively.
"All right. Let's set up in my office?"
Once there, she leans on the edge of the desk rather than sitting behind it, eyes unfocused as she considers the options.
I apologize if I've caused you discomfort, Doctor.
"Discomfort?"
That the memory of someone you carry grief for their loss may be painful.
Oddly enough, it makes Tracy smile.
"Actually, I think I have the perfect example. Zora, can you pull all of my recorded conversations, messages, and written correspondence with Healer S'dar T'lhai T'Vala? Cross-reference her recorded lectures, presentations, my personal logs, and any other accessible data from both Federation and Ni'Var sources."
A brief pause, then an interface blinks into existence, floating in front of her. As she watches, calculations fly by rapidly, percentages of likely accurate depiction fluctuating. They settle into a solid 92.7%, and Tracy lets out the breath she'll absolutely deny holding.
With your permission, Doctor, the program will now couple to your active brainwave patterns once it initializes.
"Go ahead, Zora. Initialize program."
Would you like the program to maintain awareness, or remain limited to interactions which do not exceed the bounds of interpersonal communication?
She doesn't have an immediate answer. Tracy frowns, tapping her index finger on the desk as she considers the options. While it would be wonderful to see her old friend and carry on conversation as if nine hundred years and a senseless death during war never happened, pretending otherwise feels somehow hollow.
Not logical, right? It's T'Vala. Even her hologram would probably help troubleshoot.
"Full awareness, Zora. Initialize."
Although she expects the emotions seeing T'Vala again will evoke, she's not expecting pain and sorrow and affection to collide with her chest like a shuttle at warp. Tracy regulates her breathing, blinking rapidly as she takes in the hologram standing in front of her, expression serene as ever. Her Vulcan friend is in Medical whites, dark hair braided around the crown of her head, hands folded in front of herself and an air of patience about her that Tracy hadn't realized just how much she's missed.
Oh, T'Vala.
"He-" she clears her throat, swallowing hard. "Hello, T'Vala. It's...been a long time."
"Greetings, Tracy. Precisely nine hundred thirty-three years, four months, eleven days, and four hours since our last correspondence."
"...no minutes?"
T'Vala raises an eyebrow and tips her head ever so slightly to the side in a move so familiar that it makes Tracy's shoulders ache with the tension of not trying to embrace the hologram in front of her.
"I can, of course, provide that data should you desire, but experience suggests that it is not necessary on this occasion."
"No, I suppose not."
"A great many things have surely transpired in that time. Do you wish to speak of them?"
Here goes.
"How much do you already know?"
A micro expression akin to gentle amusement flashes across T'Vala's face for a split second, and Tracy marvels that it's been captured so perfectly.
"Should you wish it, I could speak as though I have witnessed all of that which you and those of our mutual acquaintance have experienced which do not require a security clearance. However, I believe that might deprive you of the...enjoyment of relating them to me. I would also offer my assistance in testing this program, which I understand is your primary motive in this instance."
"I'd like to test the limits, but I also," she pauses, breathing in deeply, "saints and angels, T'Vala. I've missed you."
"The sentiment is returned. It is..." T'Vala frowns slightly, "not illogical to conclude that the circumstances of my own death and subsequent events are not pleasant memories, and our correspondence prior to that was of a regularity which would be remarked in its absence."
It really sounds just like her.
Sniffling, Tracy shakes her head.
"I- you. Yes."
Her throat feels tight around the clipped, single syllables, and she's torn between letting the tears that have been building fall and laughing in delight. Through watery vision, she sees T'Vala's eyes flick politely away and her posture straighten in a way that means she's gauging the appropriateness of what to say in response to an outward display of emotion.
"Surely emotional distress in response to this projection of the person you remember is indicative of its effectiveness."
A tear traces a hot trail down her cheek, and Tracy wipes it away with her sleeve cuff.
"Can we...talk about something else?"
"Of course. What do you wish to speak of?"
"Hugh would love this," Tracy murmurs, then, louder, "good question."
T'Vala turns to examine the intricate Vulcan meditation sculpture - a gift from the real T'Vala - perched on the other side of Tracy's desk.
"May I inquire as to the well-being of Hugh and his mate?"
That draws a laugh, small but genuine and tinged with remembered sorrow and joy together.
"The best I've seen them, now."
"Your wording suggests this was not the case throughout."
"In a nutshell? Hugh was ki- died, not long after you. Paul just...shut down. Not even Aida could reach him. And we didn't know, but Paul managed to pull his consciousness into the mycelial network, and when Tilly was kidnapped he went to get her back. I should tell you about Tilly, but the point is, he found Hugh and brought him back too. In a new body, genetically identical, but it wasn't easy. And Paul," she sighs, "you can probably imagine. Went overboard and tried way too hard to be who he thought Hugh would have wanted and tried to pretend everything was fine."
Blinking, T'Vala frowns again.
"That is highly illogical. Hugh indicated once that they most highly prized honesty and openness between them, and I observed on many occasions that their relationship provided solace in, as humans say, being themselves."
"Grief isn't logical, T'Vala."
"Indeed. The sundering of their bond would have immensely deleterious effects. While such loss is manageable for Vulcans, it requires deep meditation and the understanding of one's kin and companions in witnessing occasional lapses of emotional control."
Understatement of the millennium.
"Hugh stayed," Tracy continues, "Paul almost died, and they figured it out between them. And they basically adopted a kid - Adira - when they tried to sabotage Discovery and turned out to be the same kind of science-obsessed genius he is, and I wish you could see them together. All three, four when Tilly's here. You'd probably love Tilly and Adira."
"I infer that the colloquialism is not literal."
T'Vala's tone is dry as ever and so very welcome.
"Yeah. A lot's happened, but they're happy now. Even got married a couple months ago, I'll have to show you the holos."
"That would indeed be agreeable. Having witnessed their partnership ceremony, marriage implies a deepening of their bond which is the only logical conclusion for their compatibility and mutual regard."
Chuckling, Tracy finally slides down to sit.
"You've missed how many times I've walked in on them on this ship."
"I assume you are referring to being an unintentional witness to mating activities which are generally governed by human privacy taboos?"
"Mmhmm."
"Fascinating," T'Vala muses, "am I to assume that their frequency continues to significantly exceed statistical averages relating to such behavior?"
"Seventeen years and counting," Tracy groans, "still hornier than a pair of Risan marmots."
The second eyebrow joins the first, elegant arched quotation marks above T'Vala's sideways gaze.
"I believe we have discussed on multiple occasions that, while the relatively brief reproductive cycle of Risan rodentia corresponds with rapid shifts in hormonal levels to encourage breeding and continuance of the species, Hugh and his mate are not subject to the same biochemical processes."
"Which makes them even worse."
Sitting as well, T'Vala folds her hands on the desk.
"They are, indeed, unique amongst both our acquaintance and my understanding of human bonding practices. However, I would be curious to know if additional research has been made available in the time since our last correspondence."
T'Vala and her research.
"You sent it to me, didn't you?"
"The files were appended to the farewell message which should have been delivered upon the occasion of-"
Tracy holds up a hand.
"Rhetorical. I have them, but I admit...well. They reminded me of you a bit too much for me to read then."
"If you would permit the question now," T'Vala leans forward slightly, "has this interaction alleviated some of the grief which prevented you in doing so?"
Shaking her head, Tracy smiles.
"Yes."
An old-fashioned PADD and stylus appear on the desk, and T'Vala picks them up.
"Perhaps you would provide additional information and we may amend the data together?"
Tracy laughs then, uninhibited and glad.
"I suppose we could."
Notes:
My Tracy voice isn't as clear in this one, and I hope it doesn't take away from the story.
Apologies for the slow posting these days. I'm running into the problem of my mind going so many directions it's difficult to wrap up each idea before a new one pops up. Also, prepping a cosplay for a convention in a couple of weeks plus work things, so my brain is more tired than it ought to be.
Thank you all again as ever for sticking with me :)
Chapter 742: Suits
Notes:
Inspired by this Space Family clip on Instagram.
Set just after S3E08.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He thinks about what Hugh said all the way back to their quarters, through a quick sonic shower together and brushing their teeth. Four simple words, but they bloom into something fragile and expansive in his chest, filling him with warmth.
"You've got your thinking face on," Hugh's observation drifts over from the other pillow once they've settled under the covers, "everything okay?"
Paul turns his head to find Hugh watching him, pillowcase creased beneath his cheek and a slight frown on his brow.
"More than okay."
The sheets rustle as Hugh frees his left hand, rising to curve along his jaw. Fingertips stroke the delicate skin beneath his ear as Hugh's thumb traces back and forth over his cheekbone.
"Yeah?"
"Pride," he speaks the word quietly into the air between them, feeling his mouth form the single syllable that's so laden with meaning.
Hugh's eyes light with understanding accompanied by a soft smile, and he closes the distance to place a single, gentle kiss on Paul's lips. It's affirmation, agreement, and full of love.
"Pride," Hugh murmurs, "it suits you."
Notes:
Paramount Plus has been sharing really sweet videos of our SpaceDads and Blu re-watching clips of Disco together, and it fills me with so much joy <3
For my initial take on that scene, read Chapter 143 ("Space (Dads)").
Chapter 743: Svatba
Summary:
Tracy and Reno's conversation during Saru and T'Rina's wedding reception.
Title translates to "wedding" in Czech.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tracy's attended enough weddings, diplomatic functions, and other formal events to have seen everything from garish to elegant, raucous to refined. She's quite happy to put Saru and T'Rina's wedding squarely in the "tasteful" category. Everything is a careful blend of the flowing arches and sweeping, geometrically pleasing lines of Ni'Var and the organic, natural simplicity of Kaminar. The bride, while not quite blushing (although Tracy thinks there's more than a hint of green to her cheeks when she kisses Saru), is resplendent in gold that complements the diaphanous fabric draping the modern interior of the hall, metallic hints amongst the flowering plants. Logic meets stoicism and strength, joined but still distinct.
And isn't that very much T'Rina and Saru?
She joins in showering the newlyweds with fragrant flower petals, laughing in shared delight as they settle on the couch placed on the low dais to the cheers of their guests. Seated together, for a moment they seem almost imperial, straight-backed and still. Then Saru leans over to say something too quietly to be heard by anyone else, and a smile teases at the corners of T'Rina's mouth as she reaches out to take his hand in hers again.
The reception is joyous, a celebration uniting two cultures, but also Discovery's own private festivities after everything they've been through since-
Well, since we went through a wormhole and landed in the 32nd century.
"Quite a party."
Reno appears in her peripheral vision, champagne flute exchanged for a plate of hors d'œuvres. In true Reno fashion, her dress uniform is open at the shoulder in a display too haphazard to be anything but deliberate. (Tracy remembers seeing Paul tugging at his own collar with a scowl before the ceremony began, before Hugh whispered something in his ear that she's far too glad she didn't catch based on the look they exchanged afterwards.)
"We earned one," Tracy shakes her head, "after...everything."
"Tell me about it. Could use the break after crawling through every meter of the ship twice, cleaning up after the gooey green guys."
A nearby dignitary casts a decidedly shocked look in Reno's direction at that, and Tracy hides her chuckle by taking another sip of her drink.
"Well, shore leave is on order for everyone once repairs are complete."
Propping an elbow on one of the high cocktail tables, Reno takes a bite of what resembles a classical Earth caprese salad if the mozzarella was blue and the tomatoes a distressingly neon green. She chews thoughtfully, then smirks as something catches her attention a few meters away.
"Check it out. The kid has got to learn to be smoother than that."
"Hmm?"
Reno uses her empty skewer to indicate a very familiar mass of red curls that's bobbing visibly as Tilly enthusiastically nods at something her companion is saying.
"That."
Shifting sideways, she leans around a pillar to get a better look at the tall bearded man in dress uniform, someone Tracy vaguely remembers being introduced as an Academy instructor. Tilly is gesturing animatedly with her free hand, saying something that makes him laugh. When she turns to reach for something on a passing tray, Tracy watches the man's smile melt into something softer while her back is turned.
Oh.
"Who is he?"
"Name's Jax. Lieutenant, teaches interspecies theory, quantum engineering, and classic Earth literature. Born on a generation ship," Reno straightens, setting her plate down, "never been to Earth until they started re-establishing the Academy there. Mild allergy to peanuts, plays the Andorian sitar, and likes to swim in his off time. Also terrible at tri-D chess, from what I hear."
Tracy feels her eyebrows climbing higher with each fact but waits for Reno's recitation to conclude before asking, "do I want to know where you found all of that out?"
"Couple of cadets came into Red's the other night while I was on shift, so I asked a few questions. Did some research."
"And..."
"Seems like a decent guy, from what everyone thinks. I also have his teaching schedule and the address of his favorite Cardassian bistro, which," Reno's blasé expression sharpens, "I'll share if he turns out not to be."
"Pretty sure we'd have to get in line behind Paul and Hugh if that's the case."
She tips her head to the side and Reno follows her eyes. A few meters in the other direction, Hugh is leading Paul in an old-fashioned waltz. To the casual observer, their attention would clearly be only for each other, but Tracy catches Paul glancing over Hugh's shoulder a few times, seemingly interested in Tilly's conversation as well.
"Huh."
Three hours later, the reception is still full of buoyant energy. Tracy blames a combination of Romulan ale, Andorian champagne, and the fact that the happy couple has been happily dancing amidst the well-wishers.
Eventually though, things wind down to a quiet buzz. Collars are loosened, outer robes and shoes shed (and it's nice to see some things haven't changed in a millennium), and guests are lounging on furniture rather than filling the dance floor. In the corner, Tilly and Jax are still deep in conversation, Adira beside them clearly debating whether to politely stay or excuse themself. Admiral Vance's wife and President Rillak are either discussing the hasperat in front of them or plotting galactic conquest, and a few couches away, Detmer, Owosekun, Rhys, Linus, Bryce, and Christopher seem to be arguing over the merits of different vintages of Saurian brandy. Tracy wonders idly whether it would have been deemed logical to provide the guests with hangover cures as wedding favors.
"Gotta admit, for a diplomatic event, the food was decent."
Reno's still working her way through a plate of dessert, and Tracy waves off the next server who seems to be coming their direction.
"Can't complain about anything, although," she sighs, "would have been nice to not be in uniform."
"Mushroom Lord looks like he agrees with you."
Tracy has to sit up to look over the back of the couch she's sitting on to look, but what she finds evokes a tired chuckle. Tucked in an alcove, Paul and Hugh are sharing a small cushioned bench, Paul's jacket across his knees, his head resting on Hugh's shoulder and a very familiar smile of contentment on both their faces.
"Mmm."
"At least they're not making kissy faces at each other."
She shakes her head and turns to face Reno again, picking up her drink - an espresso digestif - and catching a fleeting glimpse of what might be wistfulness.
“You want to know the worst part? They actually like each other as much as it looks.”
"Hard to miss with the doc fixing Stamets' broken heart in more ways than one."
”No,” she shakes her head with fond annoyance, “I mean, they like each other. They don’t just kiss goodnight and sleep on opposite sides of the bed. Did you know,” Tracy continues, “they used to- Hugh’s room at home. They crammed both of them, two grown men, into a single with enough room leftover for Hugh’s niece to take a nap too.”
Surprisingly, there's no half-expected comment about not needing to know any of that.
"Stamets is good with kids."
"He doesn't think so. Hugh's nieces and nephews adored him though, when he brought him home for Christmas."
"Let me guess, he over-explained everything and took all of their questions seriously?"
There isn't a trace of sarcasm or hyperbole in Reno's question, just more of the same wistfulness Tracy might have spotted earlier.
"Yeah."
"Makes him a good dad."
Notes:
Tracy and Reno (mostly Reno) would probably go all protective!aunt about Tilly finding someone she really likes.
This story was originally Tracy telling Jax about Paul and Hugh, but I couldn't get it to fit right.
Chapter 744: Sirkulasjon
Summary:
Culmets cuddly domestic fluff.
Chapter Text
“Babe?”
”…mmm.”
The hummed response vibrates against his sternum where Paul’s nose is currently parked, courtesy of his husband face-planting onto Hugh’s torso the moment Hugh slipped his hands beneath the hem of Paul’s undershirt and started kneading at his lower back. Paul is a welcome weight that’s warm and smells good, arms snaked around Hugh’s waist. It would be so easy to let himself drift, but his left foot is starting to go prickly where it’s sandwiched between Paul’s shin and the back of the couch.
“Foot’s falling asleep, sweetheart,” he tries again, wiggling his toes.
That earns him an inquisitive noise, one that’s adorably grumpy.
“…mmuhh? Comfy.”
Hugh chuckles, fingertips still working circles at the base of Paul’s spine.
”You can stay, I just need you to let my foot up.”
Slowly, Paul’s head rises from Hugh’s chest. There’s a pink imprint on his right cheek from a crease in Hugh’s shirt, and he blinks owlishly.
”Which one?”
He frees one hand to smooth the hair back from Paul’s forehead, then uses his other foot to tap the back of Paul’s right ankle.
”Just a little-“ he pulls the trapped limb free, “there we go.”
A frown wrinkles Paul’s nose.
”Sorry.”
Hugh flexes his core, leaning up and forward just enough to kiss Paul’s cheek.
”S’fine,” he murmurs, guiding Paul’s head back down, pillowed over his heart, “now where was I?”
Notes:
A couple of options for what I can post next - more of Moll and Hugh / Paul post-return from the dimensional portal, or Paul considering his legacy. Any preference? I’m still working through Hugh coming to terms with the Jinaal echo in his brain, so that may end up being chapter 750(!).
Chapter 745: Storge
Summary:
Tilly always speaks with her heart.
Missing scene that takes place during "Life, Itself".
Notes:
"Storge" is the Greek term for familial love, the kind that's comfortable and familiar and instinctive, and at the heart of so many things for our Space Family.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"-we should check the- the chroniton levels. And the quantum flux through it! It really...well. Shouldn't exist, but it's stable. I think. Zora, can you scan- wait. The molecules between the edge of the portal and the portal itself are all vibrating in resonance with the ambient light. How is that even...Adira, does this match the equations from Ni'Var on the-"
When's the last time you saw him this excited?
Watching Stamets circle the inter-dimensional portal, tricomm display open but almost an afterthought as he stares nearly unblinking, Tilly studies him even as her own mind is mostly busy recording and analyzing dimensional constants. The absolute wonder on his face is nothing in comparison to how the mercury-silver of the impossible object makes his eyes glow, the normally tight-fisted concentration giving way to open hands and fingers splayed wide apart, hovering inches away from the protective barrier around it. Those hands are shaking just a little, the same way she'd witnessed when they were able to take the first few successful jumps with the spore drive what feels like several lifetimes ago, before the reveal of Lorca's identity and Hugh's untimely death.
Just 900 years, give or take.
To her left, Adira is staring at the portal with a similar wide-eyed awe. And okay, it's not like Tilly herself isn't amazed by it on a purely scientific level, but there's so much more going on here than the uninformed observer would realize. She shakes her head, tuning back in to the stream-of-consciousness narration Paul's giving.
"...it's generating more energy than nuclear fission, but it's so controlled," Paul blinks rapidly, hands moving to trace out equations, "Zora?"
I am recording data from all scans it is possible to perform simultaneously, Commander. There are fifteen-point-oh-six terabytes currently stored, and I anticipate we may need up to four hundred in total.
From a person, Tilly might expect it to have a sense of gentle reproach, but there's no implication of criticism from Zora at all.
"Tilly, I want to take a sample of the particles just outside the event horizon, if we can contain them."
She blinks, realizing Paul is now standing at her side. He's mostly stationary but not still at all, something that she's come to recognize as a quintessentially Stamets way of existence, right leg bouncing and left thumb rubbing the lower hem of his jacket. Stress has graven the frown lines on his forehead and tension bracketing his mouth deeper than before she left for the Academy, or maybe it's just the lighting from the portal. He looks both older and somehow younger, and she's torn between smiling and a strangely bittersweet sadness.
"Umm."
It's a monosyllable that she doesn't intend to load with any implications, but it makes him take his eyes off the portal altogether and give her a large portion of his attention. (Tilly never expects his full attention, not when his brain is usually multitasking - not when Hugh indulgently mentioned that he's happy if he gets 70% of Paul's focus at any given time).
"Tilly?"
Shaking her head, she tries to put on an excited face, but based on his expression, fails as miserably as she ever does trying to school her features into something else.
"Sir?"
That earns her a full Stamets stare before he half-turns. His eyes linger on the portal yet again, and she can see how his jaw ticks as he looks past it at Adira and then back at her. Then he takes two steps away, just out of Adira's ear-shot, although Tilly suspects they're far too engrossed in the portal to do anything as mundane as eavesdropping.
"Something's bothering you."
It's not a question. He waits with patient impatience, erstwhile mentor and excited scientist all at once. She opens her mouth, closes it, takes a deep breath, and gives up trying to organize her thoughts before speaking.
"I told Rayner, when he was still being a di- umm. Being Rayner. That I hadn't seen you so excited in forever, the way you are about the Progenitors' tech."
Whatever he might be expecting, clearly that isn't it.
"You did?"
Nodding, Tilly gestures back at the portal.
"It's like the spore drive, but more more, I guess. More excited, even. And I was mad that he didn't seem to understand it."
"Rayner's changed."
She flaps a hand between them in a vague gesture.
"I know, I just meant...well. Maybe it's not my place to say it."
"Tilly," he leans a little closer, "you're family."
He says it easily, with a surety of scientific fact, and something inside of her unknots just a little.
"And that means you won't get mad at me?"
He huffs a breath of laughter.
"When have I ever been mad at you?"
He does have a point.
"I wanted to work with you when I was a cadet because of how much you loved your work. And the spore drive, because it was - it is - like, still something no one else could make work. And I wanted to be a part of the engineering, sure, but actually, I'm not sure what I'm trying to say."
Paul blinks at her.
"Keep going."
"...I saw how devastated you were about the spore drive program being shut down. And it was like, when we started going after the Progenitors' tech, it was something else. You focused on it the same way, because you're Stamets, you know? It's what you do. And probably Hugh's said so, and that's probably totally not my business, but I just wanted to say, that's not all you are. Not all of who you are. I know that, and Adira, and everyone else that matters does too."
There haven't been many occasions where Paul's ever seemed at a true loss for words, at least not that Tilly's been responsible for. She holds his gaze until it flicks away over her shoulder, then she really looks at him while the silence between them lengthens. Looks at those same lines of worry and care on his face that she saw before, the way he's chewing his lower lip and what's either a shaving nick (unlikely) or the very edge of a love bite showing over his collar (far more likely), the slight ripple of fabric high on his chest from the platinum wedding band on its chain beneath his jacket, and his ever-in-motion hands clenched in thought. As she watches, his shoulders rise, then slump down again, eyes refocusing on her.
"Thank you."
A hint of a smile quirks the side of his mouth upwards and he nods almost imperceptibly before turning back towards the light of the portal.
Tilly follows him.
Notes:
I needed to figure out a way to get from the Paul concerned about his legacy to how he would concede so easily to Michael's decision on the portal and reach the equanimity in Chapter 734 ("Swan (Song)"). Given that I've assigned additional time after Michael, Book, and Hugh return to Discovery with the portal in the the two "Sàbhailte" chapters (735 and 736) it made sense to take a few steps that direction in the missing time.
Chapter 746: Saru, Part One
Chapter Text
Saru most definitely feels something for T’Rina that goes beyond simple friendship (although to a species whose former existence was defined by loss, no connection goes uncherished) and the mutual respect and regard they have for one another. His has been a life of survival and service, and the thought of having - of taking - something only for himself is…unsettling. It's uncharted territory, and T’Rina herself has confessed a lack of substantial experience in intimate personal relationships. While much of him rejoices that they’ll be able to experience it together, he’s also well aware that he needs some guidance from an expert source to help prevent him making a fool of himself. Help sorting through his feelings would also be much appreciated, particularly when it’s not something he feels appropriate to discuss with Michael as a close confidante.
Thankfully, the solution for both problems is conveniently available in the form of a single person. Which is precisely how he finds himself seated on a comfortable couch, surrounded by tasteful decorations in muted colors and abstract artwork. The lights in here are lower than Discovery's bright corridors, softening edges for species with more limited visual range. His own eyes rapidly adjust, shadows lightening.
Across from him, Dr. Culber sits, an air of gentle patience emanating from him. There’s a pot of fredalia tea steaming on the table between them, two empty earthenware cups beside it. He’s already used the ritual of pouring tea and accompanying small talk as a distraction, and he finds himself inexplicably apprehensive to begin.
“Whatever you tell me doesn’t go beyond these walls unless you want it to.”
Dr. Culber’s voice is even and kind, inviting shared confidences. It's one of the qualities that Saru has come to realize define the man, his empathy and compassion, and one he appreciates on a personal level.
”I don’t doubt your discretion, Doctor.”
He's not expecting that statement to evoke a chuckle, but it certainly does.
“I won’t even tell Paul.”
Saru sighs as his laryngeal folds click in an unconscious display of hesitation that he's never quite been able to control.
”I…it’s odd,” he murmurs, “I’m not sure where to begin.”
Dr. Culber uncrosses his legs and leans forward, forearms resting on his knees.
”Start in the middle if that’s where you’re comfortable, and work your way out from there? Feelings,” he picks up the teapot and pours them both another round, “aren't always chronological. Take your time.”
The tea’s fragrant astringency is soothing as he organizes his thoughts. When both cups are once again emptied and inverted, he begins.
”My relationship with Pres- with T’Rina is…progressing.”
The answering smile is warm and Dr. Culber seems sincerely delighted.
”That’s wonderful!”
”It is,” Saru hastens to add, “due in no small part to the advice you had given me. And…well. I find myself once again in need of it, if it is not an,” he pauses, searching for the right word, “inappropriate use of this time.”
”Completely appropriate. You wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve been told.”
“I am uncertain how to proceed.”
Hints of a concerned frown emerge.
”Right now?”
”Apologies. My…relationship.”
”Ahh. Like I said, take your time."
Saru nods.
"A moment then, please."
Smile still in place, the doctor‘s left hand rises, fingers tapping at a point between collarbone and sternum as the silence in the room lengthens. It’s clearly an unconscious gesture, one he recalls seeing before but without an obvious cause. Bemused, Saru focuses on the area, the shadows in the room hardly a hindrance. He glimpses a faint, narrow line of reflected light visible beneath Dr. Culber’s open collar, signifying some sort of necklace. Saru thinks of his own unconscious habit of running his fingers over the edge of the Kelpien pin and concludes that it’s likely a pendant of some sort, then shakes his head at his own sidetracked thought.
Where to start?
Notes:
To be continued...
I love what Wilson and Doug Jones did with Hugh and Saru's scenes talking about relationships, and wanted to extend it :) Saru's perspective is a new challenge, so let me know if the voice doesn't seem quite right.
Chapter 747: Simmer
Summary:
Profound fluff (is that a thing?)
Chapter Text
Sometimes when they touch, desire sparks and ignites to wildfire, sharp and bright and hot. There’s groping hands and teeth scraping over skin and messy kisses that are more tongue than anything else. The air is filled with moans and sighs and whimpers, with the labored breathing of exertion and the wet-slick slide of two bodies joined at the most primal level.
Sometimes it’s sweet, dew lingering on the grass on a crisp morning, birdsong and rustling leaves. There’s reverent touches, caressing and cradling, the brush of lips over the pulse fluttering delicate under the thin skin of a wrist. The air is filled with murmurs, promises and quiet declarations while they rock together slowly.
Sometimes - often - it’s not about that arousal at all, desire left at the barest hint of a simmer because it’s always there but gently pushed aside. There’s long, lazy afternoons tangled in the sheets, snuggled close at the very limit of the boundaries between their bodies. The air is filled with an easy silence, communicating with occasional satisfied hums and all the words conveyed in a single glance.
Hugh’s weight grounds him, a swathe of heat all along his left side, thigh slung carelessly over Paul’s own bare legs. He’s nuzzling into Paul’s neck, unhurried and gentle, while his fingers trace idle designs as they wander over chest and stomach and hips. Paul’s palm is nestled against the back of Hugh’s head, twisting the curls around his fingertips.
He shifts just a little, trying to get that tiniest bit closer before making a slightly displeased noise and rolling Hugh over entirely onto his back, blanketing him beneath Paul’s body. Smiling, Paul fits his nose into the crook of neck and shoulder, kneading at solid biceps while he rubs their legs together. Hugh exhales, long and slow, like a burden released at the end of the day.
There’s nothing but them in this moment, an entire universe long-forgotten beyond the covers.
Chapter 748: Swaddled
Chapter Text
The day Tilly holds out the small, squirming bundle in her arms, Paul’s heart does something strange. It feels like it skips a beat as the warm weight - so delicate, so fragile, so present - settles in the crook of his elbow, pulse beating in the back of his throat as he gazes down at the tiny being cradled against his chest. Dark eyes stare up at him and everything else falls away. He’s dimly aware of Hugh’s hand slipping away from his back, his dear doctor no doubt fussing over an exhausted Tilly while he holds her daughter with a growing sense of wonder.
”Hi,” he murmurs, leaning down until their noses are inches apart, “hi there.”
She opens her mouth, yawning, and his heart climbs back down to beat loudly behind his ribs. Time slips away from him as he starts to rock her gently.
”…Paul?”
Tilly’s voice is weary but light, and he’s not entirely sure if it’s the first time she’s said his name. Blinking, he straightens to find both her and Hugh watching him expectantly.
”She’s…perfect,” he manages, matching Tilly’s smile with one of his own.
She swipes a lazy hand across her forehead, shoving loose curls back into the messy knot at the crown of her head.
“I feel like I’ve been through a gormagander’s digestive tract.”
Hugh laughs, dismissing the floating display of her vitals. He takes a step closer, thigh pressed against Paul’s knee where he’s sitting on the side of the hospital bed.
”Tracy said everything went fine, although it looks like you’re a little dehydrated.”
He should probably hand the baby back, or let Hugh hold her too, but he can’t seem to make his arms cooperate.
“Mmm,” Tilly hums, wrinkling her nose, “m’tired.”
”You,“ Paul shakes his head as if to clear it, “you should-“
Oddly, Tilly makes no move to prompt him to give her daughter back. Instead, she closes her eyes, patting his arm.
”C’n hold her while I…” she pauses to yawn, “take a nap.”
”Tilly…”
Hugh’s giving him a look that feels like sunshine and silk gliding over his skin, warm and fond and indulgent.
”Let’s not argue with a new mom. We’ll be right here,” he tells her, squeezing her hand before urging Paul up and towards the small sofa a few feet away, “won’t go anywhere.”
Tilly’s eyes are already closed as she thumps her pillow soundly before settling back.
”Mmhmm. Still gotta, hmm. Help me d’cide on a name.”
”We’ve got a list,” Hugh chuckles, “everyone had an opinion. Sleep, Tilly. We’ll keep an eye on her.”
The snoring starts a few moments later. Paul leans into the arm Hugh wraps around his waist as they sit, marveling at the great honor that he’s been entrusted with, sleeping just like her mother. Hugh kisses his temple, then his cheek, and angles himself to help support Paul’s arm.
”Tilly’s going to be calling you to babysit now.”
”Jax’s parents are on Mars,” he feels impelled to point out, “his family.”
”Sweetheart,” Hugh reaches over and carefully tucks a tiny hand back under the blanket, “you adopted Tilly before we ever left home.”
Paul of a few years ago probably would have tried to dissemble, would have given Hugh a look and muttered a disclaimer. Today though, he just smiles.
”Did you ever think…?”
Hugh shakes his head, resting his cheek on Paul‘s shoulder.
”More than I could have ever dreamed.”
Family.
Notes:
I’ve been MIA - five days of travel / Supernatural convention and cosplay, finally back home to pick up my writing again.
Partially inspired by Anthony talking about the experience of holding his infant son during an interview.
Chapter 749: Slap
Notes:
Takes place between Season Four and Season Five.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"-thinking we should visit that Bajoran restaurant for lunch. The one in the Mission District you liked so much?"
Adira blinks for a moment, then nods just vigorously enough that Tilly bites the inside of her cheek to hide a smile.
"Yes! I mean, if that's what everyone wants."
"You do realize," she nudges Adira with her hip as the medbay doors swish open in front of them, "you could probably even get Paul to go to the opera without complaining if you asked?"
"...okay?"
Grinning at the confused noise, Tilly spots Dr. Pollard working at a console and waves.
"Hi Doctor Pollard."
"Tilly! Good to see you." Dr. Pollard gives her a brief hug, stepping back and looking at her at arm's length, "Academy instructor looks good on you."
Tugging the bottom of her jacket to straighten it, she bounces on her toes briefly.
"Thanks. It...feels good."
"Where are they?"
They both turn to find Adira frowning at an open comm chat on their tricomm display.
"Hmm?"
"Paul and Hugh said they'd meet us. Me, I mean."
Dr. Pollard raises an eyebrow.
"Tilly's a surprise?"
"Class got cancelled," she explains, "thought I'd pop up here to say hi to Michael and everyone before lunch."
Chuckling, Dr. Pollard crosses her arms.
"They're in Hugh's office-"
"Great," Tilly links her arm with Adira's and starts heading towards the corridor leading to the offices and private surgical suites, "thanks!"
"-you might want to-"
Swish.
Whatever Dr. Pollard was planning to say is cut off by the doors swishing shut behind them. Shrugging, Tilly waits for the doors of the CMO's office to open, then steps through.
Despite the aesthetic appeal of the clean lines and glowing blue-white curves of the Academy, she's missed Discovery's 23rd-century lines. Dr. Culber's office is decorated in warm tones, an actual paper medical diploma on the wall behind the desk above an intricate Vulcan meditation sculpture and other colorful items. It's exactly as she remembers it - not that she ever had much cause to be in there - and Tilly feels something slot back into place.
Home.
The two men they're looking for are standing with their backs to the door, Hugh a little bit behind Paul with his arms wrapped around his waist and chin perched on his shoulder. They're leaning on the desk and laughing quietly about something, and Tilly shakes her head fondly.
"Miss me?"
Paul's shoulders stiffen and Hugh's head shoots up, turning to look at Tilly with an expression of-
Well. It looks like guilt, oddly enough.
"Tilly!"
Hugh's smile looks strained at the edges, and he doesn't move away from Paul to hug her like she would have expected. Instead, he seems glued in place while Paul starts fussing with something in front of him on the desk, the back of his neck flushed a brilliant scarlet above his jacket collar.
What?
The quiet rattle of a zipper is audible in the sudden silence, and everything suddenly adds up in her caffeine-deprived brain.
Oh no.
Before she realizes it, she's slapped her hand over Adira's eyes.
"What- hey!"
Been away from this ship too long, Sylvia.
The surprised exclamation still ringing in her ear, Tilly deliberately stares upwards into the corner and bodily maneuvers a still-protesting Adira back around until the door opens again behind them.
"We'll just...be out here."
Swish.
In the corridor, she finds Dr. Pollard waiting with her hands on her hips and a smile tucked into the corner of her mouth as Adira wrestles themself free of Tilly's hold.
"What was...?"
"Something I'm sure you didn't want to see," the doctor shakes her head, rolling her eyes briefly upwards, "I'm sure."
Adira's mouth drops open, then closes, nose scrunching up.
"Ewww!"
"The door wasn't locked," Tilly mutters, eyeing the orange 'Busy - Do Not Disturb' indicator that's just appeared above the door controls.
Dr. Pollard pinches the bridge of her nose.
"Welcome back."
Notes:
Feels slightly OOC, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Hopefully it still reads well?
Any requests for Chapter 750 (!!)?
Chapter 750: Swaddled, Part Two
Summary:
Tilly's daughter meets the rest of her family.
Chapter Text
A baby’s cry right beside his ear wakes Paul from his doze, sitting up so fast that he gets a little dizzy.
”Sorry,” Hugh says, or at least that’s what his lips seem to be forming while Paul waits for the echo of the displeased wail to quit bouncing around inside of his ear.
Hugh gives him an apologetic smile, bouncing the bundle in his arms.
”I’m going to take her to Tilly, I think she’s hungry.”
Rubbing his cheek where there's almost certainly a pillow crease that'll take the better part of the afternoon to subside, Paul tips his head back against the couch.
“…m’awake.”
They both turn to find Tilly leaning on the doorframe of the guest bedroom, eyes half open and a riotous tangle of curls framing her face like an orange halo. She shuffles forwards on bare feet, arms already outstretched. Hugh shoos her onto the chaise lounge before carefully transferring his precious cargo, then unceremoniously tugs the throw pillow Paul was napping on out from under him and sets it on Tilly’s lap to help her support the baby.
"There you go."
"Thanks," she yawns, folding back the blanket a little more before reaching for the fastening of her collar.
Paul blinks and studiously looks away until Tilly’s done fumbling with her tunic and the distraught cries subside.
”You don’t have to do that,” she gives him a lopsided smile in his peripheral vision.
”I’d rather not…make it awkward,” he offers, aware of Hugh shaking his head fondly.
”Awkward for who? You’re family-“ Tilly winces and shifts the nursing baby, “okay, owwww. Biting was so not in the book.”
Settling back beside Paul, Hugh drapes an arm over the cushions and scratches the back of Paul's neck gently. He chuckles quietly at the complaint, then adds, “Make sure you switch sides evenly, so her neck muscles-“
Tilly lifts a foot off the ottoman, crosses the span of carpet between them, and pokes Hugh's ankle with her toes.
”Yes, Doctor.”
"Sorry."
"You know, I expected him," she tips her head Paul's direction, "to be the one fussing."
It's said with affection, and Paul gives an exaggerated eye roll that makes her laugh before reaching for the empty mugs on the coffee table. His hip twinges as he stands and he grimaces, grateful for the hand that appears at his waist to steady him.
"Too busy getting old."
Hugh rubs the offending body part, sneaking his thumb under the hem of Paul's sweater to stroke the bare skin at his waist.
”You’re sixty-two, that’s barely middle-aged.”
”Tell that to my hip,” he grumbles.
”Oh I definitely will,” Hugh’s mischievous whisper tickles his ear, “every chance I get.”
Reluctantly disengaging, he pads over to the kitchen, recycling the dishes at the replicator and noting the fresh produce waiting under a stasis dome.
"Want me to start prepping anything for dinner?"
He sees Hugh check the chrono, frowning briefly.
"Actually, if you want to get started chopping things, I'll get the spices ready."
Silence descends for several minutes after that, broken only by the repetitive thunk of the knife on the cutting board as Paul works his way through carrots, onion, tomatoes, kale, and cilantro. Once he's done, he washes both tools and leaves them to dry before rinsing the colander of lentils and chickpeas. Hugh's still working with the mortar and pestle, and he takes a moment to simply appreciate the sight in front of him.
Hugh's sleeves are rolled up and out of the way, baring wrists and forearms as he rhythmically continues crushing spices. At 60, his posture is as upright as ever (Paul's slouch is only getting worse), the familiar curve of his torso narrowing down to a still-trim waist and a backside that's every bit as muscular as it was a decade ago. There's more gray in his hair and beard, smile lines deeper and jaw just a little more pronounced than it used to be, and Paul doesn't bother fighting the smile it evokes.
We deserve this.
They return to the couch once the curry is set to simmer on the stove. He's glad his husband still likes cooking in a century where replicated food is barely distinguishable from a real cooked meal. It always tastes better when Hugh makes it, whether it's simple or elaborate, and Paul will happily argue that with anyone who insists otherwise.
Tilly's reading something that's highly amusing, judging by the occasional snort of laughter drifting over from the chaise. She looks up from it when the chime of the front door opening sounds, turning towards the entryway with an expectant expression. Paul has just long enough to collapse his own reading back down and start to stand when Adira crosses the threshold, duffel in hand. He's closest and holds out his arms for a hug, kissing the top of their spiky dark hair.
"Welcome back, kiddo."
"Not a kid," comes the usual response as he releases them.
"Uh huh."
They give an exaggerated sigh of long-suffering patience, turning to hug Hugh next.
"We missed you. How was the mission?"
"One," Adira nudges the duffel towards the coffee table with their boot, "remind me to never try low-G Velocity with Keyla ever again. Two, Arcturus Prime was a lot colder than I remember, and three..." they wave their left hand vaguely, "something something."
Hugh shakes his head with a smile, stepping aside to let the third person in the room greet them.
"Adira!" Tilly waves them over for a hug of her own, then gestures towards the antigrav bassinet, "meet Margaret Michaela Claire."
Adira blinks, sitting on the edge of the chaise and peering over the edge.
"That's a uhh, really long name."
"Well, Paul and Hugh already decided she's going to be 'Maggy', Jax is calling her M.C., Keyla and Gen think it should be 'Meg', Michael totally wasn't helpful once she stopped crying, and when I asked Saru, he said he never understood why humans don't just change their entire names if they don't like them. So, I'm either going to have a very confused child, or-"
"A bunch of baby clothes and toys that all have different names on them?"
"Mmhmm."
"Wait," Adira frowns, "what's her last name?"
Paul and Hugh both groan at the same time as Tilly rolls her eyes.
"Jax and I haven't agreed yet."
Adira glances over at Paul, who suppresses a smile, then looks back at Tilly.
"Oh. Umm. So...what's for dinner?"
The curried lentils are just as delicious as they smelled while cooking, as is the apple pie Adira picked up at their favorite bakery near Times Square on their way to San Francisco. More to the point, it's been months since the last time Paul's enjoyed a family dinner with everyone, and he finds himself reluctant for the evening to end. Adira's going to be bunking on the couch for the next week on leave, so it's not as though they won't be able to repeat it at least seven more times, but he still wishes he could capture this moment forever.
Definitely getting old.
Eventually, Tilly puts Maggy to bed in the guest room and returns for round two of dessert, grinning as Adira nearly nods off onto their plate. They rouse themself just before face-planting in the pie crust, muttering a goodnight before curling up on the couch under a throw.
"Bedtime for everyone?"
"Probably a good idea."
He turns off the lights in the living room, hearing the chime as Hugh programs the replicator to make Adira a raktajino as soon as they wake up. They brush their teeth together in comfortable silence, and Paul's just climbing under the covers when there's a knock on the doorframe.
"Is it safe?"
"Fully dressed," Hugh calls over with a laugh, "I promise."
Tilly peeks briefly as if to confirm, then comes to sit at the foot of the bed.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah. I wanted to-" she's interrupted by a yawn, "say thank you."
Checking that he's not about the elbow the glass of water off the bedside table, Paul pauses.
"...for?"
"For inviting me to stay while Jax is gone."
Hugh's hand is warm on his thigh beneath the covers as he leans forward.
"Of course. If we hadn't, you know Paul would be over there every day anyway to steal Maggy."
He opens his mouth to protest, but it's not like Hugh's lying. Instead, he pinches his side and mimes swatting him with a pillow.
”Admit it, babe,” Hugh stage whispers, “you’re great with kids.”
”No idea what you mean.”
”Uh huh.”
Tilly‘s watching them with an expression that’s oddly serious given the playful banter.
“Did you ever…”
She trails off, chewing her lip.
”Hmm?”
”You know. Think about kids.”
Hugh's eyes are soft, and he doesn't hesitate in his reply, hand finding Paul's beneath the sheet and lacing their fingers together.
”We had two of them."
Her answering smile is brilliant, and for a moment, Paul glimpses Cadet Tilly, the years falling away between them.
Incandescent.
Notes:
…I’m attempting to not create yet another multi-chapter story with this future!fic, but it’s tempting.
1) Work is nuts and 2) I'm giving a conference workshop next week and it's been keeping me at my desk until after 10 pm, which leaves little time for writing :(
Chapter 751: Stamina
Summary:
Paul. Hugh. Unplanned aphrodisiac-fueled marathon.
Notes:
*waves hands with vague plot device*
Contains 1,700+ words of sexytimes and banter ;)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Their jackets hit the laundry pile nearly simultaneously, but neither of them are paying attention as they focus on discarding the offending items of clothing with haste. Paul hops on one foot as he tugs the sock off the other before balling it up with his briefs and sending them sailing after the rest of his uniform. He sighs in relief as the skin-crawling itch of fabric recedes, turning at the sound of a chuckle to find Hugh hovering six inches away.
”What?”
The toothy grin widens, and Hugh gestures downwards where certain bits of his anatomy have probably been bouncing along with him.
”I was enjoying the show.”
Paul rolls his eyes, but doesn’t bother trying to suppress his smile.
“Mmm.”
Now that they’re finally in the privacy of their quarters, some of the tension of not touching each other relents, down to nearly manageable levels.
”So.”
He can feel the heat pouring off of Hugh’s body as he sways closer. Were it not for things happening distinctly below the waist, Paul could almost ignore the circumstances.
Almost.
”We’re doing this?”
Both of them, he notices, have their hands clasped, knuckles strained. It’s not removing temptation in the slightest.
“You don’t have to sound so enthusiastic.”
Hugh’s biceps are flexed even as his tone is light, and Paul would really, really like to bite them.
More than usual.
“Well…”
“It’s for science,” Hugh offers, swaying a couple of inches closer.
”Sex for science,” one side of Paul’s mouth quirks upwards, “worst pickup line ever.”
On any given day, it doesn't take much to be interested and it's still ridiculously easy for Hugh to get him in the mood to play. This though, the itch beneath his skin and irrational need, goes far beyond desire and the very rational level of attraction to each other. Moreover, Tilly, Adira, and Linus are still ensconced in the medbay with Tracy and Aisha trying to synthesize an antidote to the away team's...issue.
In the meantime, we've been sent home to have sex.
This is weird even for Discovery.
"Is that a no?"
Hugh's frowning slightly, and he lets the question sit between them. Despite the rather physical evidence of interest, Paul knows they'd both stop here than ever cross long-respected boundaries. Tracy had offered to sedate them for the next sixteen hours or so - like the rest of the away team - but since the urge to jump each other didn't extend to anyone else - unlike the rest of the away team - she'd ended up averting her eyes from the obvious problem in their pants and beaming them directly home with an admonition to stay hydrated and fed.
"It's very much a yes."
Hugh opens his mouth to say something else, but Paul's already closed the hairsbreadth between them. One hand shamelessly gropes his chest while the other curves around the back of Hugh's neck, tilting his head at just the right angle for Paul to bring their lips together. The kiss stays close-mouthed for all of half a second before Hugh's mouth opens for him, swallowing his answering moan as he's wrapped in strong arms and walked towards the bed.
Kissing Hugh like this is usually satisfying, but today it feels like it only stokes the inferno building low in his hips. Certain very interested parts of their bodies slide against each other, slippery with the evidence of Hugh's arousal, and Paul has time for just one labored inhale before he's tripped backwards onto the bed. Their lips separate with a wet smack as they land, and he has enough presence of mind to scrabble at the covers, kicking the duvet down and dragging already sweaty bodies across the cool sheets. He rolls onto his stomach, trying to crawl to one of their nightstands while Hugh manages to be supremely unhelpful by sucking a love bite into the side of his neck.
"Where-" lick, "-are you," nibble, "going?"
He's finally able to pull the drawer open, hooking two fingers around the edge. His knuckles bump against a bioplastic bottle, falling still as he briefly forgets anything except how Hugh's abandoned his neck and is now busy licking his ear.
"...fuuuck. Nnnghh. Gonna need..."
Paul reaches behind and taps Hugh's hip twice, firmly. It gets his attention, and the onslaught pauses long enough for him to retrieve what he's looking for and toss it back over his shoulder.
"-hey!"
He lets Hugh roll him back over, receiving a distinctly affronted look at odds with his wide-blown pupils and kiss-swollen lips. Hugh's rubbing his forehead for show, and Paul leans up to kiss the spot in apology.
"Sorry."
A shrug and distracted hum telling him he's forgiven are lost as he uses his heels to urge Hugh to put more weight on him and fastens their mouths back together. The bottle nearly ends up lost in the sheets as they grope and squirm make use of seventeen years of knowledge to push every single one of each other's metaphorical buttons.
"So," Hugh manages an indeterminate amount of time later, "who's on top first?"
The first three times blur together in breathless delight and delirious giggles as anything resembling a refractory period vanishes.
The fifth knocks an empty water glass off Hugh's nightstand, courtesy of one of Paul's flailing legs.
The sixth requires a quick pass of the dermal regenerator on them both to ease friction-sensitive skin.
They start running low on clean towels and lube by round seven.
”I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Paul’s head drops to the pillow with a damp thump, “but…”
Hugh peels one eye open, sprawled out on his back beside him and still panting.
”What?”
Paul looks down the length of their bodies. Normally, perusing Hugh’s nude form is a pleasure, but the sight of two equally - painfully - stiff signs of ongoing arousal just makes him groan.
”This isn’t fun anymore.”
He winces as he says it, but Hugh’s exhausted chuckle is immediate.
”Yeah. I know I’ve called you insatiable,” he sighs, “but-“
”This isn’t it.”
”Nope.”
Paul prods himself with a fingertip, no longer sure if the shiver it produces is pleasure or pain or both.
“When’s the last time we went more than twice in one day?”
Hugh looks about as miserable as Paul feels, although his hips are probably less sore. He shifts with a grimace, lifting his elbow and tossing the towel stuck to his arm onto the floor.
”Risa. Refractory inhibitors. Four.”
”That was rhetorical.”
”Mmmph.”
The point is, they do have a more than healthy sex life regardless of age and the fact that they’re no longer on countdown until one of them has to leave. It’s completely normal for him to give Hugh a hand in the shower on Monday morning, have him return the favor on his knees after dinner that night, enjoy a lazy session of mutual masturbation while making out on Wednesday night, forget the holonovel they’re supposedly watching in favor of an unhurried 69 on Thursday, and make the headboard bounce before falling asleep on Sunday.
He - they (he's pretty sure he can speak for Hugh here) - should be feeling well-fucked, sated and satisfied, post-climax languor weighing their limbs down like a blanket. Instead, the orgasms are bursts of too-short pleasure that is less like release and more like ratcheting frustration even higher to the plateau they hit two hours ago. Every erogenous zone is covered in purpling love bites, and he'd slapped his own hands over his nipples the last time, reddened and intensely sensitive. Desire for Hugh is intensely visceral, but it’s always accompanied by a warm glow in his chest, a yearning he can’t quite put to words. The last three rounds were pure physical response, Hugh‘s touch arousing his body while everything else inside slumps in dull exhaustion.
“Starting to chafe again.”
Paul spots someone's undershirt on the floor, retrieving it and fumbling it over his head. It turns out to be Hugh's, and he hisses in discomfort as it slides over his chest, but happy to remove temptation for them both.
”Starting?” Hugh groans, trying to find the regen he dropped amidst the tangled sheets, “…yeah.”
"Maybe," Paul pulls himself closer, curling against Hugh's side, "we can wait the rest of it out?"
Hugh gives up his search, rearranging them so they can cuddle without anything between waist and knees coming into contact.
"Think we'll get longer this time?"
They're up to half an hour between sessions, when the hunger grows too much and they have to start in again.
"Would be nice. Could also use a snack."
Sitting up, Hugh takes stock of what remains on the tray on the other nightstand. They finished the sandwiches between round seven and eight, so all that's left is fruit and a few broken crackers with cheese.
"Good?"
Paul accepts the grapes and a bottle of water, propping himself against the headboard and doing his best to ignore the way Hugh stares at his lips as he eats. To be fair, he's equally enamored with Hugh licking crumbs off his own fingers in a way that really ought to be un-sexy, but his body decides otherwise. Sighing, he finishes his food with his eyes closed and wonders if they should be using the break to put the towels through the refresher again and replicating more lube.
Probably.
They do make it to nearly an hour this time.
The pure relief from unrelenting lust vanishing with the hiss of a hypospray filled with the freshly-synthesized antidote leaves him feeling wrung out. If he wasn’t so exhausted, he’d groan when his tender backside makes contact with the bottom of the tub. As it is, he manages a half a discomfited exhale before the bliss of hot water on his over-used body wins out and he happily slouches against the side.
"Wow."
Hugh dropping into the other side causes a mini tidal wave that barely draws a half-hearted chuckle.
"Yeah."
“DOTs are changing the sheets. And I set the air scrubbers to run a full cycle.”
The soap is only eighteen inches away, but he can't muster the energy to reach for it. Hugh's also looking at it with a similar expression of apathy. His partner is as handsome and desirable as ever, but he's more than happy at the complete lack of desire to do anything besides sit here together.
”I know I don’t always like this century," Paul mutters, "but not having to clean up the mess? Worth it.”
"My balls request that we don't bother them for at least a week."
"A week?"
Hugh sighs.
"If you want-"
"No," Paul shakes his head, "I was going to say, more like two weeks."
"When have we ever?"
The bubbles in the mineral water form whorls and abstract shapes as he watches them, some clinging to his skin while others pop or make their way across the surface to stick to the edge of the tub.
"First time."
A chuckle, tired but genuine, makes him look up again.
"What?"
He gives Paul a smile that settles into the creases beside his eyes.
"We haven't had one of those in a while."
Notes:
We've passed 82,000 hits and 7,000 comments. Thank you, once again, to those that are still with me after 4.5 years! If anyone had told me at the start of this wild Culmets adventure that I'd get here, I probably wouldn't have believed them.
Newer readers, I absolutely live for comments, so don't be shy about making requests or just saying hi :) I can't guarantee how long it will take to work through all of the prompts I have, but I promise I will get to them.
There's more Season 5 missing scenes to write, Survival and When Sorrow Turns To Joy to update, and Shapeshift and Seven Days on Risa also waiting for new chapters. Once I get past my conference, I'd like to be able to make progress on at least one of those.
Chapter 752: Stamina, Epilogue
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"...having a fight?"
Tracy's question pulls Hugh's attention away from the growth curve display floating in front of him, and he swipes it away with an idle hand.
"What?"
"Are you and Paul arguing about something?"
He blinks at the apparent non sequitur.
"No, should we be?"
Shaking her head, Tracy leans closer.
"You're sure."
"Umm...yes?"
"Huh."
Hugh frowns.
"What?"
"As far as I can tell, and not because I ever wanted to know, thank you very much, you haven't had a hickey in at least two weeks. You and Paul aren't playing footsie under the table at breakfast, which I can't decide if I should be grateful for or worried. And," she narrows her eyes, "last night at Redd's. You were doing the tango without it being an advertisement for getting laid. So. What's wrong?"
He opens his mouth, closes it, crosses his arms, and opens it again.
"Wait. You think we're having a fight because you haven't had anything to complain about lately?"
"Hugh, for the last way too many years, you and Paul have been...disproportionately making me want eye bleach. So when you aren't? That's when I get worried."
She's surprised by the laugh her response evokes.
"Oh. Ohhhh. No, we're not having a fight. We're just...taking a break."
"What?!"
He winces at how tightly she's gripping his forearm.
"No! Not-" Hugh sighs, "not like that. You remember our…issue with the away team?"
"Unfortunately."
"Trace, we had sex twelve times in sixteen hours. Twelve. My balls were sore for three days, even with the regen. And don't get me started on the chafing. Or the TMJ."
That earns him a much less worried glare
"I'm going to pretend you didn't tell me that."
"You're the one who put it in my post-mission medical report."
"Anyway. You're telling me that we've finally found the one thing in the entire multiverse that stops the two of you from being obnoxiously horny?"
Hugh chuckles, shrugging.
"We were planning to get naked and see if we're over it on Sunday."
Tracy groans.
"Forget I asked."
Notes:
The TMJ or temporomandibular joint is the one that hinges your jaw. I'll leave it to you to imagine what Hugh was getting at there :D
Chapter 753: Shrine
Notes:
For LadyRiona who suggested the title :)
Chapter Text
There's a certain spot beneath Paul's right ear on the tender skin of his neck, unremarkable to anyone else, that's Hugh's favorite.
Nuzzling it tucks his face into the crook of Paul's neck and shoulder, able to breathe him in, warmth and safety and love.
Fingertips grazing it when he cradles Paul's cheek earns him a smile, and kissing there oh-so-gently evokes a shiver at the touch of his lips.
Licking there, he can feel the thrum of Paul's pulse, strong and so delicately close to the surface.
Hugh visits as often as he can, devoted and ardent, that special spot his own private place of worship at the altar of their love.
Chapter 754: Schnell
Summary:
'Unsatisfied' isn't a word that applies to their love life.
Notes:
Banter. Sexytimes. Feelings.
...AKA Culmets.
Chapter title is German for quickly/fast.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul’s face is flushed an appealing shade of pink, mouth kiss-swollen and wet and very, very close to where Hugh wants it. His breath teases across damp skin, keeping Hugh's desire at a simmer. Lips parting, he pauses just short of the evidence that Hugh’s most certainly still hot and bothered, squirming a little closer and propping himself up on an elbow.
As aroused as Hugh is, he's not so far gone that he doesn’t know exactly what Paul’s planning to do with the next inhale.
”Sorr-“
His fingers, currently comfortably situated in Paul’s hair, tug just sharply enough to get his attention.
“Because you sucking me off is such a consolation prize.”
His tone and accompanying look invite Paul to consider the ridiculousness of the concept, and Hugh’s rewarded with a self-deprecating smile. Paul hums noncommittally, rubbing his cheek on Hugh’s inner thigh. The skin there is still delightfully sensitive, and he shivers in enjoyment as Paul’s stubble tickles.
”Well…”
“If you apologize again,” Hugh stuffs another pillow behind shoulders so he isn't craning his neck, “I’m kicking you out of bed, getting something from the drawer, and finishing myself.”
It’s not a serious threat (unless Paul wants it to be, because Hugh loves putting on a show for him). It’s also not one he’d have made in the early days of their relationship, not when Paul might have taken any perceived bedroom failure on his own part much too seriously. Things have changed since then, back before they knew each other better than themselves, and only for the better.
Case in point, Paul traces the length of him with a fingertip before slipping lower to tease where Hugh’s still tender and open, smile gone playful at the sudden inhale it causes.
”Mmm. Would I get to watch?”
Hugh uses his toes to nudge his husband in the side, not-so-subtly spreading his legs wider around Paul’s shoulders and hooking his heels behind Paul's biceps to pull him even closer.
”Obviously.”
"Tempting."
"Or," Hugh sweeps sweaty hair back from Paul's forehead, "could wait if you want to go again?"
Paul pushes himself up off the sheets a little more, making a show of looking down at himself before settling back on his stomach and adjusting the towel beneath Hugh's backside.
"Don't think that's going to happen. So," he gives Hugh a few firm strokes and licks his lips again, "where was I?"
"The part where...mmm. Yeah," Hugh closes his eyes briefly, opening them again to watch himself slowly disappear into Paul's very hot, very wet mouth, "...that."
Perfect.
Notes:
In case it's unclear, Paul's attempting to apologize because he came a little earlier than anticipated ;)
Chapter 755: Spumante
Notes:
There's nothing in canon stating exactly why Starfleet left Earth after the Burn as far as I remember, so I took a bit of creative license for a plot point.
Spumante is an Italian sparkling wine akin to champagne.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The New Year's Eve celebration is in full swing beneath the high dome of Starfleet Academy's historical rotunda. From the southwest portico, the restored Golden Gate is visible, the lights of the old Presidio Yacht Club flickering down at the water's edge. The vast hall is full of the sounds of dozens of different languages being spoken, music played by a live band, and the clink of silverware on china. If Tracy tips her head back and closes her eyes, she can almost imagine she's back when she and Hugh and T'Vala were all at Fleet Medical, when times were much simpler.
Almost.
Looking around again, it's impossible to miss the changes as well. The rotunda itself is a slightly different design, rebuilt after the post-Burn riots that forced Starfleet off of Earth and felled the Golden Gate, filling San Francisco Bay with debris and downed flitters. The transparisteel panels have been replaced with forcefields, the long-ago-deconstructed Yacht Club only a holographic projection, and there are maybe a quarter as many species represented as there might have been at the height of the Federation.
Still, there's always going to be a tiny bit of home here, in a way that even Discovery isn't.
It's nearly midnight, and the energy in the room is high, dress uniforms mixed with civilian formal wear. Over near the buffet table, Tilly is introducing some of her cadets to traditional Earth fare. A few meters away, Rhys and Bryce are trying to see who can balance the tallest stack of glassware, much to the consternation of the holographic servers. And amidst the crowd, Tracy spies Paul and Hugh dancing some variation of the tango, full of lifts and dips, the familiar ease of their movements a fine contrast to the more energetic but less coordinated cadets attempting to outdo them.
Not long after, she finds herself at one of the high cocktail tables when the old-fashioned clock strikes midnight. Reno is across from her sipping a neon orange concoction, her usual expression of disinterest wavering at the edges. Tracy lifts her glass in toast at the twelfth chime, shaking her head at the enthusiastic kissing going on all around the room.
Tipsy cadets and officers aside, she sees Paul and Hugh leaning against a pillar. They're cradling each other's cheek in that particular way she's always associated with them, bodies pressed together from chest to knee. (There seems to be surprisingly little tongue, but then again it is a Fleet function.) She watches Rhys press friendly kisses to Keyla and Joann's cheeks before heading for the opposite corner of the room, only to make an abrupt U-turn. Frowning, Tracy sets down her glass and takes a few steps closer. It's the same general location she last spotted Tilly in, and she doesn't bother to suppress a laugh at what appears to be a very celebratory, very long, lip-lock between her and Jax.
Hugh owes me dinner.
Everything is as it should be, and Tracy smiles.
Notes:
This chapter started life as a lead up to Tracy asking Hugh why he and Paul were suddenly being so non-handsy, but I scrapped the idea and went with what eventually became Chapter 752 ("Stamina, Epilogue") instead. I couldn't find any of my other drafts that felt right to work it into, but still wanted to share.
A new chapter of cat!Paul has also just been posted over on Shapeshift :)
Chapter 756: Spleen
Notes:
Takes place during Season One. Title used in the sense of "enmity" or "malice".
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Dr. Culber is calm and steady, a firm yet gentle presence. He's kind words of encouragement, admonishment given with understanding, hands that mend and soothe and support. More than a doctor, he's a healer in the truest sense of the word, the kind of CMO that captains want for their ships in times of peace as much as in crisis.
Captain Lorca, for reasons that aren't clear until much later, doesn't seem to value him. Of the few who are aware of his relationship with Lieutenant Stamets - the surly walking frown down in Engineering - many assume it's some outgrowth of the clear disdain between him and the captain, a misguided but ultimately human failing of character. It's unfortunate, they decide, too busy with their own lives and duties to delve any deeper.
Saru, who glanced at the attached partnership documents before approving shared officer's quarters, finds it most puzzling to watch Dr. Culber's shoulders broaden and the smile lines beside his eyes fade whenever the captain enters his presence. He's distracted by the return of Burnham though, and doesn't think much on it for far too long. A good CMO should be allowed to disagree with the captain, after all.
Harrington, who knows better than most aboard, watches Lorca with wariness after one too many harsh words are exchanged in the spore drive bay. She sees the passionate scientist she's worked with for years retreat behind a wall of snappish criticism, as obsessed with making a breakthrough as he is conflicted that his creation might be used to take lives. Hugh does his best to pretend he isn't worried, and she misses the days when his presence nearby made Paul light up with happiness.
Tilly, once she discovers that the verbal sparring between her boss and the CMO is the exact opposite of dislike, wonders if the whispers of the captain going slightly mad after the loss of the Buran have more than a hint of truth. She can't reconcile Lorca's attitude and behavior with what her courses in Command suggest are the standards of behavior to be given a starship. Of course, she's only a cadet, so it's really not her place to judge, right?
Dr. Pollard says nothing, but Tracy tells T'Vala that Lorca is an asshole of the highest grade. It's a perfectly fair conclusion from his treatment of both Hugh and Paul and the crew at large, later amended with the addition of "Terran fugitive" and "sociopathic manipulator". And it's probably a good thing that he's dead not long after Hugh's murder, because physician's oath or not, it's his fault.
Notes:
This chapter started life as a post-"Jinaal" study of how no one on the ship really noticed something bothering Hugh because they're so used to him being the one they go to for help, but morphed into a much earlier story.
Chapter 757: Spotkać
Summary:
Jax and Tilly's first conversation.
Notes:
We never find out if Jax is a given name, family name, or if he's from a culture with just a single name, so similar to what I've done with other characters (like the Medical crew), I borrowed actor Gregory Calderone's middle name.
Title translates to 'meet' in Polish.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Lieutenant Ambrose Jax is as curious as anyone else when word of a ship traveling from almost a millennium in the past circulates through HQ. He's mostly busy working on yet another frustrating design for a warp engine that doesn't require dilithium, but it's hard to miss the sweeping 23rd-century lines and outdated uniforms appearing like nothing so much as a history lesson. Still, he's more worried about the Emerald Chain incursion and threats to the safety of his own parents still on their generation ship to consider the ramifications of Discovery's arrival.
That all changes when the ship and her crew rather miraculously (not an actual miracle, but close enough) find the cause of The Burn and enough dilithium to put the Federation back on its metaphorical feet. Discovery's displacement activated spore hub drive is also of interest, but he doubts he'll ever get a chance to examine it in greater detail.
Oh well.
Between the re-entry of Earth and dissolution of the Emerald Chain, re-opening Starfleet Academy in full is yet another thing to celebrate. He's studied the golden age of the Federation long before the devastation of the Temporal Cold War, the literary works and diplomatic ties and rapid expansion of technological development across the known universe. So when the acceptance of his application as an instructor arrives, he rapidly composes a subspace message to his family and happily transfers his posting to San Francisco.
He's more than busy for the better part of a year with course schedules, lesson plans, and admiring the legendary beauty of Earth in person. The new class of cadets is smaller than any other time in history, but he's confident the number will grow. And being able to visit his parents, settled in the restored Mars Colony Seven, feels like everything he could have hoped for.
Jax first hears about 'Lieutenant Tilly from Discovery' from Cadet Sasha. As her adviser, he's concerned with the way she's hesitant to offer her own input. She's also struggling in his interspecies theory course, and it's easy to identify the mindset caused by a century of isolation. To her credit, Sasha has never displayed any of the xenophobia that seems to rear its head amongst her classmates, but she still feels so focused on the differences between species as barriers rather than bridges.
It's not until the nearly-disastrous team-building exercise that Sasha takes on a strong voice of her own. Her end-of-semester paper on interspecies collaboration following the spirit on which the Federation was founded utilizing her own experience as a case study is a masterwork, stitching together history and culture and communication beneath the umbrella of optimism as a philosophy. Jax receives her permission to integrate the case study into his course curriculum, wishes Sasha well before she returns to Titan between terms, and notes the fortuitous coincidence of Lieutenant Tilly being named a visiting instructor. He decides a friendly welcome wouldn't be out of place, even if it's just an excuse to thank her for Sasha's new-found confidence.
Swish.
The door opens to reveal a human woman almost as tall as he is, curly red hair escaping a high ponytail and what's probably a pile of off-duty clothing draped over her arm.
"Hi?"
"I didn't mean to interrupt," Jax tips his head at her burden, "I just wanted to- well. Say welcome to the Academy, and thank you. Cadet Sasha is one of my advisees, and she's spoken highly of you."
She blinks.
"You know Sasha?"
He shakes his head to clear it and get them back on track.
"Sorry. I should have started with, I'm an Academy instructor."
"Oh! Sorry, just..." the smile she gives him is bright, gesturing him over the threshold and setting down the clothes on a chair, "do you want to come in? It's totally fine if you don't, I mean. Right?"
The Starfleet file photo doesn't capture the sheer amount of energy radiating off her, something Sasha had described as 'really enthusiastic about everything'.
"Actually," he pauses with one foot over the threshold, "I should probably introduce myself first."
"Ahh. Well. Sylvia Tilly, umm- that is, Lieutenant Tilly," she holds out her hand. "But you can just call me Tilly, everyone does. Well, my mom didn't, but like, everyone else."
"Ambrose Jax," he shakes her hand, "also a Lieutenant. Also, Jax is fine, no one calls me 'Ambrose' either."
"Really?"
Her eyes light up in a way that seems disproportionately excited but is in no way off-putting. The complete opposite, if he's being honest with himself.
"Really."
"What are the odds we both- well. I suppose there are actually odds, but I'm not really asking what they are."
He chuckles, letting go of her hand and stepping the rest of the way in to let the door swish shut behind him.
"I won't stay too long, it looks like you're still settling in."
"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I haven't figured out where everything is going yet, you know?"
Her gesture takes in the whole area, empty and inoffensively tasteful in the way that all new quarters tended to be. There's a half-unpacked cargo crate next to the desk, and a Fleet issue duffel open on the bed alongside a suitcase. Belying her statement, he spots a small grouping of objects already out on the nightstand, arranged in a way that they would all be visible from the bed. There's a small spherical ornament, an old-fashioned chronometer display, and a framed holo of Tilly and someone he recognizes as Captain Burnham.
"Really, I did want to say thank you for Sasha. She wrote a paper about your training exercise, I wasn't sure if she'd told you."
Tilly grins, eyes flitting away.
"Yeah. She's great, isn't she? Kind of shy, but- well, all of the cadets have been through so much, haven't they?"
"Everyone has, would still be, really, if it wasn't for Discovery," he feels compelled to add.
"Just doing our job. And I'm glad we could help, you know? When we first got here, the future, it was just...different."
He's opening his mouth to reply when a notification chirps, popping up to hover from her tricomm.
"Sorry," she sighs, "it's- I'm supposed to be meeting with Dr. Kovich in a few minutes, and he's kind of a stickler for being on time."
Jax winces.
"Yeah."
He takes a couple of steps towards the door until it swishes open, stepping back into the corridor.
"It was great meeting you, Tilly."
She offers her hand again, handshake firm.
"You too."
Her tricomm chirps again, and she frowns down at the display.
"Don't let me make you late! I'd love to chat sometime, though, after you're unpacked and everything."
Her eyebrows fly up, lips forming an O of apparent surprise.
"You would?"
Smiling, Jax waves.
"I would."
Notes:
My headcanon of Jax's background is first mentioned by Reno in Chapter 743 ("Svatba"). I wasn't planning on Cadet Sasha working her way into things, but I was trying to come up with a possible link and it popped into my head. Admittedly, this chapter doesn't directly include Paul and/or Hugh, but it's a setup for others that will.
Side note: Disco talks about the Academy re-opening on Earth, but Tilly seems to be at Fed HQ at the beginning of Season Five following the reception and Michael asking her to look into the Red Directive. The quarters Jax walks her to are decorated in a way that suggests it isn't merely temporary housing, and Tilly is in a hurry to return to HQ to look after her cadets due to the imminent arrival of the Breen, suggesting they're residing there. So...possibly not all courses are being taught on Earth? I need to do a rewatch again to see if I've missed something.
Chapter 758: Supersede
Notes:
Title used to indicate that which replaces an older, less effective thing.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The nameless place inside that had always felt empty during sex is so full in a way that has nothing to do with Hugh buried deep inside of his body. He hadn’t known it was possible, hadn’t even really understood what was missing, just that he’d come away from every prior encounter feeling incomplete, unsatisfied regardless of climax. Paul’s never been able to find a word for it, something indescribable, until now.
It’s so simple: trust.
He trusts Hugh, and it means he can let go of trying to anticipate and react in whatever way was seemingly appropriate. It means he feels safe, able to be less self-conscious about his reactions. It means he’s learning how to ask for things, because he’s coming to believe that Hugh means it when he says he wants to give Paul whatever it is that he desires.
And when they’re not having sex, when they’re snuggling beneath the sheets or when Hugh holds his hand and smiles at him, something warm unfolds in his chest. There’s a guileless joy in just being together, being themselves and being honest with each other. The sex is out of this world, but this more is beyond compare.
It terrifies him, but the thought of building a future with this man outweighs the fear with how right it feels.
”You’re in love,” Justin teases him when he finally coaxes Paul into talking about it. He laughs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, not unkindly at all. “Isn’t it great?”
Notes:
Opened up Instagram not prepared to see Anthony’s new tattoo! Beautiful imagery, just unexpected.
Also, since that’s how my muse operates, started a slightly spooky snippet that’s morphing into more of a full-episode plot no matter what I do and I’m not sure if it should be a standalone.
There are times that I wonder if I should have posted all of these as separate stories, if only because things like views and comments are validating as a writer. I worry the longer this gets, the less likely new readers are going to want to engage, but I love being able to have almost everything in one place.
Chapter 759: Seikilos
Summary:
Adira's making a gift for Gray.
Notes:
I recently discovered the Seikilos Epitaph (listen here), an Ancient Greek inscription that's the oldest complete piece of music to be accompanied by musical notation. It's hauntingly beautiful and I can't get it out of my head. Read more about it here.
Takes place after the end of Season Three and before Gray's consciousness is transferred into his own body in Season Four.
Chapter Text
Almost done.
The needle is wearing a groove into the tips of Adira's thumb and index finger. Their knuckles are starting to ache from the repetitive motion of making hundreds of tiny stitches too, but they're not ready to stop, not when the steady rhythm is its own kind of meditation. Elaborate interlacing knotwork comprising a single, continuous line of stitching winds its way over the silvery fabric. They adjust their grip on the rim of the hoop with their other hand, rotating it enough to work around yet another curve.
"What are you working on?"
It should feel ridiculous, but they still flip the hoop over, hiding its surface against the tabletop. Gray appears sitting on the coffee table, peering at the project with interest.
"...it's a surprise."
"Oh. You can keep working on it," Gray assures them, rising to stand facing the viewport, "I won't look."
If there was still any doubt, the fact that Gray can't literally read their mind and Adira is able to keep something secret is proof he's still very much alive. That being said, sitting alone in their quarters only counts as far as everyone else on the ship is concerned. They shake their head, tucking the hoop back into its bag.
"Nah. Can do it later."
Gray's answering smile is worth it.
"What are you working on?"
Hugh's voice is gently inquisitive, quiet, but Adira still startles. Fumbling the needle, they end up catching it the wrong way around and hiss at the pinprick of pain.
"Owwww."
Hugh sits on a chair facing the couch, an apologetic frown on his face.
"I'm sorry."
Adira shrugs a little awkwardly. There's a small bead of red on the side of their index finger as they put the needle in the pincushion properly, shaking their hand a couple of times before flicking open their tricomm and using the basic regen function to seal it over.
"Just a needle," they mutter, "not even the worst."
"Still," Hugh leans forward, "I didn't mean to sneak up on you."
Really, Adira should have noticed Hugh approaching. It's not like they aren't directly facing the bed that Paul and (until a minute ago) Hugh have been napping on, but the crafting focus is hard to break.
"Wasn't paying attention. It's fine."
"You know what's interesting," he rests a bent elbow on his knee, propping his chin on his upraised hand, "things we always considered cultural instincts or species norms aren't as immutable as I'd thought."
Adira blinks.
"Sorry?"
"For a long time, the human instinct following a minor injury like that would be to suck on it," Hugh nods at their hand, "or press it hard enough to activate other sense receptors in the area to mitigate the sensation of pain."
"Really?" they frown, perplexed. "That's so...weird."
"You did it briefly when you shook your finger. Of course, getting to the point where having a regen literally within arms' reach most of the time would mean overriding that instinct, because why would you need to when there's relief from the pain so quickly? At least, I assume that's why people in this century would have learned not to."
Before they'd gotten to know this museum of a ship and her crew, before they'd found themself oddly attached to Paul and his partner, Adira might have taken the tone as condescending. They've come to realize it's Hugh's teaching tone though, his habit of sharing information to help people better understand their own bodies.
"Huh."
Smiling, Hugh tips his head at the embroidery hoop still clutched in their left hand.
"So before I made you stab yourself, what were you working on?"
Adira glances around furtively, still too much in the habit of unobtrusively looking for Gray and worried about the judgment of others even though they know it's not the case here. Hugh's expression is open and patiently curious, unbothered by the behavior.
"It's for Gray. If- when. When he gets a uhh body."
They tip the hoop towards Hugh, watching him reach out with his free hand. He stops with his fingertips a polite inch away from the fabric, tracing out the design in the air.
"That's amazing work. What's this on the bottom?"
Upside down to their eyes, the script flowing from the tail end of the knot's 'thread'.
"Just a saying. When we were on the generation ship, there, well, wasn't always a lot to do. Gray would play his cello, and sometimes I'd read through the library database. I think it's from Earth? Ancient Earth, I mean."
Hugh could easily fetch his tricomm and use the visual translator, but for some reason Adira appreciates that he doesn't.
"What's it say? If you want to tell me."
Adira's throat feels a little bit tight, the same as it always does when they think about the reason they're the only one that can hear Gray right now. They swallow, hoping Hugh doesn't notice.
"It's- 'As long as you live, let the world see you'."
Hugh's eyes soften, and he leans in a little closer.
"I promise, Adira. We'll find a way."
Chapter 760: (in)Somnia
Notes:
Takes place near the beginning of Season Five, before "Jinaal".
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
0241
The digits stare back at him, dispassionate in their blue-green glow when he waves his hand over the chronometer on the nightstand. They fade out gradually, leaving behind only the starlight coming through the viewport across from the bed, silhouetting the throw pillows piled neatly on the couch. He lets his focus slowly relax, mapping out the barely-visible line of the coffee table and then finally the four hills of two pairs of feet beneath the duvet. It really-
"Can you worry about it in the morning?"
The voice asking is sleep-rough, equal parts fond teasing and gentle concern. Paul winces, rolling onto his side to find Hugh watching him through half-open eyes, cheek pressed into the pillow beneath his head and one hand making its way across the sheets. He meets it halfway, squeezing in apology.
"Sorry."
Hugh lifts their hands to his mouth, pressing a clumsy kiss to the inside of Paul's wrist before closing his eyes again.
"Sleep, love."
He tugs as he rolls over onto his other side and Paul takes the clear invitation, spooning up behind Hugh and settling that arm more comfortably around his waist. Sighing, Paul drops a kiss behind Hugh's ear, slips his hand beneath Hugh's shirt to rest on his bare stomach, and rests his forehead against a pajama-clad shoulder.
Most nights, the position is more or less conducive to sleeping. His brain is a busy place, but it quiets when he can feel the rise and fall of Hugh's ribs with each breath, his body solid and warm with their feet tucked together. Usually it's not too much work to let it lull him towards slumber, fingers tracing idle patterns over Hugh's skin while he deliberately shuts away each train of thought like a starship powering down its systems.
Tonight though, as is becoming increasingly common, he can't find that place of calm. Three of the last five nights have involved him holding carefully still until the man cuddled up close drifts off, followed by staring up at the ceiling until his bleary eyes abandon him to a dreamless sleep. It's taken the judicious application of caffeine in the morning (and one instance of dropping to his knees in the shower when Hugh seemed about to comment on the bags under his eyes) to offset it enough that his husband doesn't notice, but he's not arrogant enough to think he'll be able to do so much longer.
Or at all.
Hugh, of course, is fully aware of the way Paul works, his inability to let go of a problem or concern once it makes itself at home in his head. In reality, it's probably deliberate ignorance on Hugh's part, at least until he thinks it's becoming a detriment to Paul's well-being. And at that point, Hugh will either drop increasing hints about relaxation, or Paul is going to find himself in bed with Dr. Culber.
He's not particularly eager to be offered a neural scan to highlight the neurotransmitter buildup at his synapses.
"...I can hear you thinking."
"When did you pick up telepathy?"
It's a weak attempt, and Hugh doesn't dignify it with a direct reply.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
With someone else he might dissemble, but honesty has always worked best for them.
"Not really."
Hugh hums in acknowledgement, hand coming up to rest over Paul's above his shirt.
"I can get you a sedative."
Guilt flares up at how awake the offer sounds, hot in the pit of his stomach.
"I'm sorry."
That earns him a shrug, understanding rather than dismissive.
"Handjob?"
The breath he was in the middle of taking cuts off with an inelegant snort. It's a genuine offer, and much as it might be relaxing, it probably won't work.
"At zero-three-hundred?" he manages a moment later.
"If it helps."
He can hear the smile.
"Go back to sleep, dear doctor. I'll-" Paul pauses, sighs quietly. "I'll be okay."
Hugh stills for a few breaths, clearly thinking.
"Promise you'll get at least four hours of sleep?"
He nods, nuzzling into the back of Hugh's neck.
"Promise."
Notes:
...have been caught up in the convention this past week - finally happy to have some hope for the future and can turn my attention back to writing.
Chapter Text
"You didn't actually oversleep, did you?"
"What?"
"You're lucky Adira believed you."
"And you don't?"
"Judging by the way she got up for coffee when her mug was still half full, I don't think Tilly did either. Paul's sex hair was pretty obvious."
"We're off today, why would he do his hair for breakfast?"
"Not buying it."
"...wait. How did you know?"
"Aside from the 'I just got laid' smile you showed up with? Bedhead's the left side of his hair because you like to be the little spoon."
"Ahh. Well, that means you can't tell if he's- hey!"
"Nope. Stop right there. I do not need the visual of whatever you were about to say."
Chapter 762: Suds
Summary:
It’s a morning like any other on Discovery, minus needing to save the universe, and there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than here.
Notes:
Set sometime between the later seasons.
Chapter Text
Paul’s just finished rinsing the shampoo from his hair when a momentary draft heralds the arrival of company in the shower cubicle. Before he can even shiver, a pair of arms wrap around his waist followed by a familiar body pressed against him from neck to knees. He closes his eyes for a moment, lips curving into a smile as a chin parks itself on his shoulder.
”Morning, sweetheart.”
Tipping his head back and to the side for a peck on the lips, he reaches back and scratches at Hugh’s hip before idly rubbing his thigh.
”Morning. You’re back early?”
He reaches for the shampoo again, passing the bottle over his shoulder as Hugh untangles himself from Paul.
“Maintenance on Section Four, and I didn’t feel like finishing my run in the gym.”
They perform the careful dance of two grown men sharing a shower meant for one, elbows tucked in as Hugh edges around him to stand directly under the water.
”Ahh. That wasn’t a complaint.”
”Mmm.”
Paul retrieves the soap, concentrating on lathering up armpits and groin. It’s a habit he’s not planning to break, even in a century where he could just as easily sonic everything clean in less than a minute. He waits for Hugh to finish with his hair, trading places again to wash the suds away.
Once they’re both clean, he finds himself being cuddled from behind again. He leans back, chuckling while Hugh nuzzles the delicate skin beneath his left ear, then trails the tip of his tongue across the nape of his neck to playfully tug Paul's right earlobe with his teeth.
”Trying to start something?”
The question is accompanied by a not-so-subtle sway of his hips, even if he knows the answer already.
”Well,” Hugh rests his cheek on Paul’s shoulder, smile audible, “maybe later.”
Chapter 763: Suckle
Chapter Text
Two decades ago, he would have laughed at the possibility of finger-sucking being anything other than awkward. Objectively speaking - and how could there be any other way to consider it? - the thought of teeth and saliva and someone else’s tongue rubbing all over his hand seems unsanitary at best. Paul’s already discovered that the fuss about open-mouthed kissing is highly overrated, so this could hardly be any better.
Hugh Culber’s oral fixation changed his mind.
Paul’s getting close, the slow buildup of passion between sweaty skin a counterpoint to hands blazing trails of heat as they grope and caress and anchor themselves to each other. His thighs are snug at Hugh’s sides, ankles crossed to pull himself up to meet every movement of Hugh’s hips. They’re not in a hurry, but the rise towards climax is easy and well-practiced.
”…fuck me.”
Eyes the color of dark amber, pupils blown wide, sweep over the visible parts of his body, taking in every reaction before returning to his face.
“Yeah?”
“Mmhmm. Right- ahh. Right there.”
”Race you?”
He thinks he manages a smile, but it’s hard to say when they’re both this far gone. Above him, Hugh shifts his weight to one braced elbow, freeing a hand to trace over Paul’s cheekbone and cradle his head. The movement hitches Paul’s hips just a little higher, and they both gasp at the change in angle.
Paul isn't as flexible as he used to be, so prolonged kissing isn’t possible in this position. Instead, he thumbs at Hugh’s chin tenderly, running the pad of his finger over a kiss-swollen bottom lip. Puffs of air tickle damp skin with each labored exhale, mouth a few too many tantalizing inches away.
”M’close,” he murmurs into the space between them.
At that, Hugh wraps his lips around Paul’s thumb, tongue stroking up and down salty skin. He releases it and dips his head to capture Paul’s index and middle fingers instead, repeating the action. It’s all too easy to take the hollowed cheeks and wet sucking noises to their logical comparison, especially when Hugh‘s moaning like that, and Paul lets that thought push him over the edge into freefall.
He’s still riding out the aftershocks when Hugh curses and gropes urgently for his hand where it landed carelessly on the sheets, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. His hips stutter in their rhythm before abruptly stilling, and Paul peels his eyes open to enjoy the way Hugh’s mouth falls open and his intense gaze goes completely unfocused when he comes. Humming in satisfaction, Paul rubs circles on Hugh’s back with his free hand, bringing them both back down.
Because he’s Hugh, his husband rouses himself before collapsing on top of him, making sure Paul can lower his legs and heaving himself off to the side. They’re still holding hands, and Paul taps his thumb twice against the side of Hugh’s palm.
“Yeah?”
He doesn’t have to look at Hugh to know he’s probably wearing a matching sated smile.
”Yes.”
Notes:
Behind on writing and on replying to comments again 😬.
Chapter 764: Streak
Notes:
Contains unintentional nudity, intended for humorous purposes.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Let’s go.”
Nods all around the briefing room, and Hugh taps his tricomm. There’s the split-second disorientation of dematerialization, then-
Plink.
Plink plunk.
Hugh frowns as he rematerializes, puzzled at both the extreme chill and fading echo of a metallic ping around him.
”…the hell?”
His chest feels like it's been kicked, lungs burning as he blinks away the moisture roused by the wind and turns, mouth opening to ask if anyone else heard that. The snow crunches beneath his feet as he takes a step forward, which is when he realizes he’s no longer wearing boots.
No longer wearing the majority of his uniform, in fact.
“…well then.”
Hugh most definitely did not expect to be standing in the middle of a rocky plain while it's snowing wearing only his undershirt, briefs, and socks.
This isn't going to be a good day, is it?
Paul, Rhys, and Reno should have been beaming down to various other points of the abandoned mining colony, and the thought of them stuck in similar circumstances has him immediately waving open his tricomm. Trying to, at any rate, since it's no longer attached to his nonexistent jacket.
"Oh hell."
He crouches down, keeping his knees together to conserve warmth and hoping to catch the telltale silver-gold glint of the device on the ground. The grey light peeking through the overcast sky doesn't help, although he does manage to retrieve his scanner.
"Paul? Rhys? Reno," he calls, "hello?"
The wind whips up a flurry of snow, and Hugh ducks into the nominal shelter of an old building support. He turns the scanner on himself with chilled hands, mentally calculating how long it will take acute hypothermia to set in.
Great.
By and large, 32nd century technology is a massive improvement, but right now he'd love a physical tricorder with a broadcast function.
And a blanket.
"Hello?" he tries again. "Anyone?"
Crossing his arms, he tucks his fingers into his armpits and strains his ears to catch any sign of the others. He tries again, and again, and is rewarded a couple of minutes later with the sound of a very familiar voice raised in response.
"-Hugh?"
"Over here," he leans around the crumbling pillar, "Paul!"
Shuffling footsteps resolve into a figure that walks deliberately into him, chests pressed together and arms wrapped around each other in a medically advisable embrace.
"...fuck."
"Yeah."
He chafes his hands over Paul's arms, then leans back just enough to take a good look at his shivering partner.
Huh.
The visible expanse of creamy skin is closer to ivory, cheeks pinkened with the frosty air, and…other cheeks, along with various body parts Hugh’s usually the only lucky viewer of are most definitely on display. Paul clasps one hand over his groin, limbs pale enough to be nearly invisible against the backdrop with only his undershirt and socks as reference. Hugh swallows the urge to make a joke about needing two hands in warmer weather, not when his own are doing what feels like their best to hide even with the minimal barrier of fabric between him and the air. (He’s very rarely body conscious - certainly not with Paul - without qualms about being seen shirtless in the gym, or wearing the briefest swimming trunks as a tease for his partner. Then again, those are both circumstances in his control and very much of his choosing.)
“Where’s your-“ he gestures downwards.
Paul mumbles something.
”What?”
”I said,” he sighs, “it was supposed to be a surprise. For later. Obviously.”
Sighing, he reels Paul back in again, chilled enough that the press of a very cold nose against his neck is only felt as pressure. Both of Paul's arms snake around his waist again.
"Didn't we learn our lesson about that the last time there was an ice world involved?"
"No hostile species living here," Paul mutters, "so..."
There isn't much he can say in response to that other than a rueful smile. At least it's not nearly as bitterly freezing as when the two of them were locked in a subzero cell with Adira, and they're going to be miserable but have several hours before it becomes outright dangerous.
"Any chance you have your tricomm?
A nod.
"Already tried hailing, but there's some sort of interference. Yours?"
"Lost it."
Paul takes half a step back again, swiping open the interface to hover between them. He squints, then turns his back on Hugh, who’s confused until Paul’s chilled backside meets his hip.
Ahh.
He turns to fit his chest fully against Paul’s back, leaning in as readings scroll past. The meager friction of rubbing Paul's biceps doesn't seem to help, and Hugh decides there's more to worry about than propriety. It takes just a few moments to chafe his palms together briskly to take some of the chill off them, then he tugs on Paul's other wrist until he moves and replaces it with both of his own hands cupped around his partner's groin.
Paul huffs a breath of a laugh, tapping a string of data.
"Disruption field of some kind."
"Some kind?"
A muscle twitches in Paul's jaw, and Hugh sympathizes; his own teeth are just short of chattering as well.
”Made the programmable matter. In our uniforms. Disintegrate. How are you not cold?”
“I’m cold,” Hugh tucks his nose against Paul’s shoulder, “just not as much as you are. How did we miss that?”
"Looks like it's emanating from the metal within the ruins themselves. Only extends a dozen meters or so, wouldn't have picked it up from orbit unless we were specifically looking for it."
"Mmm. You know...?"
Paul groans as the tricomm refuses to scan for nearby lifesigns.
"What?"
“There was an emergency thermal in my boot.”
”Would have gone the way of our uniforms.”
”…maybe not. It’s replicated. You stay here, I'll go look for it.”
He doesn't have to see Paul's face to know there's a familiar dubious frown on it as he ducks out into the wind. It makes certain tender parts of his body protest further when he retraces his steps, sifting through the snow with his foot until he hears a very welcome crinkling sound. Picking it up, he scampers back to safety, shaking it open and wrapping it around them both. The thermal blanket only reflects the heat their bodies produce rather than actively warming, but the immediate shelter from the wind feels like heaven. Paul rewards him with a chilly peck on the lips, tucking their hands between their chests and waiting for the shivering to subside.
(Thankfully, Discovery traces their whereabouts quickly and they only have to spend the better part of a very uncomfortable hour waiting. Tracy keeps them in the medbay just long enough to smirk at Paul's state of undress, then beams them directly back to their quarters and a blessedly hot bath.)
Notes:
This one’s been sitting in drafts since October 2022. I’ve got so many in various stages of completion, including dozens I started literal years ago but just haven’t felt the right spark to complete.
It's been a wild run-up to vacation between work and getting ready to go! Heading to Scotland tomorrow afternoon and not sure if I'm going to have wifi on the plane, but hoping to be able to work on Survival via the notes app on my phone.
Side note - I treated myself to the Discovery S1-5 box set and have been slowly watching the special features. The Season Five gag reel left tons to be desired, but the feature on character development made my heart so happy. There's a lot about Paul and Hugh, and both Wilson and Anthony reflecting on how much their relationship / friendship meant to bringing them to life :)
Chapter 765: Silencioso
Summary:
Adira’s still trying to figure them out.
Notes:
Set during the early Adira-days :)
Chapter Text
They don’t speak.
Adira watches from a few tables away as Paul and Hugh sit across from each other at breakfast, noses buried in individual reading. Silence reigns between them, but doesn’t seem either loaded or empty, just…quiet.
“You should’ve seen them at Christmas,“ Dr. Pollard murmurs as she nudges their arm.
Adira looks up to find the doctor with an indulgently exasperated expression.
”What?”
“Those two could spend hours at Hugh’s grandmother’s house not talking. Sitting out on the swing on the back deck, just like that.”
”…okay?”
“You know,” Tilly leans over conspiratorially, “first time I saw them like that, I thought they were mad at each other.”
Dr. Pollard smiles at Adira’s frown, amused but not condescending.
“If they’re mad, you’ll know. They’ll actually talk more. This? Normal.”
“They argue?” Keyla asks dubiously from further down the table, setting her fork back on her empty plate.
“Everyone does,” Reno drawls, “doc there would have to have the patience of a saint to put up with the Mushroom Lord.”
Conversation swings back to something from the 23rd century that Adira tunes out, considering the two of them again.
They watch Paul tap Hugh’s instep with the toe of his boot, prompting him to pass the pepper. A few minutes later when Adira is done with their oatmeal, Hugh reaches across the table towards where Paul’s left hand is resting next to his coffee cup, palm down and fingers loosely curled. Hugh hooks index and middle fingers around Paul’s own, thumb caressing his knuckles. Both of their lips curve upwards into quiet smiles.
Neither of them speak.
Normal, Dr. Pollard had called it, but it’s more than that. It’s beyond familiar in a way that speaks of intimacy that transcends the purely physical, a sense of knowing each other at the deepest level.
It’s…comfortable, Adira decides, that’s it.
Chapter 766: Savoir
Summary:
How many meanings are there to a simple verb for Culmets?
Notes:
Title means “to know” en Français.
A little bathtub fluff with quiet love.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They’re a little tipsy, awareness pleasantly floating above the languid sprawl of their bodies beneath the mineral water. Beside them, two mostly-empty wineglasses sit a safe distance away from the fluffy towels folded on the bathroom floor. Last week, Hugh made a slight alteration to the programmable matter tub, changing the subtly angled side to a gentle curved slope all the better for relaxing against. Hugh’s chest-to-back with Paul almost on his lap, Paul’s hips bracketed by his own thighs and head tipped back onto Hugh’s shoulder.
“-you know me,” Paul’s murmuring, precise diction sliding into words with rounded edges, “oooh. Heh.”
Hugh peels open one eye that he hadn’t remembered closing, fixing his gaze on Paul’s temple. Damp hair tickles his cheek, and he raises a hand to smooth it back down.
”Mmm?”
Between his knees, Paul squirms a little, but it only lasts a few seconds as he scoots even closer. The movement sends waves of water to slosh against the sides of the tub and Hugh nudges the towels a little further away before wrapping that arm back around Paul’s waist. It evokes a contented sigh as Hugh’s other arm crosses his chest, fingertips hooked over the jut of his collarbone.
“ ‘To know’ used to mean physically, sexually. Euphemism for a culture who felt it was vulgar to say.”
An effervescent bubble of curiosity rises to the surface in Hugh’s brain as the ‘Professor Stamets’ voice makes an appearance, and he opens the other eye too. Words have nuance, and they share a mutual interest even if approaching communication from different sides - Paul with technical and scientific precision, Hugh with his healer’s empathy.
“But?”
He makes a displeased noise that quickly tapers off as Paul shifts again, sliding down until his head is cradled in the crook of the arm previously around his waist. Heat-pinkened feet rise out of the water, heels parking themselves on the side of the tub, and Hugh bends down to steal a quick kiss.
“You know me, inside and out. Especially inside. And,” Paul wiggles nearly invisible eyebrows, innuendo-laden tone switching to something quieter, “you also know me. Everything about me. Better than I know myself, sometimes.”
Ahh.
Hugh’s lips curve in a tender smile.
”Mmhmm.”
”Yeah?”
Paul’s peering at him upside down, the hand braced on Hugh’s knee absently stroking it, face flushed. Droplets of water bead at his hairline, others caught on the end-of-day stubble that barely casts a shadow over his cheeks. His eyes are half-lidded but earnest and so, so blue.
We know each other , lies unspoken between them in their tangled limbs and years of love.
It’s a rhetorical question, but he’ll always give Paul the same answer.
“I do.”
Notes:
Posted from rainy Edinburgh.
Chapter 767: Skydda
Summary:
Tracy and Aida always have Hugh’s best interests in mind.
Notes:
Tracy meets Paul in the “Suite” mini-arc beginning with Chapter 98.
Title translates to ‘protect from harm’ in Swedish.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh’s previous boyfriends never truly understood him - or they did, and took advantage of his generosity and willingness to care for others. He doesn’t like to think badly of them, but Tracy tells him otherwise. She watches and listens, offering a supportive shoulder and the occasional protective threat, thoroughly unimpressed by the unworthy possibilities for the better part of a decade.
Paul Stamets seems different.
There’s a sense of wonder, of surprised discovery that Hugh describes to her. The way his eyes light up in talking about him is unique, and Tracy resolves to find out for herself if it goes both ways. (She’s aware and completely unbothered by the fact that Paul can tell she’s giving him the equivalent of a submicron analysis.)
Paul Stamets is different, she tells Aida over mugs of spiked cider in front of the fireplace. Aida is invested in her favorite grandson’s happiness and listens intently as Tracy lays out her observations of them together - although she does leave out the part about overhearing them going at it like Risan marmots - and holds her tongue as Hugh extolls Paul’s intelligence and the hours spent on comms. She hides a smile when Aida casually tells Hugh to invite Paul to join the Culber clan holiday celebration, sending in her own leave request as an excuse to leave the room.
Tracy doesn’t completely abandon waiting for Paul to prove he doesn’t deserve Hugh for longer than probably necessary. On the other hand, Aida giving him permission to call her Abuela is endorsement more solid than neutronium. And watching them together, how stupidly and quietly in love they are with each other…well.
Their connection is as undeniable as it is indescribable. Paul understands that he doesn’t have to take to receive everything Hugh freely gives. In return, he offers sincere devotion, conversation and challenge without hostility or condescension, practical romance, and a guileless tenderness that Tracy can’t decide if she wants to cheer at or ask for eye bleach. Probably both.
Hugh’s happy, and that’s what matters most.
Notes:
I’m behind on replies again! Trying to sightsee and stay up to date on social media and consciously ignore the work inbox takes a lot of brainpower. Heading home from Edinburgh in a few days, having enjoyed a windy visit to Edinburgh Castle with afternoon tea along with plenty of shopping and museums. Definitely different than Glasgow.
Hoping that folks are still along for the Culmets ride despite Disco on infinite hiatus (because saying it’s over is still tough to accept)? As ever, let me know if you have requests or just want to say hi in the comments :)
Chapter 768: Sehnsucht
Summary:
Tilly and Paul discuss change.
Notes:
Takes place before Tilly leaves for the Academy in Season Four.
Title is German for a sense of longing in terms of the greater things in life, towards aspirations that may not be achievable.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Another Thursday game night is winding down. Half of the lounge is now empty, only the slowly evaporating condensation rings on tables evidence of who was sitting there. Rhys and Keyla are still going strong on the old-fashioned space invaders arcade game, Reno is describing something to Adira (who looks by turns fascinated and dubious) and Nilsson is frowning at her cards opposite Hugh. Which means-
There’s no internal reflection on the transparisteel viewport she’s been staring out of, but she can hear footsteps approaching from behind her. Tilly doesn’t have to turn her head to see who it is, the familiar deliberate cadence softened by off-duty shoes and carpet.
”I’m going to miss this,” she murmurs when the person stops beside her.
”We- I’m going to miss you,” Paul says just as quietly.
Tilly scoots a few inches to the left, making space on the bench to her right. He sits, making a small noise of discomfort as his right knee pops.
“I’m coming back to Discovery,” she picks up a string of conversation they’ve been having in silence since her decision, in Paul’s gentle frowns in her peripheral vision and her own sense of purpose in handing off her current projects to Adira, “I just…”
”I know.”
Across the room, Hugh laughs at something Nilsson tells him and Paul’s head turns. It’s just a brief glance, but she admits to herself that she hopes someone looks at her like that someday.
”I don’t say it enough,” he continues, “I should. I’m proud of you, Tilly.”
Paul’s smile is small and sincere, settling into the crow’s feet next to his eyes and the corners of his mouth. She remembers a very different expression, one full of anguish and a grief so deep she almost couldn’t fathom it, on his face when he announced his plans to leave Discovery after the war. It feels like a lifetime ago, her a newly-minted ensign eager to prove herself and worried about the way her mentor was slowly pulling away from everyone around him.
“Thank you. For everything, you know?”
For anyone watching, it might seem dismissive, but she knows he understands.
”If I helped along the way,” he chuckles, “but this is all you.”
She studies him for a moment, the heathered blue sweater with sleeves pushed up his forearms, and stifles a smirk at what she suspects is a shadow of a hickey just fading at the edge of the neckline. His shoulders are slouched out of comfort instead of high with tension, absently rubbing the seam of his pant leg between thumb and forefinger. Like this, now, the cadet who was terrified of Lieutenant Stamets seems like a different person completely.
“You’ve always made me feel seen. Maybe -“ she smiles, “maybe the first person who did. Who I ever let see me. Even more than Michael.”
He leans into her, pressing their shoulders together. Paul’s not overly demonstrative with physical affection outside of Hugh (and sometimes Adira), but she knows it’s the Stamets equivalent of an enthusiastic hug.
”Thank you, Tilly.”
”I’m coming back,” she promises, “this is my family.”
Notes:
Posted from 12,000 feet somewhere over eastern Canada, headed for New York JFK to layover on the way to SFO. Happy that flying Delta One means wifi!
Also, the first five episodes of Season Two of Disco were available to watch, so I went back through both “Brother” and “Saints of Imperfection” and enjoyed seeing how much our characters have grown and changed. Still think Mary and Anthony did a wonderful job in that conversation where Tilly tells Paul she doesn’t want him to go, and wanted to write about how this time, separation is different. (And that scene where Paul is convincing Hugh he’s real will never not make my heart glad.)
Chapter 769: Snoring
Summary:
There’s so many second first times to be had.
Notes:
Set early in Season Three
Chapter Text
There’s indescribable peace to be found with Hugh sleeping beside him, safe in Paul’s arms where he can feel every breath, know every heartbeat, cradle him with fierce tenderness. Their bodies fit together as effortlessly as before, chest to back and knees to thighs, ankles entwined. The darkness that’s plagued his dreams is nowhere in sight, that freezing suffocation left wailing beyond hearing, thwarted and unable to claw its way into the warmth of their bed.
Objectively speaking, it shouldn’t be surprising that the second first time Paul wakes up to Hugh snoring directly into his ear, his body moves on autopilot to nudge the man curled around him ever-so-gently in the side. Nor should it come as a surprise that, when the first action does nothing to silence the noise, his hand clumsily shoves at Hugh’s shoulder. It’s accompanied by an aggrieved groan that cuts off as abruptly as the sounds when his brain kicks into gear and he remembers.
After months of hellish grief and emptiness, the hours spent crying and even more in aching silence begging for some sort of miracle to have the covers stolen and trip over a wet towel left on the bathroom floor, to complain about the toothpaste being squeezed from the middle and the sheets untucked, he should be on his knees thanking every higher power he doesn’t even believe in for the chance to experience it all again. Instead, judging by the annoyed hum from the other side of the pillow, he’s just rudely prodded Hugh awake.
He opens his eyes to find Hugh frowning at him in the shadows, groggy and oh so beautiful. Paul’s in the middle of opening his mouth to apologize when Hugh grins.
“I was wondering how long it was going to take,” Hugh chuckles as Paul blinks at him owlishly, voice sleep-rough but full of fond amusement.
”…what?”
Some of the mirth subsides even as a hint of a smile remains, Hugh’s face gone thoughtful in the starlight.
”You shouldn’t apologize for being normal.”
Paul licks his lips, unsure how to respond.
”I’m not made of glass,” Hugh’s tone is gentle but firm, “you don't have to be so careful.”
“I want to be better.”
It’s its own sort of balm to his soul that Hugh picks up on his train of thought, expression softening. He nods, once.
”I’m pretty sure waking me up when I’m snoring is exempt from anything we’re both working on, sweetheart.”
Put that way it does indeed seem ridiculous. Paul closes his eyes, sighing.
”Sorry.”
”Don’t be. Because,” Hugh pauses, waiting for him to look up again, “I reserve to right to steal your pillow when you drool on mine.”
The faux solemnity earns an inelegant snort from him that makes Hugh’s eyes shine.
”I missed you,” he whispers into the space between them.
Hugh cradles his cheek, palm warm and fingers stroking his jaw.
”Me too.”
Chapter 770: Salivate
Chapter Text
“I wonder…”
Paul blinks, their pillows and sheets and headboard snapping back into focus. It’s so simple, to drift as Hugh’s gentle touch soothes him into a half-doze, buoyed by nearness.
”Hmm?”
He's lying on his stomach and Hugh’s been tracing idle patterns over his back, punctuating the swirl of his fingers with occasional kisses on Paul's bare shoulders. Right now, he’s speaking into the back of Paul’s neck, warm and a little damp from exhaled breath.
“I’ve always wondered why there’s the impulse to put your mouth on things you love.”
Chuckling, Paul reaches behind himself and over Hugh's hip, unerringly locating a muscular backside and pinching it affectionately.
”Hugh, there’s usually one reason you put things in your mouth.”
There’s a snort followed by an answering swat to the back of his thigh, no force beyond what’s needed to make the smack of Hugh’s palm audible.
“Besides the fact that you’re…delectable. I said on, not in.”
Paul smirks into the pillow, humming in exaggerated skepticism.
”Isn’t it my job to be pedantic?”
Huffing, Hugh pushes himself upwards. Before Paul can complain about the loss of snuggling, he’s been manhandled to face upwards with minimal effort. Hugh rearranges Paul’s limbs to his satisfaction - arms no longer thrown over his head on the pillow - and settles back in comfortably against his side, a long line of unbroken contact between them.
”Like this,” he picks up Paul’s left hand and slips index and middle fingers into his mouth, lips sealing around them.
“You…huh.”
Hugh’s eyes drift shut, satisfaction written on his face. Instead of bobbing his head or sucking suggestively as he otherwise might, he simply holds them there, tongue rubbing over the pads of Paul’s fingers. It doesn’t last for more than thirty seconds before he releases them with an expectant look.
“That’s still in your mouth,” Paul points out, wiping his damp fingers on the pillowcase.
”Mmm,” Hugh raises an eyebrow, “do you need another demonstration, Doctor Stamets?”
“Technically- mmmph.”
Hugh straightens from kissing him, scooting down the bed a couple of inches so that his nose is level with Paul‘s chin. Nuzzling Paul’s neck, he sets his mouth over the knob of Paul’s shoulder, teeth set oh-so-gently against the creamy, freckled skin there. He doesn’t lick or nip or bite, just keeps his lips in contact for a few breaths before lifting Paul’s arm and repeating the process all down the length of his bicep.
For all that it looks like foreplay, it feels like something else entirely. The firm but careful touches evoke a soft warmth in Paul’s stomach, one that spreads up his back and across his shoulders, flowing golden and sweet like melted honey. Any thoughts of teasing vanish, the free hand previously resting on his stomach stealing across to pet at the dip of Hugh’s waist.
Silence sits easy between them while Hugh kisses the inside bend of his elbow and continues across Paul’s forearm. He stops at Paul’s wrist, a trail of damp skin in his wake, tongue pressed to the fluttering pulse. The angle is a little awkward, but Paul strokes Hugh’s cheek with the fingertips of the hand being cradled like it’s something to be protected, Hugh’s palm curved over his knuckles.
The lull is broken when Paul finds himself surprised by a yawn that Hugh copies a moment later. Contact broken, he kisses Paul’s thumb and squeezes once before letting go. They’ve already brushed their teeth, so all that’s left is to wave off the lights and pull the covers up. It’s apparently his turn to be the little spoon - not that they keep track of it - and he’s more than happy to oblige.
“I might need another example in the morning,” he murmurs, feeling more than hearing Hugh’s amused, pleased noise of assent.
”I think that can be arranged.”
Chapter 771: Sencha
Summary:
From a comment to Finnegancat: “Nella having a tea party with her uncles, Tracy, and T’Vala, complete with Aida making all of the food and a very nerdy conversation about the ritual of tea drinking stretching across cultures”.
Notes:
The title “Sencha” refers to a delicious type of Japanese tea.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“It is fascinating that, at present, eighty-three-point-four percent of cultures whose rituals around imbibition are documented, have an analogue to the preparation and consuming of beverages based on portions of plants steeped in potable liquids.”
Any other eight year-old might look at T’Vala with bemusement or boredom, but Hugh’s niece seems delighted to hear this particular fact. Nella sets down the tea she’s been blowing on to cool it off (Paul had suggested they could have it less hot to begin with and was subjected to a solemn explanation of the correct temperature to brew sencha), tucking her legs up onto the chair to peer at T’Vala with interest.
”Really? That many?”
”Indeed,” T’Vala sips her own tea, “and varied in intent. It holds ritual or religious significance for some, while others utilize it as a social practice or tradition of guest right.”
“What’s potable?”
”Drinkable, or safe to drink.”
Nella hums thoughtfully, frowning a moment before nodding.
”Okay.”
She reaches for the plate loaded with cookies, and Hugh stifles a smile at the sight of Paul attempting to balance the delicate china cup between his fingertips while trying to subtly blow on the liquid himself. Tracy notices too, because she nudges her glass of iced water Paul’s direction. He’s just about to pick up a spoon when T’Vala raises an eyebrow.
”While not technically improper, it should be noted that the application of ice to cool the tea would dilute it.”
Hugh’s seen his partner scowl down scientific opposition at conferences, but he’s apparently no match for Nella’s frown pointed his direction. Sighing, Paul abandons both teacup and spoon and helps himself to one of the savories Aida left on the table before heading into her study to finish grading papers.
”Are there a lot of rules for tea on Vulcan?” Nella asks, licking crumbs off her fingers. “How to make it, I mean.”
”Beyond the traditional cultural aspects, it would be inaccurate to speak in absolutes. There are, of course, preparations which require adherence to a strict ratio of components. However,” she gestures at the contents of the tea chest, “it has been my experience that tea is a highly subjective matter. For humans, certain odors and flavors evoke particular emotions. This is in addition to the physiological effects of the chemical compounds extracted during the process.”
The tea chest is one of the many, many things Hugh loves about coming home. Sealed in a protective stasis case, the antique wooden box has two dozen compartments filled with everything from individual sachets to loose-leaf blends in old-fashioned glass jars. It’s a bit of an anachronism, but he’s never going to complain about a piece of family history that Aida inherited from her own grandmother. Nella seems just as fascinated, kneeling on her chair for a better look.
“So-“
They’re interrupted by the front door opening, three of Hugh’s cousins returning from the local farmer’s market laden with produce and other ingredients from the intimidating list posted next to the stove.
“Huuuugh,” Mina sets her bags on the counter, “you promised we could catch up.”
”I’m here for another week,” he points out, “but let me guess- boy trouble?”
”You have no idea,” she groans, “please?”
”All right.”
Smiling, Hugh helps boost Nella onto Tío Paul’s lap so she doesn’t climb onto the table, kisses his cheek, and excuses himself.
When they return an hour later, Tracy is napping on the chaise on the deck and Nella, Paul, T’Vala are still at the kitchen table, leaning over a selection of spices laid out beside a steaming kettle and the simple Vulcan porcelain tea service T’Vala gifted to Aida the first time Hugh brought her home to experience a traditional human Christmas celebration. The tea chest is closed, and from the measuring spoons and cups of variously colored liquids next to it, he strongly suspects this impromptu lesson is about herbal brews. There’s a PADD in front of Nella, open to a compendium of native Earth edible plants. It looks like it has a copy of Paul’s own annotations on the side of the screen, joined by Nella’s own less tidy handwriting.
Something about the scene makes his chest ache in a good way. He waves Mina off to check on Aida and reclaims his seat at the table, slipping an arm around Paul’s waist. His partner is busy paying attention to whatever Nella’s current question is, although he offers a welcoming smile, and Hugh wouldn’t have him any other way.
Notes:
I’m back! Between working late, last-minute postcards to voters, and celebrating my birthday yesterday (40 is supposed to be the magic age where you stop worrying about what other people think, right?), I unfortunately haven’t had much time to write.
Chapter 772: Saru, Part Two
Chapter Text
"Perhaps I should start,” Saru folds his hands together, "somewhere."
He notices that Dr. Culber tracks the movement even as he never loses the relaxed posture and open expression signifying receptiveness. (Human faces were so different from Kelpien, the body language and pupil dilation not always an accurate read of their mood.)
"How are you feeling right now? About your relationship with T'Rina, that is."
"I- well. I am not certain?”
“About how you feel? Or what it might mean.”
“Both?”
“Mmm. Have you felt this way before, about anyone?”
“I don't know that I've had anything to compare it to. It's all so, very different. Is that normal?"
Dr. Culber's smile is as gentle as his tone.
"As overwhelming as it might seem, different isn’t always a bad thing. Every relationship is different.”
He crosses his arms, right hand landing on his pin. The edges are familiar beneath his fingers, smooth and sinuous, but also don't offer an answer.
"May I ask…"
An encouraging nod.
"Go ahead."
"If it is not too personal, may I ask about your relationship with Commander Stamets?”
Given prior conversations he's had with Dr. Culber, he's almost certain the question won't cause offense. It does make the doctor raise his eyebrows, accompanied by a quiet laugh.
"In a formal counseling session I should never talk about myself. But-“
Oh dear.
Saru’s throat clicks again as he swallows, drawing breath to apologize. Before he can, Dr. Culber holds up a hand between them.
”But Discovery is family, isn’t it? So it’s not too personal at all.”
Relief relaxes muscles he hadn’t realized were tense, and he nods gratefully.
”Thank you. I would just like,” he frowns, searching for a word that fits, “context?”
Dr. Culber's shifts in his seat, leaning forwards.
“There’s plenty of that.”
”Perhaps what it was like, at the beginning?”
The warm smile softens at the edges.
“Mmm. I mentioned his eyes, didn’t I? They were so blue, and there was so much behind them, and they were just," he shakes his head as if amused by himself, "beautiful. Even if he was scowling at me.”
Saru blinks in surprise.
”That was…attractive?”
“Physical attraction," Dr. Culber looks away, lips pressed together for a moment, "never a question. But more than that, the circumstances helped us get past the beginning. We were both on Alpha Centauri for conferences when we met. He was already set up on Deneva, and I was stationed back at Starfleet Medical. So, we talked a lot. Sometimes I'd come home after a shift and he'd still be in the lab. Which I'm sure doesn't sound like Paul at all."
The deadpan statement draws an amused hum from him, before Dr. Culber continues.
"And when we finally were able to go on a real date, after the second or third date, well," he chuckles, "Tracy could probably tell you better than I could, how I talked to her about him. I hoped he felt the same way. It seemed like it, and- how he was when we were together. The way he looked at me. Actually, it was a relief when we finally talked about it," Dr. Culber grins, "because he was overthinking it too."
He tries to imagine a time when the two of them must not have known each other well yet. It’s an odd thought indeed.
“And you knew you wanted…more.”
The doctor’s gaze refocuses on Saru, voice gone quiet.
“I realized that I could see a future for us, together. I wanted a future together. I wanted to fall asleep next to him, and wake up with him every morning.
“It was terrifying, and the best thing in the world. Right here," he presses a palm flat to his sternum, "it was like being full of something so bright and warm. I couldn't stop thinking about him and how being together was so easy. Not easy because we were physically together all the time, but we fit in so many ways.”
Ahh.
That’s what he’s been having trouble putting to words, isn’t it? Time spent with T’Rina goes by so quickly but also slowly, and he thinks he understands what ‘easy’ feels like.
“You made it work despite the distance and circumstances.”
“We made it work because of those circumstances. We spent hours just talking, getting to know each other, because that’s what we could do. Real conversations, I mean, debating about some scientific point or other, or about ourselves. And it made me realize that I'd never been able to do that before with someone who wasn’t just a friend, not really.
”The thing about successful relationships, is that you’re two complete people separate from each other. You have interests and things you care about that may overlap, but you can also be content when you’re not with them.”
”If I may though, Doctor, would it be accurate that you and Commander Stamets are indeed not content when separated?”
Dr. Culber pauses, expressive face gone blank before he laughs again, full and not mocking in the slightest.
“I should reword that. It’s not about finding someone to make you whole, it’s that being together, you make something greater than the sum of its parts. We don’t always like each other, as my abuela would say, but that love doesn’t change. He snores, he’s fussy about having the sheets tucked in, and he forgets to keep track of time when there’s any scientific unknown in his hands. But,” he tips his head to the side, “he’s Paul. It’s who he is.”
It’s not a question, but he nods in response anyway.
”Thank you. Truly, not just for this, but for everything you’ve done for this crew.”
A thought occurs to him and, lulled by the sense of calm acceptance that Dr. Culber projects seemingly without effort, he decides now is as good a time as any to say it.
“I don’t believe I ever properly conveyed my…relief that you and Commander Stamets reunited, not just for the sake of Discovery.”
Silence reigns for a few seconds, the half-smile on Dr. Culber’s face dimming slightly before settling on a thoughtful expression.
“Before that, Admiral Cornwell said something to me: that love is a choice you don’t make just once. You have to make again and again. And-“
I apologize for the interruption, Doctor Culber and Captain Saru, Zora’s interface hovers off to the side and a polite distance away, but Doctor Culber asked me to alert him when Commander Stamets left his lab so he could begin preparations for dinner.
“Thank you, Zora.”
Her interface fades out with more decorum than a holographic representation should strictly have. Saru unclasps his hands, straightening.
”I won’t keep you, Doctor. You’ve given me much to think about, and I thank you for it.”
“You’re welcome. I’ve got time tomorrow morning if you’d like to continue then?”
”I would appreciate that greatly.”
Dr. Culber stands, collecting the tea service and carrying it to the replicator to recycle.
”Don’t overthink things, okay?”
“In this matter, that may be impossible.”
Notes:
To be continued?
I had wanted to write something in honor of Anthony's birthday this past Saturday, but couldn't quite land on something that felt right. So, finally finishing this one up that's been sitting in drafts for months - because Hugh talking about how much he loves Paul is always a good thing :)
(My Saru voice isn’t as strong as writing in Paul or Hugh’s dialogue, so hopefully this fits.)
Chapter 773: Seriously
Summary:
Justin is never going to let Paul live this down.
Notes:
Here’s another snippet that’s been sitting in drafts since January of this year.
In my headcanon, Justin and Paul met in grad school. Besides having similar scientific interests, Justin's most definitely an extrovert that has zero problem poking at Paul (with good intentions) because he wants to see him happy.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Swish.
Justin looks up over the atomic force microscope when Paul steps across the threshold, pausing the stream of data onscreen.
"How was it?”
"What?"
"Your trip."
"Fine," Paul feels his shoulders start to rise towards his ears in defense at the overly cheerful tone Justin's using, "it was good."
As he glances over, Justin leans back in his seat, crossing his arms.
”Good?”
"Yes."
"Good."
(Good is so woefully inadequate a description that it's laughable. Not that he's going to admit that to anyone or anywhere besides the inside of his own head.)
"That's what I said," he drops his carryall off at his usual workstation, heading towards the sanitizer unit in the corner.
"Okaaaay. Trip back wasn't bad?"
Blinking, Paul returns to his chair, sitting down and flicking on the display.
"Utopia Planitia was full of cadets heading out for field work, and the Security guy sitting next to me spent the whole flight on the comm talking about Parrises Squares. Without a headset."
Justin snorts, shaking his head and returning his attention to the microscope.
"Mmhmm."
Silence reigns for a few minutes while Paul tweaks the algorithm he's been using to model the possible quantum mechanics behind how Prototaxites stellaviatori interacts with subspace frequencies. There's 82.6% accuracy between the shape of the eigenfunction and its Fourier transform, a marked improvement from a few weeks ago, but it's not close enough. Unless...
"Justin, did-"
"Seriously?"
His research partner is staring at him again, frowning with an intensity usually reserved for simulations.
"Huh?"
" 'Good'."
Oh hell.
"Yes?"
He gives a noncommittal shrug and uses the bench leg to kick off of, rolling his chair across to the chromatography setup in the corner.
"Seriously," Justin's voice gets louder as he wheels away, "that's it?"
The alarm goes off on their third row of incubators before Paul can open his mouth and tell his best friend to mind his own business - which in the history of their friendship has never been the case - distracting them both as they scramble to transfer the samples to a different incubator and troubleshoot the rapidly falling pressure.
“Something’s different.”
Justin’s question comes from right behind him, overriding the background hum of the now-repaired incubator and inserting itself into Paul’s ear despite his attempt to concentrate on debugging yet another section of code.
"What?”
"Are you feeling okay?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
It comes out a little testy as he spins around, stylus in hand.
”You were on time but not five minutes early,” Justin ignores his response and starts ticking things off with his fingers, “you haven’t said a word about the paper Foster published Sunday, and you didn’t even ask about the growth curve variance I sent you last night.”
“Umm.”
”Plus, you’ve been smiling at the screen, and you haven’t grilled me on whether I looked after the low-G resequencing experiment - which I completely did - or checked on it yourself yet. So how was it with Hugh?”
"It was great."
(Which, if he wasn't trying to avoid Justin's well-meaning curiosity, doesn't begin to cover the last few days spent in San Francisco, walking hand-in-hand with Hugh in the Academy arboretum and enjoying sunset dinners on the tiny balcony of his flat overlooking the Bay. He's not sure there are even words to describe how it feels to wake up beside him, snuggled close beneath sheets warmed by their naked skin, or how sparks dance across his shoulders when Hugh pays attention while Paul describes some component of his research in minute detail. And it definitely defies explanation, the way his chest knots up when he watches Hugh move around the kitchenette, telling stories about cooking with his grandmother as he deftly swaps pans between the two induction burners while wearing just an apron over his underwear.)
“What the- oh,” Justin’s voice spirals up in surprise and then abruptly goes a little strained, “did you…just…”
Despite his best efforts at maintaining a neutral expression, Paul can feel his face heating.
”What?”
Justin leans closer and peers at Paul’s neck, hooking a finger into his jacket to pull it away from his skin. He slouches, ducking his chin in the hopes his collar will rise. Given Justin’s triumphant grin, it’s unsuccessful.
(Blood rushes to heat his lips when he remembers the way Hugh nibbled at that spot on his neck, thumb rubbing over the back of his knuckles where their hands were clasped on the cushions next to them. Hugh's eyelashes are so thick, perfectly accenting the sleepy-eyed look of what Paul's still learning to believe is desire for him.)
Some of what he’s thinking must cross his face, because his best friend opens and closes his mouth a few times, a smile widening with each cycle. He lets go of Paul's collar and props an elbow on the counter beside him, index finger on his own chin.
”You got laid.”
(His brain very unhelpfully reminds him of the noise complaint from Hugh's neighbors.)
”…umm.”
”You've never had hickies before. Or,” Justin waggles his eyebrows, “nowhere visible.”
”Why are you so interested in my sex life?”
”So you did!”
“I- it’s…” Paul sputters, “I…”
“Since when do you even like sex?”
"I..."
“I’ve known you for what, ten years now? Eleven?”
”And?”
”Remember the night Desí broke up with me?”
Grateful for what seems like a non sequitur, Paul raises his eyebrows.
”Like I could forget. You showed up in my dorm room at midnight with a bottle of Saurian brandy, and I woke up under the coffee table.”
”Yeah. We got plastered, but," the incredulous teasing melts away, leaving behind honest puzzlement, "I distinctly remember you telling me that sex seemed overrated. And that hasn’t seemed to change since.”
(Oh, it’s definitely changed. Or maybe it hasn’t at all…)
”We are so not having this conversation.”
Paul turns away, staring down at his hands.
”Paul?” Justin's voice goes quiet, “I can stop.”
He means it, Paul can tell, and part of him is sorely tempted to say so. It's the same part that brushes off the occasional pang of loneliness when Justin and Amelia invite him out with them and he sees them holding hands under the table, the part that scoffs at wanting something other than his science. But really, he does want to talk about it a little with someone, otherwise it feels a little unreal, and there's no one else he possibly could even consider discussing it with.
Paul's also a terrible liar, so there's only one answer he can give: the honest one.
”Since Hugh.”
The grin is back, but softer at the edges. Justin pulls over another chair and drops down into it.
"He's different, for you."
It's an obvious statement, one he'd normally roll his eyes at, but it's said with a kind of gentle understanding that he hasn't heard directed at him very often (sometimes from his mother, more - though still rarely - from the person waiting for him to continue).
“It was special. It’s-“ he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face to hide his eyes, “it’s not sex. Not- not like that, not with him.”
He barely recognizes his own voice, small but not shamed and full of wonder.
Beep.
An alert goes off, notifying them of new results. Justin watches him for a couple of moments, then waves it silent.
"You don't have to tell me about that part. It’s just…I’ve never seen you this happy about anything besides research.”
“He likes me.”
Justin nudges him with an elbow.
”Well yeah, I could tell. And you said so before.”
”I mean, no one likes me.”
That earns him a full eye-roll.
”Amelia does. I like you.”
”You also like astromycology.”
”Paul.”
“He doesn’t think I’m too much. He makes me dinner and brings me coffee in bed,” he can feel his face reddening again, “and likes to talk about science, and he took me to his favorite museum last month, and…”
“And?”
”He’s really, really hot.”
Laughing - clearly in delight and not mockingly - Justin shakes his head.
”Okay. He’s not my type, but okay. Actually, you know what?”
”What?”
”Come on,” Justin stands, hooking a hand around Paul’s elbow and tugging, “we don’t have another timepoint for two hours and there’s this new Bolian food cart I’ve been dying to try.”
Justin Straal can be a force of nature when he wants, and Paul finds himself being steered out of the lab. One of the technicians from down the hall joins them in the turbolift before he can protest, so he just gives them a tight smile and stares out the transparisteel side. Once they’re on the sidewalk though, Justin turns to him, smirking.
”Oh man.”
”What?”
”I can’t wait to meet Hugh.”
Notes:
Don’t mind me projecting here.
Chapter 774: Splendor, Part Two
Notes:
Follows on from Chapter 725 ("Splendor, Part One") wherein Adira and Tilly join Paul and Hugh on vacation in Puerto Rico.
We first get to see Cabo Rojo and a sixteen year-old Hugh in the "Scarp" mini-series (Chapters 675, 676, and 677).
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The flitter sets down outside Cabo Rojo Nature Preserve. Tilly steps out and finds she doesn't quite have the words to describe the sun shining off the ocean far below the cliffs or the sounds of life all around them. She's certainly heard Hugh describe Puerto Rico, but even the holos couldn't have prepared her for it. Beside her, Adira seems equally speechless, turning in a slow circle.
"...wow."
A laugh bubbles out, joyful as it dissipates into the bright air surrounding them.
"Yeah. It explains so much."
Blinking, Adira shades their eyes.
"What does?"
"Hugh grew up here."
Chirp.
She reaches into her pocket to retrieve her tricomm and swipes open the notification to find a trail map of Cabo Rojo with a pathway highlighted and a blinking dot to show Paul's current location. As she zooms in, a message pops up.
[Stamets-Paul-CDR/SCI-ENGR]: Hike in, Hugh says using a transporter is cheating. It's not too long.
"Huh."
Snatching the map display back from where Adira's finger is hovering over the coordinates, Tilly collapses it down into a simple set of directions.
"...umm?"
"Hugh wants us to walk."
It really isn't a long hike, winding slowly upwards as they go and eventually coming to an open space beneath a curve of the cliff face to the right of the trail. Tilly catches Adira's sleeve when she spots a familiar figure, tugging them a step backwards.
"What?"
She gestures at the two people ahead of them, one standing at the base of the rock face and another a half-dozen meters off the ground. While there's a clearly visible set of very old-fashioned metal pitons, the man currently climbing isn't using them. Hugh does have an antigrav tether hovering behind him in case of a fall, but that's not what catches her attention.
"Hold up."
Paul is...well. Tilly's definitely caught more than a few appreciative glances at his partner, but this is something else. Leering wouldn't be an inaccurate description as she follows his eyes upwards, drawing Adira into the shade of a large boulder. Hugh pauses halfway up where the rock face has a concave slope that he can lean into and shucks off his shirt, tossing it down. It lands with impressive accuracy four meters below, right on Paul's face. Rather than peeling it off with a show of annoyance - as she would have expected - the hand he raised seems to be holding it there instead.
"Is he...smelling?"
Adira sounds both disbelieving and disturbed in the oh-my-god-my-parents-have-sex way. Tilly is considering what to say in response when there's the barely-perceptible displaced huff of air indicating a transporter.
"Unless you want to see something you'll regret forever," Dr. Pollard's amused voice makes both of them start guiltily, "you might want to let them know you're here."
Notes:
I needed to write something uplifting.
I'm awake watching the election results and feeling so sick. I try to remain hopeful, but the overall reality that this is a referendum on misogyny, racism, and xenophobia? As a childfree woman of color whose family has been here since the late 19th century but still looks "foreign", I have no words left as the future portrayed in Trek - that we all want to see - seems to be slipping further from our grasp.
Chapter 775: Soup
Summary:
Memories are sweet, but the present is even better.
AKA Paul, Hugh, a bathtub, cold nipples, and warm soup.
Notes:
I have 75 drafts but had to capture a new plot bunny. Yes, this is me desperately generating 1,300 words of fluff to counteract all of the post-election feelings.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Twenty-third century environmental controls are excellent, which is why Paul is a bit puzzled that Aida's house doesn't really have any besides a very old-fashioned thermostat. Granted, the climate in Puerto Rico is pleasant all year round, but that's not the point. There are plenty of older buildings he's seen retrofitted for the comfort of their occupants while still retaining exterior design from the twenty-first or twenty-second century, yet it seems Hugh's grandmother - for all of her scientific background - feels the need to keep the interior matching as well. Oh, there's a synthesizer in the kitchen, the latest entertainment screens in the living room, modern bathroom fixtures, and PADDs scattered across Aida's stained oak desk, but she still cooks on the stove and the Culber clan never seems to mind helping their matriarch wash dishes by hand or going to physically turn on lamps.
(He's working up the courage to ask Hugh, but since no one is bothered by it, he politely keeps his mouth shut and doesn't comment on light switches or wooden shutters.)
All of that to say, between the tropical temperatures for the holidays and climate-controlled spaces on Deneva, the most he's ever exposed to colder weather is staying with Hugh in his flat high above San Francisco Bay. There are foggy mornings, the occasional downpour, and blustery wind that whips by the tiny balcony. None of which would affect the interior, if Hugh didn't regularly turn off the environmental controls and throw open the sliding door to let the chill inside. Paul's admittedly puzzled, at least until his boyfriend introduces him to the joys of snuggling naked under a fluffy duvet when it's 9°C outside, their cozy pocket of the universe warmed by the heat of their bodies.
Seventeen very eventful years later, it's the last thing on Paul's mind when he comes home to find the temperature lower than normal. Hugh looks like he's just gotten back from an early-evening bout of Velocity, so he's probably dialed it down to accommodate the sweat dotting his brow. The thought is just as quickly forgotten when Hugh comes to collect a hello kiss and suggests a bath together instead of showering off the day alone. Paul can't think of a reason to object, and so finds himself chest-deep in cloudy mineral water not five minutes later.
Some nights, the bath is about lazing together and unwinding, either intense conversation or easy silence to accompany hotter water as steam wreathes them in haze. Others are playful, washing each other and tussling until they splash the towels on the floor next to the sunken tub. Tonight is somewhere in between, soaping and rinsing themselves before Paul tugs Hugh over to his side to relax between his thighs, inconsequential conversation with no universe-threatening circumstances on the horizon for Discovery.
Eventually, Hugh stirs in response to Paul's stomach grumbling, humming in amusement before climbing out and toweling off.
"No hurry," he tells Paul, "I'll get dinner. Any requests?"
The water level's gone down without a second body in the tub, and Paul slides a bit further down until he's submerged to the chin. There's nothing he's particularly craving, so it's easy to let his husband make that decision.
"Mmm. Surprise me?"
Nodding, Hugh tosses his towel haphazardly over the bar before heading towards the replicator. Paul's treated to the sight of his bare backside for several steps before he rounds the corner, resting his cheek on the cool tiles to watch him go until the door swishes shut behind him.
Nice to not have any emergencies to deal with.
He doesn't linger long, just a few more minutes to wash and rinse his hair before climbing out himself and emptying the tub. Their pajamas are still on the bed, so he wraps the towel around his waist and tucks the end in. (Not that he has any qualms walking around naked in their quarters, but he generally tries to avoid sitting at the dining table fully unclothed if only because he doesn't ever want to think about it when Tilly and Adira - or worse, Tracy - is having dinner with them.)
The blast of chilly air when the door opens is a complete surprise. It's not precisely cold enough for his breath to condense, but both his nipples and his nose tell inform him that it's significantly cooler than they prefer to be exposed to.
"Umm."
"Hmm?"
Hugh seems blithely unconcerned, still naked and loading something onto a tray at the replicator before carrying it to the bed, setting it on Paul's nightstand.
"Did the environmental controls malfunction?"
A shrug.
“I turned them down.”
Blinking, Paul crosses his arms over his chest, reluctant to leave the threshold of the bathroom and its rapidly-cooling warm air behind.
”By how much?”
”Ten C.”
Well. That would certainly explain it.
“Why?”
"Remember our ninth date?"
To anyone else, it might sound like a complete non sequitur, but he goes along with it because Hugh usually has a reason. It's been a very long time, but given that the bulk of their relationship has been spent with extended separations, the first dozen or so dates were very memorable indeed.
"...you dragged me to the opera at the Civic Center, the transport grid went haywire during so we had to walk home, and-" he glances at the two bowls steaming on the tray and a half loaf of sliced sourdough, "we brought soup back to eat?"
Smiling a touch too happily for the chill, Hugh rounds the end of the bed and climbs under the covers, lifting them in invitation and patting the mattress beside him.
"You forgot the flannel sheets."
They're the deep maroon ones Hugh's had for years, worn down in places but still carried from posting to posting. He strongly suspects that Hugh must have had the DOTs change the sheets while they were in the tub which, combined with the specific memory, suggests planning ahead. There isn't an anniversary he's forgetting, so-
"Quit thinking so hard," Hugh's voice interrupts his train of thought, "and come eat before the soup gets cold."
Grumbling is expected, so Paul gives a long-suffering sigh that Hugh responds to by fondly rolling his eyes as he drops his towel and makes his way over. Flannel sheets mean they aren't cool to the touch, a fact he deeply appreciates in the three seconds it takes to slide across them and attach himself to Hugh's side. There's a protesting noise when he stuffs his cold nose into the crook of Hugh's neck and shoulder, but it quickly resolves into a pleased sigh as Paul snuggles closer.
"Hi."
"Fancy meeting you here."
Hugh's arms encircle his shoulders, tugging the covers a bit higher.
"I believe I was promised soup which," Paul addresses Hugh's collarbone, "if memory serves, you get to feed me. Although, can we skip spilling it on my lap?"
The laugh that evokes bounces them both.
"Yes."
He pulls back enough to make eye contact, leaning into the fingers running through his damp hair and narrowing his eyes.
"And I don't think we can recreate the noise complaint with Discovery's bulkheads."
Paul manages to intercept Hugh's hand before it reaches his chest to pinch a nipple. There's a brief struggle to free himself from Paul's grasp that Hugh completely and very willingly loses, although he does manage to haul them both into sitting up against the headboard with a throw wrapped around their shoulders. Whatever he's about the say next is interrupted by Paul's stomach protesting even louder than before, and they rearrange themselves a bit more comfortably before starting dinner.
(They end up cheating by using an antigrav to hold the tray so neither of them accidentally tips it onto the covers. Aida and Adira's quilts are very conspicuously out of soup-spilling range, folded neatly on the couch.)
Their ninth date has nothing on coming home to Hugh every night to sleep together in their bed and wake up beside him in the morning.
Notes:
Almost 800 chapters and I haven't used "soup" before?
Chapter 776: Sightless
Summary:
Culmets post-coital fluff.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“You know,” Hugh’s voice is amused, “some people get tired of this.”
Opening his eyes seems like too much work, so Paul settles for raising his head from where it’s pillowed on a delightfully firm pectoral muscle and nosing at Hugh’s chin.
”What?”
The quiet laugh skates over his still-damp skin, melting into the contentment settled deep in his body. Hugh’s thumb continues rubbing idle circles over the hair on his forearm, swirling one way and then the other.
“Oh, all of this,” a swish of air suggests Hugh’s waving a hand over their bodies, “can’t imagine why. Apparently it’s supposed to be routine and boring.”
Smiling, Paul rests his cheek on Hugh’s shoulder and kisses the side of his neck before snuggling even closer.
”You say ‘routine’ like it’s a bad thing.”
Hugh turns his head to press a kiss to Paul’s temple.
”Mmm. Definitely not.”
He doesn’t have to look to recognize the look Hugh’s giving him, not when he can feel its warmth like a gently glowing ember cradled in his palms on a cold day. Paul‘s mapped every inch of Hugh’s body with fingers and lips and tongue over the years, knows every contour and texture and taste. Familiarity is a comfort, one he doesn’t think it’s possible to ever tire of, not with Hugh in his arms and love lighting their way.
Notes:
I apologize for being slow on updates. Currently overwhelmed by worry for the future of my country and all the people who are vulnerable to being hurt, and it’s taking a toll on my creative side.
Chapter 777: Sociocultural
Summary:
Tilly has a very important question for Paul.
Notes:
Future!fic set a few years after Season Five *waves hands vaguely*, after my headcanon of Tilly and Jax getting engaged in some adorably nerdy way.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He'll say yes, right?
I mean, unless-
No.
The door panel flashes green, curtailing the internal conversation she's having with the part of her brain that unhelpfully supplies less-than-constructive commentary.
Swish.
Tilly steps across the threshold and stops, blinking.
Huh.
Paul's sitting on the couch, one socked foot propped on the coffee table with Hugh kneeling in front of him. Their dress uniform jackets are still unzipped, but both are (thankfully) almost completely clothed otherwise. The view in profile shows enough distance between their bodies that she knows she hasn't interrupted anything less innocuous than them putting their boots on. And yet...
Gathering the sides of the sock with his fingers, Hugh slides the fabric over Paul's foot and up his ankle with a deliberate delicacy that makes Tilly want to back out of their quarters to give them some privacy. It’s…intimate, the simple motion infused with something both innocent and heated. Hugh’s thumbs trail against Paul’s skin, tracing over the nearly invisible hairs flattened down until he's done smoothing the ribbed band in place under a very pale calf. He tugs the rucked-up pant cuff down to cover it, fingers stealing up to tickle the inside of Paul's knee.
"Umm."
In the same motion as capturing Hugh's wrist to still it, Paul pulls him up and forward until he's standing. They both turn to face the door, indulgent affection wrinkling Paul's nose and mischievous teasing in Hugh's smile. It's not so much that their expressions dim, just soften into something more appropriate for company, so she doesn't feel bad for interrupting.
"Hi?"
"Hi Tilly," Hugh reaches past the coffee table, handing Paul his boots and stepping into his own, "you're a bit early. Wait, we're not running late, are we?"
Paul pauses while zipping up one side.
"Zora?"
Commencement exercises don't begin for another thirty-seven minutes, Commander.
He hums, nodding, and narrows his eyes just a little.
"What's that face?"
"What?"
Academy Instructor Tilly has gotten light years better at controlling her expression in the classroom and out in the field, but it's completely possible and probable that being back on Discovery and with these two people in particular means her face is doing whatever it likes. Hugh chuckles, poking Paul's shoulder.
"Quit frowning, weren't you the one complaining about wrinkles this morning?"
Paul rolls his eyes, finishes zipping his other boot, and stands. He starts tucking in his undershirt and she can't help but think of how scandalized Cadet Tilly would be by the sight of Lieutenant Stamets in any state of dishabille.
"So. I-" she rocks up on the balls of her feet, toes scrunching in her boots, "well. Wanted to ask you something?"
Hugh's eyes flick down to see her hands twisted together, and he tilts his head in inquiry.
"The royal 'you', or Paul?"
"It's the royal 'we'," the man next to him murmurs, sotto voce.
They both look at her expectantly.
"Umm. Technically, Paul? But you don't have to go, it's not...well. Personal, but not private or anything? Unless he says no, which-"
"Breathe, Tilly."
The fond tone Hugh uses takes the edge off, and she takes another couple of steps forward.
"The wedding. Jax's and mine, I mean-"
"Someone else got engaged and didn't tell us? Yo- hey!"
Paul's right arm does something behind Hugh's shoulder, and Tilly strongly suspects his husband just had his backside pinched.
"-we were discussing how Earth-traditional it was going to be, and since Jax's parents are going to, and wanted to, I wanted to ask if you would?"
He tips his chin up automatically - and unnecessarily given the new uniforms, but habits are hard to break - as Hugh zips the front of his jacket.
"Would...?"
"My mom's not here. And even if she-" Tilly can feel her lower lip start trembling just a little, which is completely not what she needs it to do right now, "and I was never really close to my dad. And I love Michael, but it didn't seem right either. Or Saru."
There's compassion in Hugh's gentle smile that she's not going to examine too much right now.
"So," she bites her lip and continues, "it would mean...well. You know what it would mean, because you're you."
"Okaaay?"
The bemused look is back on Paul's face, but judging by the very toothy grin, she can tell Hugh's already caught on.
"Will you. Walk with me?"
Paul frowns.
"Walk where?"
Hugh has his hand over his mouth now, still smiling but surreptitiously thumbing at the corner of his eyes. He nods at her, side-eyeing Paul with loving exasperation.
'Giving away' is such an old-fashioned term steeped in layers of complicated patriarchal societal issues, and isn't valid at all. 'Accompany' or 'escort' implies a formality completely out of place with her family on Discovery-
That's it.
She inhales deeply through her nose and breathes out slowly.
"You're my family, Paul. Would you walk me down the aisle?"
There's absolute silence for a few moments, her question dissipating in the quiet air of their quarters. Paul's mouth opens, then closes, lips pressed tightly together. Hugh looks like he's about to say something, pausing as Paul brushes past him and opens his arms to pull her in for a fierce hug.
"Yes," he murmurs, "of course. Yes."
Notes:
Possibly a bit OOC at the end. I may go back and re-work it a little after I've had some sleep.
Chapter 778: Sibilant
Summary:
Grief is a universal constant.
Notes:
Set during the early part of Season Two from Pike's perspective. References Michael's voiceover from 'Saints of Imperfection' referring to Paul.
Taking a break from the comforting fluff - I lost the thread of where I was going with this one, but have too many partially written stories languishing in drafts that deserve to see the light of day.
Chapter Text
“You are a…” there’s a pause as their host seems to be searching for the right word in Standard. She taps her foot twice, then gives them what Chris assumes is an apologetic nod and a wave of her second set of arms before opening her third mouth. The universal translator takes a moment to kick in for the stream of clicks and hisses, “-widower.”
She's very clearly addressing Stamets - who has until now been studying the structure of the building with what seems to be polite interest - goes completely still. His lips press together, a muscle in his jaw ticking, and the careful blankness of his gaze shutters into utter impassivity. Chris suppresses the urge to lay a hand on the man’s shoulder and squeeze; it’s not that it’s necessarily inappropriate in a first contact situation, just that he doesn’t think Stamets would appreciate it as it’s meant.
He's probably tired of hearing how sorry everyone is, Una’s no-nonsense but still gentle advice reminds him, grief is different for everyone.
"...what?"
His voice is thin, fragile in a way that makes Chris's chest ache. It's not that his (borrowed) crew's personal life is his business as Captain, not when it doesn't technically affect the performance of duty, but it doesn't stop him from wanting to somehow help. And try as he might, he hasn't been able to get past the barrier of professionalism Stamets puts up very often.
"You are bereft."
The translator suggests a tone of understanding to the high-pitched whistle. Chris reminds himself that different cultural standards apply, that this species probably wouldn't recognize it as overstepping any bounds of privacy.
”Matriarch,” Chris inclines his head, “perhaps-”
”With loss comes clarity, to not drown in it. Wisdom grows. The experience is,” she holds all six arms out to her sides in a gesture of sincerity, “transformative when something of that profound nature is made bereft. We honor that.”
Stamets’ brows are knit together so fiercely that his own twinge in sympathy.
Change the subject.
Outside of the hall, thunder booms. It's a welcome distraction.
"Thank you," he raises his voice a little to recapture her attention, "we appreciate your...condolence. Perhaps we might continue with inspecting the environmental controls?"
The Matriarch blinks two of her three eyes, folding her third set of arms to her chest and turning back towards the door.
"Of course, Captain Pike. Please, if you would follow me?"
In his peripheral vision, Ensign Tilly - who’s been what he’s learning to be uncharacteristically quiet - moves half a step closer to Stamets. He can just see them reflected in the windows to their left as he follows the Matriarch into the corridor, catches her leaning forward and opening her mouth and the silent but sharp head shake Stamets gives her.
"I apologize to have caused offense," their host murmurs as they round a corner, Stamets and Tilly lagging far enough behind to be unheard, "if I may make recompense?"
"I'm sure there's none taken," he reassures her, "but the circumstances of the loss were difficult."
It's a massive understatement, but it will have to do.
"So they always are," her sibilant warble is subdued, "I understand."
Chapter 779: Saber, Part One
Summary:
They know each other so well.
Notes:
Title translates as "to know" in Spanish.
Fluff, sensuality, and references to sexytimes.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
All of these years to learn each other’s body.
Hugh knows to slip his arm beneath Paul’s lower back, knows just the right angle to lift so he arches off the mattress and brings him to pleasure so easily.
He knows that Paul likes his right nipple rubbed but the left one pinched, loves Hugh suckling both with gentle flicks of his tongue while Paul squirms and clutches his shoulders.
He also knows that whispering “let me take care of you” into Paul’s ear, low and intimate and breathy, turns him pliant and needy.
And he knows what it means when Paul casually puts a folded towel on his nightstand before joining him at the table, how they trade innuendos and heated looks over dinner with pointed glances at the innocuous bit of cloth, and that no one's feelings are hurt if Hugh returns the towel to the bathroom when they're brushing their teeth because he just wants to snuggle.
All these years to learn each other's heart.
Hugh knows that Paul's hand will be waiting for him, that all he has to do is reach across the sheets or beneath the table or behind Tilly's back to feel those familiar fingers slipping between his own.
He knows the precise temperature Paul prefers his café au lait, knows that adding an extra dusting of cinnamon when his love is having a rough week will help soothe the frown lines creasing Paul's brow.
He also knows that "just finishing things up" means Paul is chasing down an idea in Engineering and might need a gentle reminder when he loses track of time.
And he knows what it means when he catches Paul watching him with a soft look, the crow's feet beside his eyes deepening and lips curved into a gentle smile, and how he's never embarrassed to be caught staring because love in all its forms never requires an apology.
Notes:
The first few lines were written nine months ago, finally expanded and put the finishing touches on it only to realize that it needs a companion Part Two from Paul's perspective.
Let's see if I can hit 800 chapters(!) before the end of 2024.
Chapter 780: Sylvia
Summary:
Why doesn't Tilly ever use her first name?
Notes:
Admittedly, I never read the novel focused on Tilly and her past, so I hope this isn't too far off course.
Chapter Text
Sylvia Tilly can count the number of people who use her first name on one hand and not use all of the fingers. Mostly, it's her mom - she's not sure the confusing mix of love and frustration and disquiet will ever pass - and memories of school before the Academy. It reminds her of tense family dinners while her parents were still married, when her mother would refer to her as Sylvia with a sharpness in her voice that made her want to crawl under the table while they argued.
(The fact that she addresses herself by first name when she's thinking though, that doesn't carry any weight.)
The Academy gave her much-needed space and a completely new environment that was hers to build and pile on the excitement and anxiety of so many new experiences. "Cadet Tilly" was distinct, a name that meant something, a stepping stone towards everything she thinks she wants.
It carries over to Discovery.
"Tilly" from Michael's mouth is at first reserved and distancing, then camaraderie and a reminder that before Michael became Captain Burnham, the outcast and disgraced Specialist Burnham was Tilly's friend first.
From Saru, "Lieutenant Tilly" could seem standoffish, but she can hear the warmth in it. It's the same way she thinks of him by his name only, even now that he's a Captain and Ambassador, still going to him for guidance and support.
She used to tense at the sound of her name from Lieutenant Stamets, but only because she was trying so very hard not to disappoint him or give him reason for criticism. It's familiar from Commander Stamets, and even more with Paul, the history and layers of their relationship complex for so many reasons.
Adira comming to talk science or complain about Paul and Hugh making out in front of them, that's different too. "Tilly" is said with friendship, with uncertainty sometimes or worry, marking them as the younger sibling she never knew how much she wanted.
Now, "Tilly" means trust and care and respect, and she can't imagine asking her chosen family to call her anything else.
Chapter 781: Surgeon
Summary:
War is hell, especially for those who have to tend the injured.
Notes:
Set before Discovery launches, during the Klingon War. (If you're just joining the stories now - in my headcanon, Hugh is CMO of Starbase 12, accompanied by his longtime Vulcan friend and fellow physician T'Vala.)
Angst, but also love.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
>> Message from Culber, Hugh, LTCDR, CMO-MED/SB-12 to Stamets, Paul, LT, SCI/UtoPlan
>> Priority: Normal
>> Audio only
>> Begin playback
"Hi sweetheart."
Two words, three simple syllables, and Paul can feel some of the tension coiling in his spine release at the sound of Hugh's voice.
"It's been...a day. Sorry for not being onscreen, but, well. Just got off shift and haven't cleaned up yet, but wanted to send something before you start worrying too much. Plus I'm on-call for at least another fourteen."
It's said with an attempt at humor that doesn't disguise the fact that Hugh sounds utterly exhausted. His normally smooth tones are rough around the edges, and Paul can only imagine his partner in the spartan quarters on Starbase 12 or slouched in a corner of the medical ward, eyes heavy with fatigue. Even too close to the frontlines for comfort, with Paul tucked away (relatively) safe where his largest concern is ensuring that the spore drive is properly integrated with all of Discovery's systems, Hugh's still made time to dictate something into his PADD for him to have waiting. It's another touch point in a long history of separations, but the specter of war looms menacing over everything.
"They're going to try and let me sleep, but who knows? Not sure I can. Seven hours ago, the Farragut brought in sixty-three kids left adrift near the Argolis Cluster and we've been in surgery for most of that since. They were evacuating from one of the settlements when the Klingons ambushed them. I guess there weren't enough life pods left intact, so their families filled the four working ones with their children and got them out of range before the warp core breached. Sixty-three orphans, Paul-" Hugh's voice breaks, and Paul's own eyes start to burn.
"Even T'Vala. She's still in there with them, but the look in her eyes. Anyone who says Vulcans don't have emotions is so wrong. I just...it's so senseless. All of this. And what for?"
He can just make out the sound of Hugh sniffling on the recording.
"I don't know," he whispers into the quiet air.
Hugh's flat near Fleet Medical overlooks the Bay, the twinkling lights of the city below wreathed in fog. It's so ordinary, so far from the ravages of violence and terror that the man he loves is living right now. A chill sweeps over him despite the warm room and he wraps Aida's quilt more tightly around himself, burrowing deeper into pillows piled against the headboard. ("We'll bring it to Discovery with us," Hugh had smiled at him the night before he left Earth for Starbase 12, patting the familiar fabric, "keep it warm for me, okay?")
"I'm sorry. You don't need...I don't need to- fuck. I miss you. I'm too tired to sleep. I wish you were here, wish I could climb into bed with you and feel your arms around me. I always feel so safe. Actually, I don't want you here because this isn't...I just wish I was home with you. And- oh hell. We've got more wounded coming in. I have to go. I love you, sweetheart. Talk to you soon, okay?"
>> End of message
Paul buries his face in Hugh's pillow, inhaling slowly. His chest aches for the pain in Hugh's voice. It's bad enough that Paul understands precisely how fragile and delicate a balance between physiological systems is needed, how little it takes to disturb that. For a physician, a healer like his gentle doctor being forced to face horror on a daily basis, to try and save as many lives as possible...
He gives himself a count of 100 to hide beneath the covers, any thoughts of complaining about his own day left by the wayside. When he rouses himself, he heads to the bathroom to wash his face and straighten his hair before climbing back under the covers. Rolling onto his side, he pulls the quilt up to his chin and props the PADD up facing him, waiting until he can give a steady enough smile to start. There's little enough he can do for Hugh from here, but he's going to try his best.
>> Reply from Stamets, Paul, LT, SCI/UtoPlan to Culber, Hugh, LTCDR, CMO-MED/SB-12
>> Audio and visual
>> Begin recording
"Hi. I miss you too, and I'm keeping the bed warm, Hugh..."
Notes:
So, this took off in a different direction than originally anticipated.
I owe comment replies, but need to get some sleep.
Chapter 782: Survey
Summary:
Hugh takes the time to reacquaint himself with Paul’s body, and Paul has zero objections.
Notes:
Early Season Three reunion fluff with a small dose of remembered angst.
Related to Chapter 460 (“Sternum”) in which Hugh picks a particular body part to revisit and love.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Mmphh.”
The soft noise has a hint of bemusement, pulling him from his reading. Paul looks up over the glasses (grudgingly) perched on the bridge of his nose to find Hugh frowning rather adorably at his right leg.
"What?"
The man he loves - more than scientific notoriety, more than the multi-verse itself - is a warm and welcome weight beside him, cheek resting on Paul’s left hip. His hands have been idly caressing Paul’s legs, teasing at the thick hair and thumb tracing the myriad of freckles and occasional stretch mark as he goes, smiling as if greeting old friends. Like this, he can feel the gentle rise and fall of Hugh's breathing against his knee, dulling the edges of reality beyond the confines of their bed. All in all, it feels good in a way that’s so incredibly mundane.
He feels right again, after so long.
”This,” Hugh’s index finger lands on one of the freckles dotting his upper thigh, darker than the others, “should be…” he drags the fingertip one centimeter downwards, “here.”
His expression as he makes the declaration is a mix of playful solemnity with the tiniest bit of dubiousness. Frowning, Paul takes off his glasses and legitimately can't remember ever paying that much attention to the exact placement of anything on his own body.
That's always been Hugh's job.
Paul’s still a little self-conscious, what with Hugh’s brand new body and his own showing the wear of the better part of five decades. Hugh, of course, passionately defends his slightly sagging stomach and hair gone closer to platinum than the sun-kissed gold of younger years. And really, this new fascination Hugh has is the opposite of unwelcome. Three days ago it was his left forearm, tracing out the tendons and the blue-green veins visible beneath pale skin. A week before, Hugh had spent nearly twenty minutes nuzzling his stomach, and before that it was deft surgeon’s fingers mapping the muscle groups of his back.
He hums noncommittally.
"Hmph," comes the reply as Hugh levers himself up a little to squint at the same offending freckle from six inches away.
"Melanin mobility aside," he sets the PADD aside and slips a hand behind Hugh's neck and down the back of his collar, scratching lightly, "do I meet with your approval?"
His partner hasn’t explicitly mentioned anything, but he understands all the same. Over the past few weeks, Paul's busied himself re-mapping every inch of Hugh's new body, from the shell of his ear all the way down to whether he still likes his toes sucked (obviously). And if he used his eyes, fingers, and mouth to do it, well…he’s nothing if not thorough, and he's hardly going to object to Hugh carrying out his own inspection.
So here he is, pajama top rucked up and sleep pants pulled down partway, everything from well above his navel to his knees exposed to the warm air of their quarters without a hint of arousal despite Hugh being eye-level with a certain something. (To be fair, Hugh had given his groin an affectionate fondle on his way past, but it clearly wasn’t his destination.) A kiss lands high on his inner thigh, then Hugh's pulling away and squirming around until he's perpendicular to Paul's body, head pillowed on his lower abdomen. The position gives them both comfortable eye contact, and he finds Hugh's expression more sober than anticipated.
"I used to imagine this…savoring you. Trying to remember everything.”
”Whe- oh.”
Paul snaps his mouth shut on the comment he was about to make as a shadow of remembered pain flickers across Hugh's face. It's there and nearly gone again between blinks, lingering just in the corners of Hugh's beautiful dark eyes.
That.
They haven’t talked about Hugh’s time in the network as a whole, single conversation. It’s happened in bits and pieces, after waking from nightmares and over dinner and snuggled close on the couch with Aida’s quilt pulled over their heads. He strongly suspects Hugh is also discussing some of it with Tracy, and he respects their long friendship enough not to pry no matter how concerned he might be on occasion.
Still.
"Sorry."
Hugh's voice is barely over a whisper, and Paul matches the volume.
"What are you apologizing for?"
"I..."
A half-shrug.
Making a decision, Paul tugs on Hugh's wrist to get him to sit up. He pulls his pants back on and scoots backwards until he's leaning against the headboard, guiding Hugh onto his lap without resistance and wrapping his arms around Hugh's waist.
"Stop that."
One arm snakes between Paul's back and the pillows, Hugh's other hand gripping his shoulder.
"But-"
Paul cuts him off with a kiss.
"Quit apologizing for still being traumatized by an unprecedented, traumatic thing."
It's murmured against Hugh's lips, and he feels them quirk in an approximation of a smile.
"It's getting better."
"I know," he nuzzles Hugh's cheek, beard rasping familiarly against his own skin, "and I love you, dear doctor, no matter what."
Notes:
Holy heck, we've hit 85,000 views! I can't thank you all enough :)
Chapter 783: Spatula
Summary:
Aida doesn't teach her recipes to just anyone.
Notes:
Early days Culmets.
Chapter Text
When Hugh comes back from the emergency consult at Fleet Medical, he's greeted with a far different scene than the one he'd left. The pillow fort in the living room, previously occupied by a half dozen of his nieces and nephews loudly disagreeing over which cushions to use and a misplaced toy, is utterly silent. Nella's curled up on the window seat with Paul's sweater nearly hiding her from sight while she naps, and he carefully steps over two of his nephews asleep on the carpet to hang his jacket in the closet before making his way into the kitchen.
The air is warm and full of the scent of cinnamon and mace and coffee, and he pauses at the threshold to take in the scene. A few plates are stacked neatly at one end of the table, evidence of an afternoon snack, with two mugs still steaming away on the counter. Behind the counter, Paul is stirring something with careful precision, the frown of concentration as serious as any he's seen his boyfriend level at a scientific challenge. Aida winks at Hugh, humming approval before tapping Paul's elbow and miming a different motion with the spatula she's holding.
"You're folding, gently. Stirring too hard will disperse all of the air whipped into the eggs, and since that's the leavening, it won't rise properly."
Paul grimaces.
"Oh. Umm..."
Smiling, Aida shakes her head.
"You're doing fine. Baking is chemistry, yes, but once you have the principles in place, a little variation isn't a bad thing."
He crosses the kitchen stealthily, coming up behind Paul to wrap his arms around his waist. One hand steadies the bowl as Paul starts in surprise before leaning back against Hugh's chest.
"Hugh!"
"Mmm," he kisses Paul's cheek in greeting, glancing at the bowls of dried fruit and spices laid out on the counter, the eggshells beside the sink, "what're you making?"
"I was teaching your novio how to make panettone."
Hugh blinks.
"Panettone?"
Huffing in amusement, Aida wipes a speck of flour from her palm on her apron.
"Yes, mijo."
Eyes narrowed, Hugh takes in the mixing bowl Paul's still holding, the rich golden batter and bottle of brandy waiting with the other ingredients. Paul half-turns to look at him, eyes flitting to Aida's indulgent affection and back to Hugh's incredulous expression.
"What?"
He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times before speaking.
"No one knows Abuela's recipe. Not Mami, or- anyone. No one's even allowed in the kitchen to watch, she won't write it down..."
Aida's laugh is gentle and not unkind, a tinge of mischief in the crow's feet beside her eyes. She sets down her spatula, casually tucking a stray wisp of hair back into her braid as if she wasn't sharing a coveted secret that his aunts and uncles and cousins have been trying to figure out for decades. Any lingering doubts of her approval of Paul vanish into the ether.
"And Paul won't either, will he?"
Eyes gone wide as the implication sets in, Paul shakes his head, his own spatula frozen above the bowl.
"Now shoo," his grandmother makes a swatting motion at Hugh, "we're getting to the important part, and you're distracting him. And no lurking outside the door either."
Arguing won't get him anywhere, so he steals a proper - if brief - kiss from Paul before reluctantly letting go.
"Si, Abuela."
Sixteen years later
The rich, fruit-laden cake is as fluffy as Hugh remembers Aida's ever was, years of memories flashing by as he chews. He shares a smile with Paul as Tilly and Adira examine their own slices with interest, setting down his fork to cuddle into his husband's side.
"Did I get it right?"
Hugh imagines Aida's reaction, how she'd insist on feeding Adira and delight in introducing Tilly to Nella. The tinge of sadness is still present, but far outweighed by love.
"It's perfect, sweetheart."
Chapter 784: (After the) Service
Summary:
Aida grieves by taking care of others, and finds out that T’Vala does the same.
Chapter Text
They travel back to Aida’s house in silence, the sound of the door closing all too loud in the heavy air after somber goodbyes to family and friends. Paul stares into the middle distance, motionless in the entryway, ignoring both T’Vala’s offer to make tea and Tracy’s quiet-voiced concern. Aida coaxes him out of his shoes, receives a single shake of the head when she asks if he’s hungry, and considers whether she ought to try feeding him anyway.
He follows passively when Nella tugs his sleeve, moving as though his limbs are weighted. Aida can’t find it in herself to protest when T’Vala refuses assistance as she assembles a simple meal alongside the tea. Paul picks at the sliced fruit and cheese Aida loads onto his plate and eats a few bites of bread, still with that terrible blankness on his face.
Eventually, she tucks Paul into Hugh’s bed fully clothed, smoothes his hair back and asks Nella to come sit with him. Tracy excuses herself to the back deck to scream at the stormy sky, T’Vala straight-backed and still beside her. The tea’s long since gone cold when they return, Tracy’s eyes red-rimmed and T’Vala soaked to the skin, dignified and bleak. Aida wraps them both in blankets and sits them in front of the fire, moving around the house in a daze and cleaning things that aren’t dirty.
Nella has her knees drawn up to her chest, face puffy with grief, but shakes her head when Aida offers to take her place. Paul’s still facing the wall, but his shoulders tense at the gentle inquiry and don’t relax until Nella refuses. Aida nods, sets two cups of water on the nightstand, and continues on.
When she comes back to the living room, Tracy is asleep on the couch. There’s a damp spot on the cushion beneath her cheek, and Aida covers her with another throw even though the air is far from chilly. T’Vala is in the kitchen again, dicing vegetables with painful precision for whatever is simmering away on the stove. Aida doesn’t have the heart to interrupt and retreats to her office instead.
She sits at her desk and goes through the list of comms mechanically, thanking friends for their condolences. T’Vala finds her there an indeterminate amount of time later, staring at the frame cycling through images of the grandson who she never should have had to bury. Hugh’s friend stops at her side, one hand covering Aida’s trembling fingers. It’s enough to startle her into full awareness.
”I grieve with thee,” T’Vala murmurs, squeezing her hand before releasing it, “Aida.”
Over twenty years of encouraging T’Vala to address her as anything besides ‘Professor’, and it’s the sound of her name that breaks the dam.
T’Vala doesn’t apologize, and Aida would never ask her to.
Notes:
Technically, my canon has T’Vala dying during the war itself. I’m not sure when Hugh’s service would have been, but I couldn’t shake the image of her attending too. (I realize it’s unlikely the rest of Hugh’s close-knit family wouldn’t be there too, but couldn’t find a good way of acknowledging them all while keeping the plot thread going.)
Chapter 785: Sympathetic (Joy)
Summary:
Aida’s favorite grandson has finally found someone who deserves him.
Notes:
Title refers to the sense of joy at another’s happiness.
Consider this an apology for the angst in the last chapter.
Chapter Text
She watches Hugh watch Paul sitting in dirt beside the deck with his tricorder out over whatever Nella has in her cupped hands. Nella is chattering excitedly at him, and as far as Aida can tell - based on the cycle of interest, amusement, bemusement, and mild alarm running over his features - he’s paying attention to every word.
She teases them, delighting in Hugh’s scandalized exclamations. Paul’s cheeks are pink, and she’s careful not to push her grandson’s gentle love too far.
She tries to wake them when they fall asleep curled together on the loveseat by the Christmas tree, but Hugh doesn’t stir beyond gathering Paul closer. Paul snores on, cheek pillowed on Hugh’s chest. It’s been decades since Hugh was small enough for her to carry to bed, so Aida tucks the edge of the throw around their shoulders and turns out the rest of the lights. In the morning, she brings them coffee when they blink awake, a hypospray of mild analgesic for their stiff necks on the tray beside a plate of toast.
She lets Paul build a miniature hydroponics system in the sun room for Nella, listens from the doorway as her great-granddaughter plays audio messages from Deneva where Tío Paul describes experiments she can run.
She puts in a word with her former department at Trinity and makes sure Hugh has the afternoon off to attend Paul's guest lecture on mycelial metaphysics. Dr. Stamets manages to keep an auditorium of graduate students awake for over an hour, patiently staying after to answer every question without pretense or condescension.
She shoos them off to dance at a family wedding after the speeches and toasts, watches how Hugh spins and dips Paul while they stumble through the steps - but never on each other’s feet - uninhibited and laughing with eyes only for each other.
Chapter 786: Stocking, Part One
Summary:
More Culber Christmas shenanigans!
Notes:
Set early in Paul and Hugh's relationship, the second time Hugh brings him home for the holidays :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
If Christmas Eve dinner crowded around the dining room table and spilling out onto the back deck is joyful chaos, then exchanging and unwrapping gifts in the wood-paneled living room raises the volume another twenty decibels with the sounds of ripping paper and exclamations of delight. Hugh's nieces and nephews dot the carpet, adults looking on indulgently while passing boxes and bags and discarded tinsel between them. Aida is ensconced in a comfortable chair by the tree (with loving exhortations to relax while Hugh's uncles finish washing the dishes), looking on with satisfied pride and nursing a mug of hot spiced cider.
Last year, Paul was admittedly overwhelmed by the entire experience, gripping Hugh's hand as his boyfriend led them between people and over obstacles to lay claim to a portion of one of the couches. His own family marked the winter holiday season with dinner together most years, and while he's never doubted their love, a Stamets Christmas is nothing like this rich celebration. It wasn't that he felt unwelcome or ignored - the complete opposite - which would have been easier to face, but he hadn't been prepared to be included so seamlessly. If not for Hugh's steady presence and the surprising distraction of Nella, he thinks he might have retreated into a corner or crept upstairs for a respite.
This year, Hugh waits until one of his cousins vacates an oversized armchair for a trip to the bathroom and cheerfully refuses to relinquish ownership. It's technically meant for one, meaning Paul has to perch on Hugh's knee, but any comment he might have made about the situation is abandoned when Nella makes a beeline for them. She piles her own stack of brightly-wrapped gifts at their feet, then uses the armrest to pull herself up and sit on Hugh's other leg.
The night passes quickly, excitement calming as the children are put to bed at last and tired parents put their feet up. Paul joins Hugh and his cousins to gather the shredded remains of wrapping paper, hunting down the scraps beneath furniture and carrying them to the synthesizer for recycling, then sorting out the toys left scattered on every available surface. Hugh's Uncle David passes around a tray of tea and rum-soaked cake while Aida happily fusses over her grown grandchildren as if they're several decades younger, and quiet conversation springs up around the fire (he wonders if she set the thermostat to be several degrees cooler than necessary for a reason to bundle everyone up in blankets and throws).
Paul starts nodding off around 2:00 am and manages to follow Hugh up the stairs without stumbling. They have the privilege of not sharing Hugh's room with any other relatives, so there's no picking their way over sleeping bodies after they brush their teeth. He thinks they manage a few more kisses once they settle under the covers, and surrenders to the pull of slumber with the feel of Hugh's hand warm beneath his pajama top and a heartbeat under his cheek.
Notes:
Merry Christmas to those who celebrate (my family has secular traditions rather than any religious associations).
Chapter 787: Shakshuka
Summary:
Hugh's birthday is off to a wonderful start with a mischievous Paul, plenty of kisses, and quiet conversation.
Notes:
Shakshuka is a terribly delicious Middle Eastern / North African breakfast dish with eggs poached in a spiced tomato sauce. Best served with flatbread or something else to scoop it all up :) I promise it's relevant.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh surfaces from sleep slowly, dreams falling away. He’s warm and safe, Paul’s solid presence spooned up behind him, an arm thrown over his waist and knees tucked behind his own. A lazy smile tugs at his lips as he leans into the fingers scratching lightly over his stomach, widening when he realizes the back of his neck is being nibbled. There’s a sense radiating off his husband of being very pleased with himself, and Hugh wonders what it heralds.
Paul’s up to something.
Humming, he wiggles his hips just a little. The motion evokes an amused, affectionate huff, but there’s no answering poke to his backside and Paul’s hand doesn’t stray below Hugh’s waistband.
Not horny then.
He opens his eyes and inhales enough to determine that yes, there's a mug containing some form of coffee on the nightstand, steam rising cheerfully from its surface. Clearly, Paul must have slipped out of bed and back in again without disturbing Hugh. The fact that he was awake first and doing something besides grumbling about it being early is uncommon…
…but not something Paul would be congratulating himself over.
Hugh briefly considers and then discards the idea of pretending to still be asleep. He yawns, arching into a stretch, and settles his cheek back into the pillow. Paul makes a slightly miffed noise when the motion separates Hugh’s skin from his mouth, pulling him closer. He nuzzles at Hugh’s shoulder, then presses a soft kiss below Hugh’s ear.
”Good morning,” Paul’s voice is still sleep-rough, a rumble that slides down Hugh’s spine, caressing as it goes, “and happy birthday.”
Hugh squirms, tugging the covers higher beneath his arm and trapping Paul’s in place as he squeezes.
”Morning, sweetheart.”
Paul’s practically vibrating behind him as Hugh rolls his shoulders back.
Whatever it is, he's excited about it.
He could ask, of course, but where’s the fun in that?
Instead, he rubs the arches of his feet against Paul's ankles and shins and releases the hand beneath his shirt, which immediately resumes roaming. Paul's nails are short and smooth, no ragged edges from being chewed in concentration - which, given Discovery's propensity for running headlong into situations with universe-ending consequences, is something of a miracle - rasping pleasantly against the short hairs on Hugh's belly. Eyes closed, Hugh reaches back over his shoulder until his fingertips make contact with Paul's temple, palm following to pass over the shell of his ear before he slips his fingers into Paul's sleep-ruffled hair.
"Mmm."
"Hmm?"
Paul pushes up a little on one elbow, partially dislodging Hugh's hand and nosing at his jaw.
"Luckiest man in the universe."
Hugh grins.
"Yes, I am."
Teeth nip at his earlobe as Paul huffs.
"I meant me."
The lights in their quarters are still in the night cycle, starlight spilling over the couch and making the silver threads in their duvet glow. Their little found family is safe, no threat of war on the horizon, and Hugh's in the arms of the person he loves most in all of existence. It's a perfect moment in all its unremarkable glory, and he sighs happily.
I could stay like this forever.
Paul breaks the silence a few minutes later, retrieving his hand and rolling away long enough to rummage in the drawer on his own nightstand. He makes a quiet noise of triumph, then snuggles close again.
"Babe?"
The covers rustle, Paul's arm reaching over him.
"Open up."
Eyes still closed, Hugh chuckles.
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
Still amused, he complies. Granted, Paul's usually in front of him when he makes that request, but-
Click
Something smooth and metallic rests on his lower lip, and he opens his eyes to see a brief flash of blue-tinted light before Paul's hand retreats with whatever that was.
"...okay?"
Paul's in motion again, rolling Hugh onto his back and stretching out full length over him. His nose nudges Hugh's, foreheads touching.
"Hello."
Hugh blinks.
"Hi? Wha- mmmph."
He doesn't get to finish the sentence because Paul's mouth descends on his, cutting off everything but a surprised and inelegant snort. Hugh's brain might be scrambling for an explanation - because in almost eighteen years, Paul's never kissed before brushing their teeth in the morning, ever - but his lips are already returning the kiss. It's leisurely, open-mouthed and affectionate but still polite, and Hugh wonders briefly that he can't taste minty toothpaste on Paul's tongue. The thought melts away a moment later, and he doesn't chase it.
When they surface some time later, Hugh's hands are buried in Paul's hair and Paul's have found their way under Hugh's shirt again to knead at his chest. They're still close enough that Hugh can feel Paul's stubble on the tip of his tongue when he licks his lips, breath gusting teasingly over damp skin.
"Not that I'm complaining, sweetheart..."
Paul wiggles smugly on top of him.
"It worked."
"What worked?"
One hand fumbles over the covers, retrieving the mysterious object from earlier. Paul waves the ultrasonic oral hygiene device - the one that Adira had given them when they discovered Paul and Hugh still using actual toothbrushes - between them.
"I figured out how to increase the efficiency by one hundred and seventeen percent and remove non-native microbiota in three point seven seconds."
Anyone else might complain that it's remarkably unsexy, but Hugh can't help the flash of desire that always accompanies Paul being excited about a scientific achievement. Even if it's just something that means they don't have to get out of bed and brush their teeth before sharing a good morning kiss.
Especially, more like.
Grinning, Hugh hooks his right ankle behind Paul's left knee and uses his other heel to push off the mattress, dumping Paul onto his back and straddling his thighs. He drops down onto his elbows in a perfect reverse of their last position.
"Hugh- hmmnnn."
The enthusiastic my-husband-is-brilliant kiss is cut a short when Paul's hand works its way between them and taps three times on Hugh's chest.
"What?"
"I had coffee before you woke up."
"Okay."
Paul's tone is wry.
"And I really need to pee."
Hugh pouts for all of two seconds before climbing off and letting Paul scurry from bed to bathroom. He slips in to use the facilities himself when Paul's done, tossing his pajama top onto the laundry pile on the way out. When he returns, Paul is sprawled over Hugh's side of the bed, smiling adorably at him. He lets Hugh tug his own shirt off too before snuggling bare-chested on top of the sheets.
"You know, usually when you tell me to open my mouth..."
Paul snickers into his collarbone.
"I mean, we can do that too. It is your birthday."
He traces his thumb over the wing of Paul's shoulderblade, shaking his head.
"Later. After lunch?"
"Should I schedule that for fourteen hundred?"
"Mmm. Definitely after breakfast in bed, at least."
Paul squirms, scooting them up until they're sharing Hugh's pillow.
"We're having breakfast in bed?"
"Well," Hugh steals a quick kiss, "since it's my birthday and all..."
Nimble fingers tweak his earlobe playfully.
"I think that can be arranged. What are the doctor's orders?"
Hugh doesn't answer right away. Instead, he cradles Paul's jaw, fingertips petting the tender skin over the pulse beating in Paul's throat. He tips his own chin up and brings their lips back together for delicate, unhurried kisses, thumb stroking Paul's cheek. The kisses deepen, teeth nibbling at his lower lip before Paul sucks the tip of his tongue. It's easy, so easy, so comfortable in ways he never would have understood when he was younger.
They shift to sit up, Hugh leaning on the headboard with Paul in his lap. Like this, he can scatter kisses over his chest and lick his nipples, drinking in Paul's pleased sighs and shivers when he suckles. He ignores the interested twitches inside his pajama pants when Paul wraps his legs around Hugh's waist, rocking their hips together, and eases them back from arousal without protest.
"Mmm. Sorry."
Paul kisses the tip of his nose.
"For what?"
He glances down between them ruefully.
"I did say later."
The man on his lap shrugs, unbothered, and Paul reaches down to adjust himself.
"It'll keep. Besides," he laces their fingers together, "it's the one day a year I get to take care of the person who always gives me what I want."
"I'll have you know, we usually want the same thing."
Sighing in fond exasperation, Paul sits back on his heels.
"Yes, dear doctor. Come on. Actually," he amends, "no, stay right there. Breakfast in bed...French toast and eggs and everything?"
"Shakshuka?"
"Whatever you want, Hugh."
Hugh squeezes Paul's fingers gently.
"I love you."
Paul raises their joined hands to kiss Hugh's wrist, acknowledging all of the unspoken words between them.
"I love you too."
Notes:
Umm, so all of that? Was not planned when I wrote the first paragraph of a soft little snuggle fic to celebrate Wilson’s birthday. No idea where the other 1,400 words came from, but I'm not mad at it.
Chapter 788: Seminar
Summary:
Family dinner from a few hundred light years away.
Chapter Text
"-and then Jax said that maybe we should have the cadets spend time on Discovery to learn about teamwork, but I think that might be kind of boring unless something huge happens, and I wouldn't want them onboard if- what?"
Across the table, Paul twitches as if he's just stubbed his toe on something...or been kicked. Adira abruptly starts coughing into their napkin, and Tilly frowns.
"What am I missing?"
"Hmm?" Hugh makes an encouraging 'keep going' gesture. "Go on, what else did Jax say?"
Glancing back at Paul, she catches the tail end of what might be a glare aimed in Hugh's direction. In the vague ethereal glow accompanying their holographic presence, Tilly can't be sure whether he's ignoring Paul or not while he continues to drink his soup with an attentive expression.
"Well. He had some great ideas about practical examples of interspecies and interpersonal collaboration that don't involve crashing on an ice moon and almost getting eaten by a giant pyrosome. I talked to Michael about it, and so next month, I'm going to bring my upper division sociocultural competency seminar group to Discovery."
Tilly eats another forkful of salad and Adira, already informed via text comm, smiles into their drink while Hugh and Paul exclaim in surprise and delight.
"That's-"
"Great! Do you-"
"-how long are you-"
Cadet Tilly would have been flustered at the very least, but Lieutenant Tilly folds her hands in front of her plate and grins. If she doesn't focus too much on how everyone is ever so slightly translucent, it's easy to pretend they're all at the table in her quarters. (And she's grateful to Zora for including their chairs this time, seeing them seated midair last week was way too weird.)
"Told you guys I'd be back," she reminds them once Paul and Hugh stop trying to talk over each other, "and we're staying six weeks."
"Your quarters are still where you left them," Hugh props his elbow next to his plate and rests his chin in his palm, "it'll be great to have dinner in person. Assuming the three of you," he sweeps his eyes around the table, "aren't in Engineering every night."
Paul elbows him.
"It was two nights, and Adira and I had that phase transducer project, but Reno decided- mmmph."
Hugh sits back from interrupting Paul with an obnoxiously loud kiss, and Adira groans theatrically.
"Guys..."
Can't wait to be back home.
Notes:
Well, I can at least promise I'll be able to break 600,000 words before the new year even if I don't manage to make it to Chapter 800.
(...and SpaceDad Paul is being a little twitchy about Jax, but it won't last for too long.)
Chapter 789: Snapdragon
Summary:
It's not sex pollen this time, thankfully. Right?
Notes:
A random snippet that's been hiding in my unfinished drafts, and deserves to see the light of day :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Despite every 32nd century precaution out there, Hugh's husband manages to get a faceful of pollen from the centerpiece on the buffet table of a diplomatic function. The flowers, resembling Earth snapdragons, quiver on their stems from the force of Paul's sneeze in response. Seeing his skin smeared with bright blue powder should be humorous, particularly since their abashed hosts assure them that it's not toxic and Hugh's scanner agrees. However, Paul's body locks up almost immediately, lips pressed into a thin line and face going pink.
"I need to go back to the ship."
Michael waves them off, staying to no doubt soothe over any diplomatic fallout, and Hugh transports them both directly to one of the surgical suites in the medbay. He activates the quarantine protocols and turns back to find Paul pacing in agitation.
"Are you- well. Not okay."
"Obviously," comes the peeved mutter, sounding as though Paul's gritting his teeth, "this...I can't."
"Can't what?"
Paul flaps a hand in a vague gesture of frustration. Frowning, Hugh sets his scanner to run a deeper molecular comparison between Paul's current state and his usual baseline vitals. In the meantime...
"Want to sit down for me?"
“No,” Paul answers, voice tight.
Hugh resists the urge to sigh. Dr. Culber might be able to maintain equanimity in the middle of a firefight, but Hugh the worried partner elbows him aside.
”Paul,” he squeezes a tense shoulder gently, thumb brushing the bare skin at the side of his neck, “I can’t help if you don’t tell me…”
It must tickle, because Paul twitches. The noise he makes is somewhere between a whimper and a whine.
Something clicks and Hugh, oh, he recognizes it. He didn’t, at first, when it’s outside the context of how he usually sees it.
Oh hell.
The flushed cheeks, lips pressed together, and breath coming in short, harsh puffs, aren’t from anger. The fingers curled tight enough to probably leave marks on his palms, the pad of his thumb tapping a staccato on the side of his index finger, aren't frustration - at least, not of the scientific variety. The hunched posture isn’t defensiveness. The wide pupils surrounded by a thin ring of blue and accompanying frown aren't agitation.
No, Paul is aroused.
”I can’t…” he trails off, swallowing hard. “I can’t be around the kids like this. Or anyone.”
Nevermind that Tilly and Adira are both past the age of legal majority and nowhere near the medbay as far as he knows, Hugh doesn't think pointing any of that out is helpful when he understands. Instead, he nods at Paul's jacket.
"Take that off."
Paul gives him a withering look.
"Very funny."
Hugh sighs.
"I meant, take off your jacket so we can isolate the rest of the pollen."
"Oh. Sorry?"
He resists the urge to help when Paul's fingers fumble at the zipper, holding out a containment pod for him to fold the garment into. Once that's taken care of, he grabs a handheld sanitizer and carefully removes the rest of the pollen from Paul's face, tags the pod, and runs his own hands through a disinfecting field.
"So, do you want help, or...?"
Covering his face with one hand, Paul groans.
"No, I want to go," he makes an unmistakable one-handed gesture with curled fingers, rolling his eyes. "Yes."
At least he can joke about it, so it can't be as bad as last time.
"Let's go home, then. Transporter," he adds as Paul points at his own lap with a significant look, "I'm not making you walk like that."
"Sex for science again?"
Hugh gives him a lopsided smile.
"Looks like it."
This is going to be a fun report to write.
Notes:
Paul and Hugh wrangle with a rather potent aphrodisiac in Chapter 751 ("Stamina") to humorous and somewhat uncomfortable effect.
Chapter 790: Supplicant
Summary:
Paul isn't religious, but there are some moments that feel...more.
Notes:
Contains sexytimes associated with deep feelings. Takes place any time after the beginning of Season Three.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"...mmm. Just like that."
Paul hums in acknowledgement and winks, leaning into the palm cupping his cheek before continuing. They've been doing this to and with each other for long enough that he doesn't have to focus completely on the task at hand, letting his mind wander just a little. His thoughts don't go far, just to how long he can maintain this particular amount of pressure and angle of his tongue before he has to move, and whether he ought to ask Hugh to sit down so that he doesn't get a kink in his neck.
(He'd done this before Hugh, of course. While the ability to give pleasure is satisfying on its own, it was never really anything beyond the physical. That, and he was never sure if he ought to close his own eyes so the other person didn't catch a glimpse of the calculations and considerations going on as he worked, keeping track of time and trying to catalog responses to tailor his own actions. Hugh, as with so many things, changed everything to do with sex entirely.
Paul stopped having to think - often stopped being able to think - about anything besides that moment, or possibly what they might be doing next. And when he did, it was never with apprehension for the experience, even if they were trying something new. His very busy brain quieted, focusing on the sweat that beaded on Hugh's brow or the depth of desire in his eyes, the heat of his hands moving over Paul's body and seeking out every sensitive place to caress.)
Times like tonight, when Hugh's haloed in starlight and Paul's on his knees gazing up at Hugh's face without breaking eye contact, it feels a little like worship. The flat planes of Hugh's stomach, muscles tensed in enjoyment, and the solid swell of his pectoral muscles would have been right at home on the carven figure of some minor deity. Paul's would be the hands coaxing their shapes from cold marble, lovingly sculpting the perfect arch of his throat when Hugh's head is tipped back, eyes half-closed in pleasure and lips parted around a moan.
When he follows the thought, he decides it wouldn't be a deity of sex, no incubus of temptation lost in the throes of ecstasy and beckoning others to be ensnared by its power, regardless of what he's doing with his mouth right now. Nor would it be one of beauty - not for lack of its presence and substance - or the embodiment of physical strength. No, Hugh would be an avatar of tender regard, of sensuality bathed in warm welcome, hands cradling the face of those who knelt to worship at his feet.
Then again, Paul would have to hide that statue away, because this part of Hugh - the way he makes Paul feel - isn't something to be shared. The longing to nuzzle him gently even as he's busy with a blowjob should be paradoxical, but with Hugh they're hopelessly entwined, one accompanying the other. It's why they cradle each other even in moments of chasing pure passion, why Paul feels safe letting go. It's Hugh's thumbs gently stroking over Paul's temples even as his fingers tug at his hair, the answering ardor in his own body that wakes desire and banishes doubt.
No, this is very private worship, love burning like a sacred flame in the sanctuary of their hearts and Paul kneeling in supplication to thank a universe that righted a cruel wrong by returning Hugh to him to have and hold and cherish.
Notes:
600,000 words before midnight (Pacific)! Happy New Year, my friends.
Chapter 791: Sail, Part One
Summary:
Sharing space is the easy part, once they find each other again.
Notes:
Early Season Three.
Gentle fluff with only a little referenced angst.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The first time it happens is a week and a half after Hugh moves back into their quarters. (And, he realizes, even when he was so adrift in finding himself again: Deck 9, Section Gamma, Cabin 4 was synonymous with home.) They're still learning to live with each other again, falling so easily back into some routines while treading with delicate care around the months spent apart. The simple pleasure of brushing their teeth together is effortless joy, contrasted with Paul wincing so hard when he mentioned something "while you were gone" that Hugh can feel his own muscles tensing in sympathy.
Sharing a bed again is the least complicated part of their days, whether it's falling asleep in Paul's arms or waking to him snoring in Hugh's ear. Tracy used to tease him over the amount of time he and Paul spent in physical contact, and he suspects the sheer amount of cuddling they're doing now would earn him a very fondly annoyed eye-roll. Climbing into bed and reading side by side before turning out the lights is now, more often than not, snuggling under the sheets for hours.
They've been carefully re-mapping each other's bodies - no sex yet, but Hugh doesn't think it will be long before it happens - and having intense, quiet conversation while their hands move. So, it's nothing out of the ordinary when Paul spoons up behind him after kissing goodnight, fingers fidgeting with the hem of Hugh's pajama top and forehead pressed to the back of Hugh's neck. He seems a bit restless, shifting his feet and sighing before falling still.
It's the stillness that gets his attention.
Paul's hand isn't lax with sleep but rigid against Hugh's stomach, the rhythm of his breathing too fast, his body tense. They've spent years memorizing each other's body language, and all of that is definitely a sign that the Stamets brain is turning over an idea and attacking it from multiple angles. It might be something as simple as a new development on a project, but it's also reminiscent of the months after Discovery's launch. Those nights, Hugh was glad to have Paul at home in their bed even as he bit his tongue and pretended he didn't notice Paul waiting for him to fall asleep so he could pick up a PADD again.
Nine hundred years later, he isn't going to ignore that the foundation of rebuilding the trust between them is what it's always been: honesty.
It can't hurt to check.
"You're overthinking."
He murmurs it quietly, no accusation in his tone. It's followed by the faint click of teeth as Paul clenches his jaw.
"...sorry."
"Work?"
There's a pause that lasts just a little too long before Paul sighs and gives a noncommittal hum.
"Mmm."
Hugh's also an expert on every type of sigh his partner uses as its own language, and he knows that one was equivocation.
"Not work."
It isn't a question.
"It's...not important."
That makes Hugh's eyes open wide, and he squirms around to face Paul.
"Okay, it's definitely important then. Is it...am I- did I do something?"
Paul's already shaking his head, the motion disturbing the pillow they're sharing.
"No. No," he closes his eyes, "it's. I just. Could you- would it be okay if-"
Reaching up, he gently smooths his thumb over the frown creasing Paul's brow.
"Yes."
"You don't know what I was going to ask."
Usually - before Hugh died - that phrase meant they were exchanging playful banter, teasing around the edges of something Paul wanted to try but was still hesitant to suggest. Hugh's response to it should be "when have I ever said no?", but somehow that doesn't seem appropriate.
"No, but you've never asked for something I didn't want to give you."
"I-" Paul's fingers graze the hem of Hugh's shirt, "could you maybe take this off? Only if you want, I mean," he rushes to add, "if you're okay."
Oh. Of course.
The realization makes his chest tighten. Paul's been so careful not to make any demands when it comes to physical contact, even though they've both been touch-starved, despite the want Hugh felt pouring off of him as they worked their way back towards each other. Asking permission feels important, even for things that were commonplace before. He hasn't addressed it as such, and now probably isn't the time for that conversation.
Paul tenses again when Hugh moves away, but it's only to sit up long enough to peel off his shirt. Dropping it on the floor, he reaches for Paul's wrist, pulling him up as well.
"Hugh?"
"Did you want yours off too?"
He keeps his voice light, not teasing, but tender. Understanding.
"If-"
Hugh interrupts him by tugging Paul's shirt up, stopping after just a couple of inches of pale skin are exposed. He waits for a nod before continuing, slowly enough for Paul to change his mind. Not that he expects him to, but he's not going to risk making assumptions either.
There's barely any light in their quarters, and Hugh resolves to stay shirtless in the morning as long as Paul wants to look his fill. And, in all honesty, to do the same in return. For now, he lies down again, rolling back onto his side and smiling as Paul fills all of the negative spaces left by Hugh's body.
"Better?"
Paul's chest is warm against his back, the hair on his arms rasping against the sheets as his palm comes to rest on Hugh's stomach, thumb tucked into the valley between his abdominal muscles and fingers splayed wide. He rubs his cheek on Hugh's shoulder, relaxing into him without the earlier tension.
"Thank you."
Hugh reaches back and squeezes Paul's hip once, gently, before covering Paul's hand with his own. The brittle ice between them has been banished, the relationship they're not so much re-building as leveling the foundation and leaving nothing to fracture, to bend, to break. Like a ship after a storm, their give-and-take sways and rights itself, re-balancing and raising sail to catch the wind and bring them back on course.
He exhales slowly, settling back against Paul's solid, beloved presence.
"Always."
Notes:
Edit 1/7/25: Now with Part Two in the next chapter!
Chapter 792: Sail, Part Two
Summary:
Paul struggles sometimes with how much want he feels for Hugh.
Notes:
Paul's perspective on the previous chapter. Much more introspection, and a subsequently larger dose of remembered loss.
Chapter Text
Before, in the weeks and months spent separated over the years, sometimes Paul ached for Hugh's presence. It went deeper than the physical - because he couldn't help the desire simmering low in his belly when Hugh was in arm's reach - the empty other side of the bed just a reminder of what he was missing. Having him close, the kissing and snuggling and other things came with a contentment he'd never experienced before.
Paul's mind is a busy place, scientific and mathematical consideration spooling out amidst a half dozen other thoughts trying to crowd their way past his concentration. Point A to Point B in his head more closely resembles a tedious trip through an asteroid belt, detouring around obstacles and constantly changing directions. Keeping track of all of the branch points is why he usually has a PADD to hand, and why it's wonderful to work with Tilly because she follows along when he thinks out loud, sees paths he hasn't considered.
Like Justin.
With Hugh near, the commotion of his thoughts quiet. It was a profound realization early in their relationship when Paul found all of his focus in the here and now, and on Hugh: the playful spark in his eyes, the way his smooth voice roughened, the feeling of their fingers entwined. They share moments where the entire universe vanishes, unimportant and forgotten.
He's certainly still distractible, and after Discovery's launch became permanently preoccupied with the weight of expectation placed on his life's work. That burden was nothing compared to the regret and guilt making his limbs leaden and the world around him a blur he barely paid attention to when Hugh was gone. After he...died.
Having him back is a joy Paul thought lost twice over. So when they're tucked in bed together, Hugh warm and whole in his arms, any distance between them seems unacceptable. If Paul had his way, he'd happily spend the entire day in Hugh's presence, able to know he's near and safe. That would drive Hugh up the wall, so he keeps it to himself. His loss turned into a smothering, anxious thing before, and he's not going to make that mistake again. He does his best to approach each step back together without expectations, to make it clear that he'll demand nothing more than Hugh wants to give. And really, it's not like any of it is a hardship. They have time now, and he won't be taking any of it for granted.
Tonight, though, the craving for Hugh's skin against his isn't sated with the snuggling and kisses. Not even when he's spooned up behind Hugh, sharing the pillow with his nose pressed to the nape of his neck. It's not about sex, though half the pleasure comes from their bodies touching so intimately, but the sense of connection that even Hugh-scented fabric and Paul's bare feet wrapped around his ankles doesn't quite satisfy.
The thing is, he can't let himself be greedy, because Hugh's default mode has always been to give Paul what he wants. There's no conceit behind that fact - once Hugh finally convinced Paul of it a decade ago - just a simple truth that he doesn't want to assume or take advantage of. He wills himself to stillness, stopping the restless motion of his feet and flexing fingers to give Hugh the space to fall asleep.
It's mildly frustrating but mostly bathes him with warm affection that Hugh can still tell he's thinking about something. Paul tries to downplay it, but he's a terrible liar and he's in bed with the one man in the universe he has zero chance of misdirecting. He spends about two seconds wishing the lights were on when the susurrus of Hugh's shirt sliding over skin and drifting lazily to the floor is so loud in the dark before quashing the thought without regret. It's dismissed entirely when gentle hands ease off his own shirt, baring them both to the waist and beneath the sheets again.
"Better?" Hugh asks as they settle together.
He thinks about explaining what he's been thinking, yet despite all of their care to talk everything through, realizes from that single word that Hugh already knows. Paul's chest fits so well against the broad expanse of his back, the rise and fall of Hugh's stomach with each breath caught in the palm of his hand. There's so much touching, nothing in the way if he wants lean up and nuzzle Hugh's bicep or kiss the dip between his shoulderblades. Paul's mind quiets, soothed, and lassitude steals up from his feet.
"Thank you," he murmurs into the sweep of of muscle where neck and shoulder meet, tightening the arm around Hugh's waist in a semblance of embrace.
Hugh gives his hip a squeeze, then covers Paul's hand with his own, fingers fitting into the spaces left by Paul's. When he replies, his voice is tender and full of love.
"Always."
One breath, two, then Hugh's body goes lax against his. It's not alarming, because he's just meeting Paul halfway, their weight bearing the other up. There's an uncharted course ahead of them, but wherever it takes them, they're going together.
Chapter 793: Snuffle
Summary:
Paul may love the way he smells, but Hugh can’t get enough of Paul’s skin when he needs a little comfort.
Chapter Text
It’s been an extremely long day, one that Hugh’s only too happy to leave on the other side of the door to their quarters. He shuffles in, groaning quietly when he braces a hand on the bulkhead before bending to unzip his boots.
I want a bath, a glass of wine, and Paul.
”Babe? I’m home.”
There’s no response.
“Zora, location of my wayward husband?”
Commander Stamets is in the corridor outside of Science Lab Five.
“He- right, he said he was going to check on Tilly’s cadets. Thank you, Zora.”
You’re welcome, Doctor Culber.
It’s tempting to comm Paul and ask him to transport home instead of waiting a few more minutes, but Hugh knows that would only make him worry. He sighs, peeling off his socks and straightening to remove his jacket. He starts to take off his pants, then thinks better of it and pads over to the couch to sit with a distinct lack of grace, propping his bare feet on the coffee table.
When the door swishes open, it’s to the welcome sight of Paul alone. Not that Hugh ever minds Adira joining them for dinner, but he’s too worn out to be terribly good company.
”Hi.”
Paul removes his own boots, shaking his head in fond annoyance as he picks Hugh’s up and tucks them away out of tripping range before crossing to the couch. Hugh drops one of his feet and sits up, making room for Paul to stand between his knees.
”Hi,” Paul bends down for a quick kiss, “how was your day?”
Hugh makes a noise halfway between a grumble and a groan as he wraps both arms around Paul’s waist, pulling him closer.
Warm hands land on his shoulders, one moving to cradle Hugh’s head against his stomach.
”That bad?”
”I’ve had worse,” he sighs into Paul’s jacket.
“Anything you want to talk about?”
The fabric smells vaguely of earth - probably from the cultivation bay - not unpleasant, but Hugh tugs the hem.
”Off.”
A quiet chuckle, and fingers scratching at the back of his neck.
”You’ll have to let go.”
He does have a point.
Hugh loosens his arms enough for Paul to unzip and discard the offending item of clothing, then immediately stuffs his face back into its hiding place.
“Better?”
The undershirt is soft under Hugh’s cheek, but it’s still in the way. That’s easily remedied by rucking it up, and he doesn’t bother to answer until he’s popped the magnetic closure and unzipped Paul’s pants, tugging the fly open to expose a swathe of skin the perfect size for Hugh press his cheek against.
”Yes,” he informs a freckle on Paul’s belly, chin resting on the waistband of his briefs, “and no. Nothing terrible, I just wanted you.”
Paul tucks the hem of his undershirt beneath his chin to hold it out of the way, humming as Hugh nuzzles the barely visible trail of hair leading downward.
“Mmm. I’m all yours.”
He adjusts his stance a little, swaying when Hugh’s arms tighten.
”Sorry. I just- stay? For a little bit.”
A broad palm rubs circles over his back, and fingertips gently work their way into his hair, pinpricks of sensation as they separate the strands from the styling product holding them together.
”Not going anywhere. Pretty sure there’s plenty of backlog of you deserving my time, Hugh.”
There’s no self-deprecation in Paul’s voice, just a statement of fact.
”Well…”
”Mmhmm,” Paul murmurs, “no arguing with that.”
”Mmphh.”
Hugh scoots closer, only half on the cushions. The bulge of Paul’s groin fits into the curve of his neck, and he dips his chin to give it a quick kiss. In other contexts, he’d probably be greeted with an interested twitch, but right now all it does is earn a quiet huff.
”Careful. Probably sweaty.”
He shrugs one shoulder in response and goes back to nuzzling Paul’s skin. Hugh breathes him in, the slight muskiness the opposite of a deterrent as he snuffles into his belly. There’s give to the flesh when his nose presses into it, a softness that he loves for reasons that have a lot to do with them growing older together. Paul’s sometimes a bit self-conscious about the signs of aging no matter how often Hugh begs to differ, but it doesn’t seem to be the case tonight.
They stay like that a while longer, until Paul’s stomach grumbles.
”Hungry?”
”A bit. What do you want to do about dinner?”
Exhaling slowly, he sits back but doesn’t let go entirely.
”What I’d really like is a bath.”
Paul lets the shirt hem fall from under his chin, nodding.
”Get started and I’ll grab food?”
Instead of waiting for an answer - not that Hugh plans to object, he slides his hands down Hugh’s biceps and forearms, past his wrists until their palms meet. Taking a step back, he tugs Hugh to his feet and steals another, more thorough kiss before letting go and heading for the replicator.
The bathroom tiles are cool beneath his feet, and Hugh pauses long enough to toss the rest of his clothes onto the laundry pile before ordering the programmable matter tub into existence. (And really, it’s more than just convenient, since neither of them have to worry about spraining an ankle during a late night trip to the facilities.) Steam fills the air, settling gently onto his skin. Over the noise of the faucet, he can just make out the clink of dishes and silverware being loaded onto a tray
Bath. Dinner. Paul.
Smiling to himself, Hugh sits on the edge of the sunken tub, water rushing around his ankles, and waits for Paul to join him.
Notes:
Sorry for being MIA! I’m dealing with a ton of anxiety and existential dread, not to mention rage, at the travesty about to happen on Inauguration Day. It’s taking a disproportionate amount of effort to be ‘normal’ and functional for work, and sapping my creative energy.
Chapter 794: Sap
Summary:
Remembering helps him cling to sanity, but sometimes, so does forgetting. Being lost in the network is turning into a nightmare.
Notes:
Set between the end of Season One and before “Saints of Imperfection”.
Angst.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As Hugh smears more sticky sap on himself, he tries hard not to think about how much he wants a hot shower. Or a cold one. Even a damp towel seems like an impossible luxury when his hair and beard are hopelessly tangled and the memory of being clean feels so far out of reach.
While the viscous substance he works into the filthy fabric of his uniform and every bit of exposed skin is nothing like their citrus shower gel, the familiar motions blur the carefully drawn lines in his mind. What follows are the inevitable memories of someone else’s warm, broad palms smoothing slippery suds over his body, of strong fingers washing his hair and scratching gently over his scalp while keeping shampoo out of his eyes. He’s helpless to not remember a solid body pressed against his and a chin resting on his shoulder, of idle conversation in a steamy cubicle under a rainfall and two toothbrushes in the cup on the bathroom counter.
Blue eyes, full of intelligence and worry, care and gentle affection.
Blond hair slicked back, heat-flushed cheeks and water droplets clinging to a strong nose.
Familiar, beloved arms holding him close, keeping him safe.
A chittering sound tears him from his thoughts, heart racing as he freezes, head turning to follow the noise. One of the bright clouds of spores is nearby, an amorphous mass that swirls and eddies despite the lack of wind. He grabs a handful of loose bark, heedless of splinters on hands already scraped raw, cupping more precious sap in his palm and fleeing further into the eerie forest.
The spores follow as he ducks and weaves between the glowing trees, trailing fragments of bark in his wake as a deterrent. He stumbles, left knee hitting the uneven ground with a crunch. There’s no time to assess the damage as he struggles back to his feet and keeps running. His chest aches, lungs straining with each breath, but he can’t stop no matter how exhausted he is.
And he is.
There’s no rest to be had here. He’s ever-vigilant for the approach of more burning spores trying to…to consume his flesh, gnawing at the edges of him. Their hiss and chatter send adrenaline spiking, survival instinct propelling him onwards when his body begs for respite.
At first, he’d reached out to the tiny particles in wonder. The spores floating in the cultivation bay had been mostly quiescent, dancing on air currents and shimmering as they settled on hair and skin. They were beautiful, ethereal things that his partner loved, and so Hugh couldn’t have imagined their acid-like bite.
He's so tired. There’s no time to sleep, just bone-deep weariness and the sluggish buildup of neurotransmitters at his synapses, clouding his mind. And if he does find temporary safety and closes his eyes, the visceral longing for home and for Paul is overwhelming.
Hugh can’t think about being dead, because knows it’s going to devastate Paul. It’s no inflated sense of self-importance, but the knowledge that he isn’t going to be there to care for his sweet, sensitive love who was slow to let others near but knew exactly how Hugh liked his coffee and slept best when they were snuggled close beneath the covers. He can still feel their last kiss, the ache of projecting calm and comfort against Paul’s denial.
Here, he doesn’t sleep and doesn’t eat. Hugh’s dead but alive, clinging to the bursts of hope when Discovery dips into the network for the blink of an eye. He rations his memories, small morsels to keep him from despair because it’s not safe to lose himself in their embrace. It’s a fine balance, remembering enough to know who he is and forgetting that it was ever normal lest he go mad in this hostile place. He has to stay alive, survive, because he promised Paul.
It’s never goodbye.
Nothing in here is ever truly gone.
Hugh keeps running.
Notes:
Comment replies are coming!
Chapter 795: Sturdy
Summary:
A quiet study of Paul and Hugh’s relationship.
Chapter Text
Deep down beyond the playfulness, past the innuendos and whispered requests, there’s something much simpler and far more profound. It’s the same thing that enables them to try out games and explore fantasies, secure in the knowledge that no suggestion will be scorned, no request ignored.
For the caretaker:
Being taken care of in a way that’s guileless and tender and complete, where all he’s asked to give is himself. Where his needs are met without question, and that giving is done without restraint, safe in Paul’s arms. Where he can let himself be a little greedy, indulge his desire to have and to cherish, to use his body to make love manifest in touch.
For the one always in control:
To not need to be in control. It’s not about submission to a greater force, but letting go of inhibitions and self-consciousness. It’s forgetting to worry or to deliberately plan his reactions, knowing what they share comes with no expectations other than honesty. It’s only about being in the moment, being with Hugh, so completely present that all of the other chatter in his mind goes silent.
For them:
Vulnerability is the opposite of weakness, softness always the most sturdy of companions. Unbroken and unbreakable. Solid and steady.
To be known is to be seen, is to be understood. Lust follows love, follows trust, follows honesty.
Chapter 796: (The Days) Soar
Summary:
He’s not physically dying, but it doesn’t feel like living either.
Notes:
Title lyric from “Without You”. Having experienced Anthony singing it from 10 feet away - holding that incredible note at the end, long enough that my soul *ached* - it made me think of Culmets. If you haven’t already, watch this video.
Angst in 500 words.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He smiles when Aida and Nella come to see Discovery off on her voyage to pick up a new Captain, contrived enough that his jaw aches. He smiles until he remembers that the loss isn’t his alone, until Aida kisses his forehead and brushes her hand over his hair. There’s no judgment in her eyes, no comment on how terrible he knows he looks. Nella clings to him, hugs him a little too tightly. He’s not brave enough to tell them that he’s planning to stay on Vulcan, and Pike’s mission lets him stay a coward a little while longer.
Discovery sees that Lieutenant Commander Stamets moves efficiently, little wasted motion, his perpetual fidgeting slowed. His sharp criticisms are blunted, his focus still absolute, the frown lines at his brow deeper. He’s dutiful, not begrudging time spent mentoring the newly-commissioned Ensign Tilly, and he hasn’t raised his voice in months.
Paul walks with a weight around his ankles, dragging down his wrists and chin. If he doesn’t concentrate, the gray fog that followed him everywhere starts to close in, softening the edges of reality into something less substantial. He lets himself drift there even as he speaks and breathes and moves, a veneer of numb detachment over a catastrophic invisible wound.
He eats and sleeps and keeps his body functional, if only because he’s not there to chide him for neglecting himself.
He avoids conversation, as it inevitably leads to condolence.
He ignores Tracy’s gentle inquiries once he completes the mandated grief counseling, even though he knows she could look up his file.
He doesn’t change the sheets, clinging to the long-faded remnants of Hugh’s scent on his pillow.
He shies away from touch, hiding in his private lab or the cultivation bay.
He wakes with his hand stretched across the cold, empty bed, reaching for a presence that will never be there again.
Things continue around him, promotions and birthdays and scientific discoveries that he’s lost interest in seeing through. Tilly does her best, bringing him food and refusing to let him close himself away from her. She chips away at the wall of ice he’s erected between himself and his feelings, awkward and relentlessly gentle. And for her sake, he continues.
In the shadow of night cycle, on a hillock in the cultivation bay, Tilly says Hugh’s name and he lets himself feel. The tiny crack in the dam bursts and he’s too tired to cry, unable to give voice to his grief. After she leaves, he clutches at the augments, their smooth edges giving no purchase for his clumsy fingers. Hugh made them too well, the exterior casings so carefully crafted to sit flush against his body with no room for prying fingernails. They’re constant reminder, a wan comfort, the work of Hugh’s loving hands now a part of his body.
Paul is a whole, complete person. Has always been, really, self-defined and driven. But when two planets orbit around the same star, stable and fixed, the loss of one affects the other. Without Hugh, he’s forever off-balance, wobbling and unsure.
The universe moves on around him, and Paul can’t.
Notes:
Lyrics:
“Without you
The ground thaws
The rain falls
The grass grows
Without you
The seeds root
The flowers bloom
The children play
The stars gleam
The poets dream
The eagles fly
Without you
The earth turns
The sun burns
But I die
Without youWithout you
The breeze warms
The girl smiles
The cloud moves
Without you
The tides change
The boys run
The oceans crash
The crowds roar
The days soar
The babies cry
Without you
The moon glows
The river flows
But I die
Without youThe world revives—
Colors renew—
But I know blue, only blue, lonely blue, within me blue
Without youWithout you
The hand gropes
The ear hears
The pulse beatsWithout you
The eyes gaze
The legs walk
The lungs breathe
The mind churns
The heart yearns
The tears dry
Without you
Life goes on
But I’m gone
Cause I die
Without you
Without you
Without you”
Chapter 797: Sí
Notes:
In a deleted scene from Season Two, after Paul jumps agains for the first time, Tilly describes grief as “the flip side of love”.
More angst, because my country is spiraling, and no matter how much money I donate and time spent in activism, it's all falling on gleefully deaf ears.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The window is open and the sun is shining, the air full of the sounds of life, and he can’t summon up the wherewithal to consider the irony.
He’s not pretending to be asleep, per se; more, engaging with the world takes too much effort, movement laughably impossible. Paul stares at the inside of his eyelids, treacherous lungs continuing to fill and a ragged heart still beating. Hugh’s pillow is damp beneath his cheek, tears he’s too exhausted to cry passively trailing salt down his cheek, iceberg-slow.
It’s the same bed they’ve shared every time Hugh brought Paul home with him, always far too small for two grown men to fit comfortably within its confines. He and Hugh had laughed over it when Aida offered to get a bigger bed with an unsubtle wink, Paul’s cheeks heating with embarrassment. They’d learned how to make it work over the years, whose elbows went where and how to curl around each other so the person not squished against the wall had at least half of his body still on the mattress.
Now, it’s far too big and empty with just him curled on his side beneath the covers.
He's not alone, no matter how much it feels like it inside. Aida's hand is warm on his shoulder, rubbing slow circles. It’s likely she knows he’s awake - at 102, Aida is still sharper than most fresh Academy graduates - even if he hasn’t moved or said anything. Paul isn't sure how long she's been sitting there in undemanding silence, present but not trying to intrude. The mug of herbal tea she'd brought for him has probably gone cold on the nightstand by now, his nose too swollen and raw to smell whatever mix of spices T'Vala probably brewed.
T'Vala.
Tracy.
Two women who are equally devastated, the utter blankness on T'Vala's face a testament to the emotions she must be keeping locked away and Tracy's perpetually red-rimmed eyes a silent witness to everything. Two of Hugh's best friends, who knew him for almost a decade before he sat down beside Paul in that cafe on Alpha Centauri, and here Hugh's grandmother is comforting him because he's not strong enough to do this alone. Never mind the rest of Hugh's family, his brothers and parents and everyone else likely still in the house present only as distant sounds of footsteps and lowered voices.
”Grief,” Aida murmurs, shifting on the chair, “grief isn’t emptiness. You would think…”
”Abuela?”
Paul almost starts at that. He hadn’t heard Nella come into the room, although he shouldn’t be surprised. She’s been a shadow to him ever since he returned with…(Hugh’s body, his mind reminds him). Since he returned home to a house full of more happy memories than his own childhood residence ever collected.
”The more you care for someone, the more it hurts to lose them. Grief is full of the love you have felt.”
Aida straightens the edge of the sheet, tucking it closer around his shoulders despite the warm day.
”Tío Paul…”
A sigh, full of a grandmother’s care.
”Sí, Nellita.”
A rustle of fabric and the mattress shifts a little, as if Nella’s sitting on the floor beside the bed.
”He loves him so much,” her voice is tiny, strained. “It’s not fair.”
Part of him is ashamed to be seen like this, even if he knows it’s Aida’s way of speaking to him too.
”No. It’s not. But-“ Aida’s hand pauses, squeezing his upper arm gently, “we also remember all of the things we miss, because we were lucky enough to have made those memories together.”
Notes:
Fluff next, right?
Chapter Text
People see what's on the surface and make assumptions: Paul, pale and cold and distant like the dawn; Hugh, vibrant and open and the rich depth of midnight. They're partially right, but they're also very wrong.
Hugh is sunshine and morning runs, warm smiles, asking too little for himself and ever exactly who others need him to be. His heart is easily bruised, and Paul's greatest treasure, worth more than the life of the universe itself.
Paul is late nights and the glimmer of the stars in his eyes, moonlight on his skin, hiding a gentleness at his core that yearns for belonging. His cares go beyond, illuminating the unfathomable unknowns, his brilliant mind surpassed only by his capacity to love.
Chapter 799: Stamets
Summary:
So much meaning in just one word, especially when it's a name.
Notes:
I touched on Paul and Hugh's names for each other way back in Chapter 41 ("Speak (My Name)", but never expanded it to others.
I waffled between "Stamets" and "Sobriquet" as the title, but I want to save the second one for a different concept since this one doesn't entirely revolve around nicknames.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Names have meaning, intended or not (just ask Gray, who chose his own name, or Tilly preferring not to ever be called 'Sylvia'). It's about identity and self, but also very much about the relationships one has with others.
Just ask Paul.
Unlike many of his peers, he never earned a nickname - though certainly some mean-spirited comments about his appearance and obsession with science along the way - and didn't mind its absence. As with so much else, that changes when he meets Hugh. Pet names didn't come up often in his past relationships, and inevitably made him feel awkward, infantilized, or interchangeable. So, when Hugh murmurs "I missed you, sweetheart" into his ear and something in his chest flutters like a bird on fragile wings, it's a complete surprise. In hindsight, it really shouldn't have been, given how different everything with Hugh is.
He's perfectly fine hearing just his last name from other people. After all, it's the name attached to scientific breakthroughs (Stamets-Straal doesn't quite roll off the tongue, but that doesn't matter), citations of his work and literature references to him alike. Granted, he does mind when someone not knowing his name means they're dismissive of his work, even if he's had years to get used to facing skepticism about his apparently niche interests.
It's Dr. Stamets from Saru more often these days, and he likes the acknowledgement that behind his pips, he's a researcher first. Climbing the ranks in Starfleet was never an aspiration, evidenced by his lack of concern at being a Lieutenant well into his forties when Hugh was two years younger and on an upwards trajectory. He'd been so certain that Hugh would be promoted to Commander after his calm leadership in the horrific situation faced on Starbase 12 during the war, once there was time for less pressing things like performance reviews.
Lorca, of course, managed to make it into an insult. Besides his instinctual dislike of the man before his Terran origin was revealed, it rankled most as a rude encroachment on how Hugh's voice caressed the syllables of his rank when he was feeling playful. He doesn't spare much thought for Lorca at all these days, which in its own way is satisfying revenge.
Paul belongs to family. Tracy, like Hugh, uses his first name when she's trying to make a point. "You two lovesick fools" probably didn't seem like an endearment to others, but it was a firm endorsement of their relationship. And hearing his name from Aida was nothing on the first time she called him mijo or casually referred to him and Hugh as "my grandsons", making him part of her family as easily as breathing.
Michael calls him Paul sometimes, and he's still not entirely sure how he feels about it. From Michael, the person who fearlessly stepped into the mycelial network with him to rescue Tilly and helped bring Hugh home, it's solidarity and understanding. From Captain Burnham, it's a reminder of an argument in Engineering, of desperate heart-wrenching fear and panic and being held forcibly immobile in the face of betrayal, of hands gripping his jaw, too tightly and all wrong because only Hugh touches him that way. They've come to terms with it, but it lingers like a missing deck panel that everyone has learned to avoid and only notices when they forget to step over it and stumble.
He still Stamets and Commander to Tilly when they're on duty, but he's Paul to her when it matters most. Paul's fondly annoyed at being lumped into 'old people' when Adira rolls their eyes, and treasures the mostly-asleep Dad they muttered when he went to cover them with a blanket after Movie Night. They've never called him that while fully conscious and he doesn't expect it at all, even if Reno blithely refers to Adira and Tilly as "your kids" and calls him Space Dad.
Still.
It's not that he didn't have friends before, but Discovery is both home and a chosen family he hadn't expected to acquire. The future is a new beginning for so many things, who he is taking on nuance and depth where before his heart only ever belonged to Hugh.
The name is unimportant when he's the whisper on his husband's lips when they kiss goodnight. He's the sigh when Dr. Culber comes home and sheds his burdens with his uniform, when Hugh's shoulders drop as he relaxes into Paul's embrace. He's the unrestrained glee reflected in Tilly's eyes when they finally wrangle a new scientific challenge, the conspiratorial glance they share when Adira points out yet another habit that's centuries out of date and weird.
He's Hugh's, and Tilly's, and Adira's, Tracy and Aida and Nella's (and even Reno's, though he'd never admit it). He's the human with tardigrade DNA in his genome, able to pilot a starship with his mind. He's the man who let the greatest scientific treasure trove in the universe be released into infinity, because some things aren't really meant for mortal beings who can all too easily play the role of deities unearned. He's the brokenhearted lover given an impossible second and third chance to heal and build and grow together.
He loves and is loved.
Notes:
On a very positive note, the bestie and I bought Gold passes to Star Trek Las Vegas this year.
Holy cow, not cheap when you tack on all the fees and taxes plus hotel and flights, and fingers very crossed that we get Anthony and Wilson there. I've been trying to simultaneously plan three cosplays (while preparing outfits for my Desi friend's wedding in a couple of months):1) Emperor Georgiou, complete with cloak and crown, which is really just an excuse to pore over the details and try to source a suitable alternative when the actual trim is made in Europe for priestly vestments, plus teach myself foam armor crafting;
2) Strange New Worlds Uhura, involving a lot of research into measurements and fabrics courtesy of all of the costume photos people have taken from exhibits; and
3) Nhan in her 23rd century uniform, since sewing dresses and skirts is so much easier than pants.
Admittedly using the planning to escape when I get overwhelmed with all of the incomprehensibly awful dismantling of democracy. But - if anyone else is going to STLV, we might see you there :)
Chapter 800 is next. I have a few options I could finish for it, including Hugh talking to Aida's hologram again, Culmets wedding fic, Tilly bringing Jax to Game Night where *everyone* is trying to make sure he deserves her, or delightully playful and intimate sexytime. Opinions?
Chapter 800: Self-care
Summary:
Hugh has another conversation with Aida.
Notes:
Takes place immediately post-Season Five, set before Chapter 734 (“Swan Song”).
Sincerest apologies for being MIA. Practicing self-care has had me hyperfocusing on STLV cosplays and my friend's wedding in an attempt to counteract all of *gestures vaguely at the world* going on. I work for a major research university and it’s a very, very scary time. And on top of everything else, my dad was hospitalized on Monday with a stroke.
My anxiety brain insisted I can't post a milestone chapter without it being a substantial and masterfully crafted story. So...instead of the more lighthearted Jax-meets-the-family (which felt off kilter right now), I needed to write some deep comfort.
3,000 words later, I hope it's as satisfying to read as it was to write.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Paul and Adira are having another late night in the lab, but Hugh's not holding it against them. Tilly's busy with lesson plans and teaching, and if his husband and their quasi-child are in the middle of a scientific breakthrough that has nothing to do with preventing destruction on a galactic scale, well, he isn't going to stand in the way of something that makes them happy. He does wonder what might happen when Paul isn't able to latch onto something new, but for now he's completely supportive of Paul diving back into evolving the spore drive as his own personal project. Given Admiral Vance's tacit approval of him continuing without full resources - and the fact that it was developed completely with 23rd century technology, regardless of Adira's improvements - he's more than confident that Paul will eventually have another breakthrough.
("I know I can figure out a way to make it work."
Part of Paul’s comment is muffled by the pillow, and it takes Hugh a moment to parse it.
"Look at it this way," he rearranges the covers over them, "the answer to the original problem was you. And since you're one of a kind..."
Paul sighs, pensive rather than frustrated.
"Pandering to my ego?"
It's said with more than a hint of self-deprecation, and Hugh shakes his head, running the backs of his fingers down Paul’s side.
"Not pandering if it’s well-earned, babe."
The pillowcase rustles as Paul turns his head to look at him, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips.
"What would I do without you?"
There's a heavier direction he could take it, but they've had more than enough angst to last several lifetimes. Instead, Hugh studies the shadow Paul’s nose casts on his cheek, the way his unstyled hair is a staticky mess, and smiles.
"I love you too.")
All of it amounts to Hugh climbing into bed at 2300, fairly confident that Paul will actually be home by midnight or if not, as soon as Adira starts falling asleep standing up. This isn't the Klingon War, he knows more or less exactly what they're up to in a general sense, and he’s gotten plenty of Paul’s undivided attention lately.
Also, it’s not like everyone else isn’t doing their version of the same thing.
More to the point, they’re all taking a few weeks of rest while Discovery undergoes repairs following their last encounter with the Breen. Instead of scattering to various planets like they did after the 10-C, this time the majority of the crew is staying aboard to see things through and pursue the passion projects sidelined by the red directive. As CMO, he'd done his best to underscore the importance of actual rest and relaxation happening, and thus far has been pleased to see the uptick in holodeck usage (while slightly less cheerful about the corresponding number of minor injuries from the gym and various sports that have come limping into the Medbay with embarrassed looks).
With the lights off, the reflected gleam of Fed HQ outside the viewport bathes everything in soft shadows. Unrushed, he showers and brushes his teeth, although he'll happily do so again with Paul later. He settles under the covers with little fuss, considering and ultimately discarding the idea of reading reports or journal articles.
Hugh closes his eyes, slowing his breathing and reaching for the meditative calm T'Vala had spent patient hours training him to find. It does work, but it also highlights the fact that his own mind has been moving at near sublight speed for weeks as they followed the clue trail, trying to understand his own feelings after being inhabited by Jinaal and searching for deeper meaning. The moment he's not concentrating on emptying his thoughts, they sneak back in again to set up shop. With the cathartic moment of helping Book latch onto the portal dimming, it’s clear that he's still left with a few loose ends to tie up.
He sighs, fluffs his pillow with a touch more vigor than necessarily called for, and rolls onto his side, kicking the covers down. Less than a minute later, he hauls them back up again. The pajama pants are twisting at the ankles, so he straightens them out, redoes the drawstring, and lays back down with a huff. Irritability at something so minor is a definite sign that he needs some breathing room.
Physician, heal thyself.
If this is what Paul's brain feels like all of the time, I'd be exhausted.
Paul's been understanding of his occasional tendency to lose focus, but Hugh would really like to sort through everything sooner than later. In the wake of it all, his husband has been doing most of the talking while Hugh listens. He's cognizant of the fact that they both know it, so there's nothing to resent as the man he loves thinks aloud and ruminates over how the Progenitors' tech might have been used. Hugh's been half-expecting more resentment and frustration to surface, but for the most part, Paul's handling it with remarkable equanimity and he's not about to go poking at it further.
Still. If he’s not going to sleep, he might as well do something constructive. Tracy's on gamma shift and could probably spare a few minutes, but she's already spent so much time listening to him. What he really wishes-
Of course.
Decision made, he sits up again, leaning back on the headboard.
”Zora, initialize the grief alleviation program.”
Of course, Doctor Culber. Would you like the same parameters as before?
“Yes, please.”
Should the program retain knowledge of your prior conversation?
He pauses.
”I hadn’t thought of that…let’s go with yes.”
The program is ready.
“Thanks, Zora. Initialize.”
Aida appears at the foot of the bed. This time, her hair is in a single braid and a well-worn plaid robe that had belonged to Hugh’s grandfather is belted around her waist. She smiles at him, tipping her head to the side.
”It’s so good to see you, mijito. Is everything well?”
Something inside that he hadn’t even noticed before untwists at the sound of her voice that isn’t from a recording he’s replayed a dozen times.
“Yes? Mostly, I think. I’ve missed you.”
"Where is your novio?" Aida asks, glancing around the room before taking a step closer and lifting the edge of the quilt to peer underneath with an exaggerated look of inquiry.
Hugh laughs, scandalized and delighted all at once, swatting the covers back down.
“Abuela!”
Aida winks at him before smoothing the rumpled fabric and sitting, the mattress dipping slightly.
“And,” he continues, “it’s mi marido now.”
Her eyebrows fly up, then she claps her hands and gathers him in for a hug.
“Finally! When?”
His cheeks ache from how hard he’s smiling. It’s the easiest thing in the world to slip into Spanish, switching back to his first language just like they did most often when Paul wasn’t present.
“It was a few months ago. You know I’ve wanted to since- well, for a while, but the moment never quite seemed right. Paul…I proposed with Abuelo’s ring, but we had new ones made.”
He reaches over to his nightstand, lifting the gold chain with its two passengers for her to see. She lets him set them in her hand, examining both. Aida nudges the familiar gold band first, one age-worn fingertip tracing a new dip on its inner side, then picks up the other one. He watches her turn it this way and that to catch the light. HQ’s luminescence gives the platinum a rich luster, glimmers off the yellow gold bezel surrounding a single diamond. She flips it to read the inscription, smiling all the while before handing them back.
”Beautiful. The design?”
“Gold from Paul’s Academy ring, and the diamonds from the earrings he gave me.”
Aida hums thoughtfully.
”And from you?”
Someone else might make it sound like a criticism, but not his grandmother.
“Part of one of the buttons from pajamas Paul gave me on our first anniversary. And…a little bit of duranium. From-“ he looks down at his lap, tracing a bit of loose stitching on the quilt. “He was injured, and I thought I was going to lose him. Right when we left.”
She takes his wandering hand in her own, squeezing gently.
“Injured?”
“Duranium shrapnel to the chest. It- I had to restart his heart twice.”
“Oh, mi corazón,” Aida murmurs, cradling his cheek in age-worn fingers, “it hasn’t been easy.”
Hugh inhales shakily, wrapping the compassion in her voice around him.
”Loving Paul is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. And sometimes it’s the hardest, but I’ll always choose him. And…I’m sorry I didn’t have time to tell you.”
His grandmother flicks her fingers, waving off the apology without hesitation.
”Your Captain Pike is a good man. I knew. And, what’s most important, is that you two found each other again.”
He thinks of their last conversation, of her certainty that had been one of the things that helped make the decision to stay.
”You were right.”
Aida ducks to meet his downcast eyes, gently lifting his chin.
”I was just reminding you of something you already knew. And,” she gazes around their quarters again, “I’m glad to see that you’re home. Together.”
He nods, swallowing past the lump in his throat and blinking a few times. She waits, patient as ever, while he turns his hand over beneath hers. The rings still cradled in his other palm fall together with a tiny clink.
”I wish you could have been there,” he admits, “you and Nella and Mama and Dad and everyone.”
“You promised yourselves to each other years ago, I know. But marriage…” her smile grows smaller but not dimmer, “that’s something special.”
”Si, Abuela.”
Aida scoots a little closer.
”I hope you’ll tell me everything that’s happened, when you’re ready. Tonight though, I think something about what we discussed before is on your mind?”
The program perfectly recreates her understanding tone, the care and love in her eyes. Hugh lets himself fall into it, lets himself pretend that this isn’t just a hologram of his grandmother created from archived data and his own memories.
(“It’s designed to work best if you’re not treating it like a program,” Tracy adds, “but if you allow yourself believe it’s real.”)
“On Trill. Jinaal’s consciousness, his being, was a part of me. I wanted to let him…borrow my body. I was there, but I wasn’t, just seeing out of my own eyes while my body moved.”
”You weren’t in control.”
”I gave him permission. He didn't hurt me.”
“Two things can both be true,” she murmurs, “one doesn’t negate the other. Did you speak to him at all?”
He shakes his head, worrying the edge of the quilt between his fingers.
”Not like that. More like feelings? Like when you’re dreaming and just know things, even though you can’t explain how or why.”
Aida nods, not asking for further explanation.
”And after?”
”When he left- when Guardian Xi transferred him back to the symbiont, for a moment it felt like I could see for the first time. Something,” he shakes his head, trying to find the words, “beyond me. Bigger, somehow, on the edge of something more. But if I tried to think about it, I couldn’t make sense of it. I wanted to, but I also didn’t. Just holding onto the feeling felt good.”
Giving him a half-smile, Aida pats his shoulder and stands.
”Abuela?”
”Just going to get us some tea, mijito.”
She moves to the replicator, and Hugh very deliberately doesn’t consider how the program must be combing through years of references to know precisely what to make. When she returns, the mug she presses into his hands is fragrant with soft-edged herbal scent. He blows some of the steam away, sipping curiously.
”Lavender, and chamomile. Cinnamon?”
Aida settles back on the edge of the bed and sips from her own mug, inhaling appreciatively.
”Yes. And spearmint.”
The glaze on the heavy ceramic is worn at the handle, a perfect replica of the ones in Aida's kitchen that had been used for decades. He runs his thumbnail over a familiar chip at the base, letting the warmth soak into his skin. She waits, patiently as ever, until half the tea is gone before rising again. His grandmother tucks the sheets in on Paul's side of the bed, slippers scuffing the deck slightly as she walks past the bathroom door and pauses with a quiet tssk to straighten the towel thrown haphazardly over the bar. Aida completes the circuit, unhurried, giving the holos playing in their frame an approving nod and coming back to sit on the edge of the bed.
"So?"
Hugh sets his mostly-empty mug onto the nightstand with a click.
“I started to wonder if what I was feeling was a genuine reaction, since it wasn’t any sort of physiochemical process, no alterations to neurotransmitter levels or anything.”
”So you did take my advice.”
It’s said with a gentle tease, and Hugh chuckles.
”I do listen to you. I- Paul helped me run the scan.”
”And what did he think?”
”That everything was fine. And I did try to tell him…he was so patient about it when I kept telling him I wasn’t ready. He didn't push. But I don’t know that he understood?”
Setting her own mug aside, Aida straightens the covers where they’ve fallen over his lap. There’s such familiarity to the gesture that his eyes sting a bit, and he covers it by clearing his throat.
”No?”
”He told me to enjoy it.”
He’s not expecting his grandmother to smile at that, but she does.
”Would you rather he worried?”
Hugh scrubs a palm over his face, sighing.
”Maybe? Book said that I don’t have to share everything with him- with Paul - but we’ve always gotten through things together. Everything.”
”Perhaps,” she says slowly, “he knew he couldn’t help you the way you wanted?”
“I don’t know.”
Humming thoughtfully, Aida seems to be considering whatever expression is on his face.
”What is the question you really want to ask? Underneath everything.”
“Was all of that just Jinaal leaving that memory behind for me? So that I would be in the right place at the right time, with the correct information to help? I told Book, when we were in the shuttle, that I was okay with the mystery. And I am, but…”
“You’re a man of science, Hugh. It was never in your nature to not ask questions.”
He shrugs one shoulder, neither agreeing or denying.
"It reminded me of after I came back from the network. How it felt...not quite right. Me, but not me, and everyone else so focused on everything we'd found out."
"And Paul?"
"He asked, but I didn't really tell him."
Aida re-ties the belt on her robe.
"Maybe, mijito, he was giving you the space to be ready to talk about it."
When Paul comes home - much later than intended - he’s already shrugging off his jacket. Their quarters are quiet, which is why he nearly jumps out of his skin when he turns around from lining his boots up next to the door to find Aida sitting on the edge of the bed, unmoving.
What the-
He rubs his eyes, but the scene doesn’t change. Heart in his throat, he takes a shallow breath, enough to speak.
“What…”
Zora's interface pops up to hover in front of him. It's taken time, but he's well past being paranoid about her 'listening in'.
Hello, Commander Stamets. Doctor Culber was running a grief alleviation program. He fell asleep without pausing or ending it, and I wasn’t sure whether I ought to do so.
Oh.
Of course.
“Ahh. That...explains it.”
Would you like to interact as well? With your permission, I could couple it to your active brainwaves, otherwise it will retain characteristics within the parameters specified by Doctor Culber.
"I don’t- it’s Hugh’s program.”
Doctor Culber has authorized you to make alterations.
He hadn't thought about it, but talking to Hugh's grandmother - if he really, truly could - would be welcome.
“Can you…” he frowns thoughtfully, “include all of my correspondence and recorded conversations with her but not connect it to me?"
Of course. It should be ready now.
"Go ahead."
Between one blink and the next, Aida turns her head with a smile and rises with one last fond look at Hugh. She opens her arms and he finds himself moving towards her before his mind catches up. Her hug is firm, just as he remembers it from nearly two decades ago before arthritis and age took their toll. He catches hints of spices and the subtle freesia of her favorite soap from the farmer's market in San Juan, everything that signifies safe and family in his memories.
”Ai- Abuela.”
”Hello, Paul,” she leans back enough to look at him properly, “how are you?”
"Fine?"
Aida laughs quietly, letting go and reaching down to lift his left hand and tap the ring he's still getting used to wearing.
"Married, as Hugh tells me."
He's loved Hugh every day for most of the last two decades, but that one word fills him with warmth and happiness.
"Married," he replies, smiling so widely he's sure he looks ridiculous and not caring one bit.
Hugh stirs beneath the covers, turning to press his face into Paul's pillow. There's no sign of the ever-present frown that's lingered for weeks, his breathing deep and even.
“I should let you get ready for bed,” Aida nods his direction, “he’s only been sleeping for a little while. We can talk more later.”
Paul looks over at the holoframe, featuring an image of him with Hugh and a much younger Nella. It cycles to another one, of the family at Christmas, and he swallows.
“I wish you were really here,” he murmurs.
She squeezes his hand gently, then rests her palm just over his heart.
”I’ll be here, whenever you need me.”
Paul blinks rapidly against the moisture blurring his vision. He nods, throat tightening as she leans down to kiss Hugh’s forehead, smoothing a palm over his hair. She straightens, kissing Paul's cheek too, and smiles.
”Zora, end program.”
Notes:
The diamond earrings from Paul’s family that he gave to Hugh are first mentioned in Chapter 54 (“Sparkle”), and his Academy ring is introduced waaaaaay back in Chapter 8 (“Speculation, Part One”). Both make multiple appearances throughout this work as well as in “When Sorrow Turns to Joy”.
Some of Paul and Hugh's interaction around the whole Jinaal concern takes place in Chapter 713 ("Sammen").
I'd originally intended the conversation about Jinaal's memory to be one Hugh had with Paul, but it really fit here to have it be with Aida (hologram or no, she's still the one he went to to ask for help). I may expand it more later on.
Side note - after all this time I finally looked up the meaning of Hugh as a name. It’s Germanic in origin and refers to the heart / mind / spirit, which is so very fitting. Not sure if the writers intended it when they chose his name, or if it’s just a happy coincidence.
Chapter 801: Starfruit
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
At 0937, T'Vala's sensitive ears pick up the sound of someone coming down the stairs. Based on the pitter-patter of light footsteps on the wooden treads, she's unsurprised to see Hugh's niece round the corner and enter the kitchen fifteen seconds later.
"Good morning, Antonella."
"Morning," Nella stops in the doorway, peering around, "is Tío Paul here?"
T'Vala takes another sip of her tea and stands, setting the delicate china cup on the counter.
"It would appear not," she replies. "Is it a matter of great import?"
Nella frowns.
"Oh. No..."
Faced with the child's clear disappointment, T'Vala briefly considers the ethical quandary before her: Paul and Hugh are currently occupying the swing on the back deck, and a surreptitious glance suggests they're engaged in nothing more intimate than the dopamine-stimulating practice of 'snuggling'. And while their affection and attachment to Hugh's niece is quite profound, she's also most aware that every minute together is, for them, precious.
It would be highly unlikely for her not to see them later, therefore there is no harm committed in protecting their time spent reaffirming their bond.
Perhaps a distraction would be advisable?
Decision made, she smoothly rounds the table and continues past Nella and into the living room, drawing her attention away from the patio door.
"If you are not otherwise occupied, would you care to accompany me to the farmers market?”
Nella tips her head to the side in a way that T’Vala suspects is in imitation of Paul’s unconscious mannerisms.
“Abuela Aida says I have to hold hands with a grownup at the market.”
T’Vala thinks it a wise precaution in the case of the impulsiveness of many species’ adolescents. She’s also learned enough from her time among humans that it would be tactful to withhold that opinion.
”Indeed.”
“But you’re Vulcan.”
It’s hardly the first time that she’s heard that particular phrase, but there’s no implied censure, simply a statement of fact.
“I am.”
“Tío Hugh said Vulcans don’t like people touching their hands, and I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“Your respect is laudable, and I have no wish to create cause for reproach. Perhaps,” T’Vala pauses to collect some of the old-fashioned net bags Aida uses for fresh produce, “a compromise would suffice?”
Nella frowns.
"Maybe?"
She pauses to retrieve her PADD from the coffee table, leaving it propped up beside the couch with a note as to their whereabouts. Coincidentally, the task also gives her a few moments to consider what might be an engaging reason.
"I understand it is the optimal season for the production of starfruit, and I have never consumed one grown on Earth."
The skeptical expression turns to one of surprise.
"Never?"
"It is most unfortunate. However, were you to assist me in locating one, it is logical that I follow your directions as I am less familiar with the market.”
Moving to the entryway, she locates her shoes while Nella puts on her own.
“And,” T’Vala continues, “it is therefore also logical for me to walk behind you, if you will promise to stay where I may easily see you.”
"Really?"
"Yes. Do we 'have a deal'?"
Nella bounces on the balls of her feet, glances down the hall towards Aida's study, and smiles.
"Deal."
Notes:
My dad passed peacefully this last Monday, and I’ve been wading through my shock since then. I’m okay in the sense that I was able to say goodbye and have always been very functional in moments of crisis, but I still am not ready to deal with it. Usually I’d turn to my stories to help process, but this is too real - and I’m afraid if I write grief, it will hurt too much.
So…likely a spate of fluff and comfort when I can motivate my brain to operate.
Chapter 802: Suited
Summary:
A conversation between Christopher Pike and Tracy Pollard early in Season Two.
Notes:
More of Pike's perspective on Paul - contains some discussion of angst.
Chapter Text
Grief, common wisdom held, was hollow emptiness and loss.
Chris would already know it to be wrong from seeing his own face in the mirror at his lowest, but Paul Stamets lives it every day. He's still professional on duty, utterly competent and fiercely protective against criticism for his team that anyone else might level. Still reports on time, completes assignments and carries out his responsibilities.
The shadows beneath his eyes tell a different story, as does the sense of invisible but almost-painful weight hindering every physical movement. Stamets is full to the brim with things that Chris is very familiar with, and also a depth of anguish that is sorrowful testament to the strength of his feelings.
Obsessive devotion to research says the Captain's-eyes-only note on his personnel record.
Brilliant mind, focused ambition on research outcomes rather than career advancement says commentary from his major professor during his doctoral studies.
Complete genius says Ensign Tilly, amidst other nervous commentary during a shared turbolift ride.
Declined additional counseling support, fit to return to duty. Recommend encouragement to engage with usual activities says the confidential final report from mandated grief counseling.
Even without the context of Discovery's last mission, it's painfully obvious that Stamets has lost his passion for his life's work.
As a Captain, Chris knows better than most that not every crew member responds well to the direct approach, while some abhor artifice and others prefer confrontation. Stamets isn't fragile by any means - no one on this crew is - but he's also avoidant and skittish in a way that would be more at home on a wide-eyed cadet than a Lieutenant Commander well into his forties with a doctorate in hand. Chris has always focused on having the best minds and hands to recommend solutions he can't see, so he decides that a consultation with an expert of sorts is probably the best course of action.
Swish.
"Captain Pike!"
"At ease, Ensign," he tells the lone medical tech whose back has gone so ramrod straight that Chris swears he could hear vertebrae pop, "I'm just looking for Doctor Pollard."
"Ahh. In the office, sir."
Smiling, Pike waves the tech back to her work, and continues towards the hallway leading to the surgical suites.
"Thank you."
The indicator panel beside the door of the CMO's office is green, and his request for entrance is granted immediately.
"What can I do for you, Captain?"
Dr. Tracy Pollard is cut from the same cloth as all of the best medical officers Chris has ever met. She radiates unflappable calm and the firmness needed to deal with difficult patients, but also gentle reassurance and hints of a wicked sense of humor. The doctor was also, by all reports, the late Hugh Culber's best friend for more than two decades, giving Chris all the more reason to tread carefully.
"May I?"
He gestures at the chair in front of the desk and receives a nod in response, sitting as Dr. Pollard sets aside the PADD she was working on.
"By all means."
The office is tastefully decorated with items from a variety of cultures. He spots a Vulcan meditation statue on the shelf beside a Lanthanite mandala dedicated to the goddess of healing, a Catholic rosary, a small plaque bearing an engraved hand of Hamsa, and others he isn't familiar with. Dr. Culber's Starfleet Medical degree, he notices, has yet to be removed from the shelf behind the desk, merely moved to the side to allow Dr. Pollard's to join it.
"I have a...delicate matter I'd like to discuss, if I may."
Frowning, she leans forward.
"Of course."
"It's about Commander Stamets."
In the course of a few blinks, he watches her expression go from distant to worried to pained, finally settling into something neutral with deep exhaustion in her eyes.
"I see."
"With the utmost respect for the sensitive nature of the situation-"
Dr. Pollard waves off his words. He half-expected her to bristle at what could very well appear to be an interloper's opinion, but instead she looks off to the side. Chris follows her gaze and notices the holoframe perched on the corner of the desk. In one of the images cycling by, he recognizes Dr. Pollard and Dr. Culber alongside a host of other Fleet Med personnel. Another shows a small child leaning over a much younger and very drowsy looking Paul Stamets, holding a PADD up to his face with an impish smile on her face. Still more have Dr. Culber with an older woman, with a serene Vulcan woman in Medical white, and countless others with the deceased CMO and his partner.
Dr. Pollard hasn't redecorated, he realizes with a pang.
"All of the confidential material related to this ship's last mission aside," her voice is quiet but steady, "Commander Stamets is fit to be on duty."
"Far be it for me to demand anything from this crew, Doctor. I didn't come to criticize. I only meant-"
She holds up her hand again, shaking her head.
"We don't know each other well, Captain. But I know enough to see that you're asking with the best of intentions. As a physician, I'd tell you that there's nothing anyone can do."
Chris nods.
"And," she continues, "he's receiving support from Ensign Tilly and Lieutenant Harrington."
"Understood. If there's anything I can do..."
Dr. Pollard rests her elbow on the desk, and quirks her lips in an approximation of a smile that Chris knows all too well.
"I appreciate it. Boyce and M'Benga have spoken well of you, and I'm sure you know they don't give praise lightly. So, I'll just say that Paul Stamets has two great loves in his life: Hugh, and his science. One's gone and the other is part of it."
"Thank you, Doctor. And I'm sorry to have never met Dr. Culber."
She glances at the holoframe again as he rises and takes a step towards the door.
Swish.
"I've never seen two people more deeply in love or better suited for each other."
Chris suspects she's too deliberate a person to have not meant for him to hear that. He pauses with his hand on the doorframe, bowing his head.
"Thank you for your trust."
Chapter 803: Sentio
Summary:
Snapshots of Paul's emotions.
Notes:
Title roughly translates to "I feel" in Latin or "I felt" in Spanish.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Pride is watching Tilly and Adira at work, witnessing moments of scientific breakthroughs over cold raktajinos on the coffee table and Hugh giving them fondly exasperated looks every time they debate whether quantum particles are really the limiting factor.
Belonging is Game Night with Nilsson back from her stint on the Voyager-J, Tilly on loan from the Academy, and Keyla heckling Rhys over the kadis kot board.
Contentment is having dinner in the mess hall, Hugh's hand on his knee beneath the table while conversation goes on around them.
Satisfaction is Reno actually taking three seconds to come up with a suitable rejoinder in the middle of a verbal sparring match.
Happiness is dancing with Hugh, moving together effortlessly with Adira on their cello and Linus at the piano filling the lounge with mellow notes.
Joy is waking up to find Hugh watching him with his heart in his eyes, hair mussed and a gentle smile curving his lips from the other side of the pillow.
Notes:
Still here, still behind on replying to comments but I can't thank you all enough for your kind words and support right now.
Chapter 804: Shiraz
Summary:
Playtime, interrupted.
Chapter Text
Buzz-beep
SCREECH
Paul's mouth is firmly attached to the underside of Hugh's left pectoral muscle when the priority Medical alert overrides the sounds of lips meeting damp flesh and the resulting noises of delight.
"Culber to Medbay," Hugh acknowledges the summons, "on my way. Babe-"
He lingers just a moment before disengaging, admiring the rather spectacular love-bite he's spent the last five or so minutes painstakingly creating and isn't yet finished. After all, even that tender spot requires quite a bit more effort to paint the canvas as it were. While it's not the brilliant scarlet his own pale skin sports from the barest scrape of teeth, there's a definite purple undertone that rather reminds him of the Shiraz they enjoyed while in the tub last night.
"I know."
Sighing, Paul wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and sits up, freeing Hugh to stand and tug his undershirt back down over his chest. He wordlessly passes his partner his discarded uniform jacket, dusting off the seat of Hugh's pants solicitously.
"To be continued?"
Paul straightens Hugh's tricomm where it's somehow been knocked askew during their abbreviated rendezvous behind the secondary environmental controls in the cultivation bay.
"Yes, dear doctor."
Smiling, Hugh steals a quick kiss before the transporter whisks him off. Alone with his spores, Paul pouts at the console in front of him.
Back to work.
Chapter 805: Solid
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Their love is ordinary.
Sitting side by side on the couch in their pajamas, Paul cross-legged and Hugh’s feet resting on the coffee table, PADDs in hand and comfortable silence between them while Paul writes reports and Hugh reads medical journals.
Their love is routine.
Brushing their teeth in the morning, elbows bumping as Paul yawns himself awake and Hugh’s eyes smile at him in the mirror.
Their love is mundane.
Changing the bedding on Tuesday evenings, Hugh snapping the top sheet open and Paul catching the bottom edge to tuck beneath the mattress.
Their love is practical.
A thirty-four year old Paul sending Hugh’s laundry through the refresher, folding it, and peeking into drawers to figure out where to put things away while his new boyfriend is on shift at Fleet Medical.
Their love is commonplace.
Hugh’s right hand resting warm on Paul’s knee under the table while they carry on separate conversations over dinner in the mess hall.
Their love is habit.
Paul leaving his hair until last in the shower, so Hugh can wash it when he gets home from his morning run and joins him.
Their love is predictable.
Reaching across the sheets to find a hand waiting, the same way it’s been for seventeen years.
Their love is unchanging.
Hugh's graying beard and Paul's thickening waist are just as horribly attractive now as ever.
Their love is simple.
Communicating with a squeeze of the hand, a thumb tap to the wrist, an entire conversation with looks and quirked lips.
Their love saves the universe.
Their love is stronger than death, solid and unbreakable.
Their love is...everything.
Notes:
Still here and writing. I've got a huge backlog of unfinished works, things that are 75-95% complete but I can't quite get the last little bit to click in a way that says "this is Culmets" properly.
Chapter 806: Sleeveless
Chapter Text
As much as he loves getting naked with Hugh, watching his husband dress is a pleasure in itself.
Often it’s half-awake mornings, blinking slowly as Hugh sheds his pajamas and puts on his workout clothes. Paul admires the way those powerful muscles flex when Hugh lifts his arms over his head to slip on a sleeveless shirt, the sculpted planes of his back disappearing beneath loose fabric. (The fitted shorts he wears when sparring with Rhys really ought to be illegal, and Paul occasionally amuses himself by wondering how many scandalized looks they’ll earn on the way to the gym.)
Other days, Paul dresses quickly after their morning shower and sprawls over the bed on his stomach, chin propped on his hands and facing the wardrobe. Hugh puts on his socks first, tossing a wink over his shoulder and wiggling his bare backside in Paul’s direction. It’s a bit of a shame that the old Medical whites have been replaced with a longer jacket and loose uniform trousers, although no garment could conceal the breadth of Hugh’s shoulders and chest.
In the evening, after unhurried lovemaking, they’ll sometimes rouse themselves from the disheveled sheets and search for their pajamas on the floor. Sleeping naked is delightful, but with Adira’s penchant for arriving at all hours with ideas, it’s better to be safe. The fabric clings to Hugh’s damp skin, and Paul pauses in untangling his own pant legs to offer an appreciative smile. Hugh teasingly offers a second round, ducks the lazy attempt at swatting him with a pillow, then crowds onto Paul’s side of the bed to avoid the wet spot.
In the morning, Tilly and Adira show up before breakfast, and Paul briefly mourns the fact that Hugh has to change clothes in the bathroom. Tilly catches him leaning back in his chair to watch Hugh bending over to rummage in the dresser, gives a patently fake cough, and blithely ignores Adira’s confused look. Family is a welcome distraction, and Paul will just have to wait to help Hugh undress later.
Chapter 807: Sobremesa
Notes:
Title is a Spanish term referring to conversation had (over the table) after a meal is finished.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Dinner with the Culber clan is a noisy, cheerful affair. Paul’s gotten used to parsing the dozen separate conversations taking place amidst the clink of silverware on dishes interspersed with requests to pass the butter and offers to refill his glass, so it’s no longer as overwhelming as it was the first Christmas that Hugh brought him home. He certainly never would have predicted how popular he’d be with the younger members of the family either, but does his best to answer all of the questions posed and keep up with Nella’s latest interests.
The food is always delicious, and he’s impressed by the sheer volume of it emerging from Aida’s modestly-sized kitchen. Stasis domes are incongruous alongside the kettle parked on the stove, the modern synthesizer used as more of an extra surface to set dishes on while actual cooking takes place. Before Hugh, he’d never understood the phrase ‘food is love’, but it makes so much sense now.
Still, the best part comes after the dessert plates are piled in the sink and the tablecloth bundled up to be washed. The burnished wood of the antique dining table - decades of scratches and dents worn into its surface - serves as a backdrop to the tiny demitasses of espresso and three separate teapots ranged across it. The children are sent off to play in the living room while the dinner conversation continues at a lower volume and sugar and cream make the rounds. It’s unhurried, comfortable in a way that Paul never experienced while growing up (or since becoming an adult). And once he’s done stirring his cup, Hugh’s hand usually migrates down to Paul’s knee, warm and steady and sure.
The food feeds his body, but being part of Hugh’s family nourishes his soul.
Notes:
Still here! Just permanently exhausted by everything I’m dealing with personally and the constant attacks on higher education and science as a whole.
Chapter 808: (Not So) Spry
Summary:
A quiet evening, extraordinarily ordinary. Also, the joys of getting older.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh quietly sets down his PADD (23rd century habits like physical devices are still hard to break) when he realizes that he’s been staring at the same page without actually reading anything. In other circumstances, the lack of focus might be a sign of stress, preoccupation or worry overriding all else.
Not tonight.
He glances down at the man stretched out over the couch cushions, head pillowed on Hugh’s pajama-clad thigh. Hugh’s left hand is resting on Paul’s head, fingers absently tracing patterns through messy blond hair, fluffing it up and smoothing it back down without conscious effort. Paul’s own busy hands have gone still, the display hovering over his chest bearing several incomplete equations for a multivariate analysis. He has the half-lidded look of a contented cat, and Hugh resists the mischievous urge to ask if he wants his belly rubbed.
Humming in private amusement, he bends down to kiss Paul’s forehead. It’s a slightly awkward angle, at least until Paul squirms up enough for a proper kiss, hand warm on the back of Hugh’s neck. Paul’s lips are a little chapped - likely from biting them in concentration - but still soft and welcoming. These kisses aren’t going anywhere, affection for the sake of itself, and he loses track of time until the strain on his neck demands more attention than the way he’s nibbling Paul’s lower lip.
”Mmphh.”
”…mmm?”
Hugh sits up slowly, wincing at the twinge and giving Paul a rueful smile.
“Sorry. Getting old.”
Paul’s mouth is a delectable shade of pink, and he pouts as Hugh helps lower him back down until his head is resting in his lap again.
"Excuse me, I'm the one getting old. You're-" the mock outrage on Paul's face slips into something warmer.
Sweeter.
"You're so..." Paul trails off again, reaching up to cradle Hugh's cheek in his palm. His eyes are shining, clear blue with flecks of silver in their depths, the crows feet beside them crinkled as he slowly blinks up at Hugh. "You're perfect."
Hugh huffs an amused chuckle, turning to kiss Paul's wrist.
"That would be you, sweetheart. Perfect for me."
"Mmhmm."
He reaches for the edge of the throw covering Paul's legs, pausing.
"Want to go to bed?"
"Don't ask silly questions," Paul murmurs, rolling off the couch onto his feet. "Oww."
"What?"
A hint of a grimace, then he's arching back and twisting his torso until something pops. He groans quietly, stretching his arms back until something else creaks.
"Getting old."
Tossing the throw over the arm of the couch, Hugh stands and wraps his arms around Paul's waist, the arches of his bare feet coming to rest against Paul's heels. He sighs as Paul leans back into his embrace, swaying a little.
"Hi."
"Hi yourself."
He drops a kiss beneath Paul's right ear, following it with his nose pressed to the skin and inhaling deeply.
"We," he informs Paul's shoulder, "are getting old together."
Paul covers Hugh's arms with his own, squeezing his wrists. He hums thoughtfully, thumbs tracing circles on the backs of Hugh's hands.
"Bathroom. Bed. Cuddles."
"Kisses?"
"Obviously."
Hugh smiles.
Notes:
...I really want a Culmets relationship of my own.
Permanently exhausted seems to be the theme of the last few months. I'm trying so hard to write, but it's like my brain refuses to concentrate. Usually I sit back and 'watch' the Paul and Hugh in my mind and it's so easy to just describe what they're doing. Sigh.
Chapter 809: Selfless
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh Culber lives and breathes his doctor's oath to care, to first, do no harm. Healing is more than an occupation, it's part of who he is. His first response is ever understanding and gentle, backed by a strength with its foundation in his need to help others. There are more things to love about Hugh than Paul could ever articulate, but that unshakable core of compassion is so very important.
(It chills him to think of Hugh’s care seen as a tool, the tenderness and attention paid to someone who didn’t understand the power they wielded. Or worse, knowing perfectly well and taking advantage of it. There’s never been a taboo between them in discussing the past, and some of it makes his heart ache.)
He knows Hugh will try to give him anything he desires - in bed or out of it - and he hopes Hugh knows that Paul will never abuse that trust, will never deliberately ask for something solely for his own satisfaction that might make Hugh discomfited or upset. It’s not in Paul’s nature, and has no place in the love that warms him like a steady hearth flame, undimmed by time and change.
And sometimes he has the privilege of looking after Hugh, of his dear doctor letting go of placing others first. Times when he lets Paul hold him so much more than physically and he’s kept safe from the world. Paul cherishes those moments once any immediate concern passes, when he knows he can give back just a fraction of the care Hugh has for everyone else.
Notes:
Still here and still exhausted. I’ve been rereading everyone’s comments over the years, reminding myself of the amazing support and great conversations we’ve had.
Thank you.
Chapter 810: Sauce, Part One
Notes:
Contains sexytimes. Also, consent is so incredibly hot, I can’t even with these two.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They're lingering over dessert, Paul's napkin abandoned next to the remains of his panna cotta as he winds down a tangent about Adira's latest idea. Beside him, Hugh’s eating more slowly, elbow propped on the table. When he refocuses on the man beside him rather than the middle-distance populated with figures and calculations in his mind's eye, he finds Hugh wearing a familiar expression of fond indulgence.
"What?"
Hugh licks his spoon.
"You."
"Me?"
"Mmhmm."
The faint metallic scratch of Hugh swiping the last bit of caramel sauce inside the bowl is followed by him leaning sideways, head tipped to the side and chin tilted at a particular angle that makes Paul meet him halfway for a slightly sticky kiss. Since they're already there, he steals a second and third before sitting back in his chair. As he does, caramel drips off the spoon hovering in midair, bypassing both plate and napkin to land just beneath the button on Hugh's pajama pants.
They both blink.
”Oops?”
A half-smile tucks itself into the corner of Paul’s mouth as Hugh doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to wipe up the spill, staring at it in bemusement.
”Want me to clean it up?”
It’s a simple statement at face value. There’s not necessarily any intent behind it, just the same playful spark they’ve been flirting with since his extremely coordinated husband clumsily dropped his socks on the floor this morning and bent over to retrieve them just a hair too slowly to be believable.
In response, Hugh pushes back from the table and gestures grandly at his lap.
”Be my guest.”
Paul pushes back his own chair, lowering himself to the floor with only one hiss of annoyance when his ankle creaks. Kneeling is likely to put his feet to sleep, so he settles cross-legged with his shins pressed up to the chair legs and a hand on each of Hugh's knees. Adopting a mock-serious expression, he spreads Hugh's legs further apart, grabs his napkin off the table, and dabs at the offending spot before folding his hands in his own lap and looking up again.
"There."
There's a slight wobble to Hugh's lower lip that means he's suppressing a smile even as his eyes narrow slightly.
"Are you done?"
One of the things he loves most about the man he married is how being with him and loving him makes the simple act of speaking into foreplay if they both want. (Want is key, because it’s not not a serious offer if that’s what Hugh’s in the mood for, but also the freedom from guilt to indicate that he's changed his mind.)
"Should I be?"
"Well," Hugh slouches a little in the chair, blatantly moving his groin closer to Paul's face, "I was hoping you might do a more...thorough job."
Setting his hands back on Hugh's thighs, Paul kneads at the muscles while he makes a show of thinking.
"Are you sure it's a thorough job you're asking for, dear doctor?"
Hugh uses his fingers to muss Paul's carefully-styled hair.
"Mmm. What should I call it instead?"
In response, Paul leans in, just one layer of cotton separating him from something that gives an interested twitch as he pokes it with the tip of his tongue. Hugh's hand stays where it is, an undemanding weight that doesn't try to pull him closer or speed up the pace while he takes his time nosing at the bulge beneath the thin fabric and rubbing his cheek on it. They're both freshly showered, so there's only the slightest hint of musk amidst traces of citrus shower gel and the faint sugary scent of the remaining caramel.
Gazing up from under his lashes, he very deliberately exhales over Hugh’s growing interest, warm breath teasing the slowly dampening cloth.
"Better?"
Hugh's eyes drift closed, then open again, warm mahogany darkening with arousal.
"I think some might have gone through."
"Well, we can't have that. Should I check?"
"Please do."
Humming happily, Paul rests his cheek on Hugh’s thigh and watches as he deftly unbuttons the straining fly and guides himself into Paul's waiting mouth. Hugh’s slippery and sweet, gliding over his lips and tongue and twitching as he licks and sucks. He takes his time here too, breathing through his nose and not bothering to contain his own quiet noises of enjoyment. Even if he wasn't intimately familiar with every inch of Hugh's body, he always knows when he finds a good spot because Hugh’s fingers inevitably tighten in his hair, followed immediately by a thumb stroking his temple in apology.
When his jaw starts to complain, he pulls off and strokes Hugh through his climax by hand, containing the mess with his dinner napkin. Paul's never going to get tired of watching and being the cause of Hugh's pleasure, the same thrill of excitement low in his stomach accompanying a rush of affection.
"Good?"
The satisfied smile on Hugh's lips widens.
"Don't ask questions with obvious answers, Doctor Stamets."
Chuckling, he wipes his fingers one last time and balls up the napkin, tossing it towards the laundry pile (because the thought of it going straight back into the replicator for recycling seems somehow unsanitary).
”My mistake.”
Hugh stands, tugging him to his feet. He doesn’t bother tucking himself back in, just crowds Paul back against the table and kisses him soundly. One thigh slips between Paul‘s legs, and Hugh deliberately rubs where he’s not quite half hard.
“Can I return the favor?”
Nibbling Hugh’s lower lip, Paul smiles.
”Be my guest.”
Repeating Hugh’s invitation earns him a playful swat on the backside. Then nimble fingers slip beneath the waistband, pulling his pants down until they’re bunched beneath his groin. Hugh‘s hands are warm, thumbs resting on the crests of his hips as he trails kisses over Paul’s cheek and down his jaw before taking a step back.
Even after nearly two decades, there’s still a thrill of excitement when Hugh bodily lifts him up and deposits him on the table. It’s-
“Ugh.”
Hugh’s lips make a smacking noise as they separate from the skin of his neck.
”-babe?”
Recovering from the shock of the cold table under his very bare ass, Paul wraps his legs around Hugh’s waist, pulling him closer.
”Sorry, just cold.”
Hugh winces.
”Sorry.”
Paul shrugs, leaning back so he can work his pants the rest of the way off. Tries to, at any rate, because he bumps into the empty carafe, knocking it sideways. Utensils clatter as he goes to catch it.
“Okay,” he declares, rubbing his elbow, “I am officially too old for this.”
“This?”
“Sex on tables.”
Surprisingly, Hugh doesn’t disagree the way he usually does when Paul makes a disparaging remark about his age. Instead, he rests his forehead on Paul’s shoulder and huffs a quiet laugh.
”Mmm. Bed?”
”Bed.”
Notes:
To be continued :)
Chapter 811: Sauce, Part Two
Summary:
It’s Hugh’s turn to focus on Paul, and oh, how he does.
Notes:
At some point, Paul and Hugh are going to move their bed back under the window :P
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Being too old for sex on tables means that they - after pulling Paul’s pants back up - clear the dinner dishes from said table before heading into the bathroom together. Hugh’s eyes are liquid amber as they gaze at him in the mirror, elbows knocking gently as they brush their teeth. Paul rinses the last of the product from his hair, then watches with amusement while Hugh uses a warm washcloth to give himself a quick clean before finally tucking back into his own pants and leading Paul to bed.
Hugh takes off both of their shirts and settles him against the pile of pillows at the headboard, the sheets rustling beneath them. Comfortable silence follows, no words needed as Hugh climbs onto his lap and picks up where he left off. He lavishes kisses over Paul’s neck, nibbling at the skin over his pulse and tangling his fingers in damp blond hair while he works. His husband is a familiar, warm weight in Paul’s arms, bodies so close there’s barely room for a breath between their skin. Smiling, Paul tips his head back, watching the stars twinkling overhead with half-lidded eyes.
Their hips begin to rock together, an unhurried rhythm as their lips reconnect. Hugh’s still soft - Paul wouldn’t expect him to be otherwise - but it’s no less enjoyable. A post-coital Hugh radiates sated contentment, every touch lingering. He’s a generous lover at the height of passion and much as he likes for Paul to come first, removing the distraction of his own arousal doesn’t drain him of desire. Rather, it loses its sharpness and melts into something even more sensual, tender and slow.
When Hugh finally moves to work Paul’s pants down to his thighs, he’s both relaxed and exquisitely aware of his own desire. Hugh works him up slowly, steady and unhurried. He keeps his touches deliberate, rubbing a thumb over Paul‘s nipples instead of teasing them, rolling and tugging in a way that builds arousal without demanding a response. The kisses deepen, foreheads tipped together when they pause to draw breath, Hugh’s eyelashes fluttering against his cheek.
Some time later, Hugh shifts off his lap and tugs away two of the three pillows behind him, rearranging them so Paul’s head is cradled in the crook of his elbow and Hugh is propped up on his side. The kisses stay soft, Hugh’s nose resting against Paul’s temple when he closes his eyes and focuses on sensation alone. There aren’t any filthy suggestions whispered into his ear, just quiet murmurs of affection, and all the while his left hand is busy, each stroke firm.
Hugh drinks the sounds of pleasure from his lips, tongue chasing the sighs and hitched breath as he gets closer to the edge. He knows Hugh is watching him, his own left hand gripping a well-muscled thigh, right elbow bent towards the arm pillowing his head to lace their fingers together. Times like this are the embodiment of making love, manifesting their feelings in the most physical of ways. Paul lets himself be overwhelmed by it, busy mind gone quiet and all of his senses focused on every point of connection between them.
The knee slung over his thighs keeps him grounded even as his hips start to rock upwards into Hugh’s knowing grip, the knot of tension growing low in his belly.
“…m’close,” he manages.
Hugh’s beard catches as he nuzzles Paul’s cheek, voice gone husky in anticipation.
“Let go, sweetheart.”
Paul’s eyes open as lightning sparks through his body, arching up off the sheets and squeezing Hugh’s hand, watching Hugh watch him. There’s the same wonder on Hugh’s face that’s been there for the last eighteen years, the same deep affection. Hugh’s smile widens each time Paul’s breath catches, no longer stroking but the pad of his thumb working in tiny circles to keep him aloft as long as possible.
Eventually, the pleasure he’s floating on lets him back down gently. Hugh reaches behind himself and grabs someone’s shirt to wipe Paul’s stomach, then hauls them both over onto his side of the bed. (Satisfied afterglow or not, Paul’s sweat-damp body appreciates the dry sheets.)
”Good?”
Being held in Hugh’s arms, safe and warm and beloved, is so far beyond good that all he can do is snuggle even closer, laughing quietly.
”Yes, dear doctor.”
Notes:
I’m sorry once again for taking so long between posting new chapters.
Chapter 812: Sigh
Summary:
Lovemaking as a relationship study.
Notes:
Have I somehow in 800+ chapters *not* used ‘sigh’ already?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
There are times it’s rough and demanding, passionate and hot, hands clutching sweat-dampened sheets and skin. Others when it’s playful, teasing and games to push each other over the edge first, laughter and smirks. And still more where it’s tender beyond words, gentle and reverent touches, fingers intertwined as they share breath and murmur their love for each other.
Often though, it’s just easy, comfortable and affectionate.
Times when Paul is on his knees, chest and cheek resting on a pillow and a smile curving his lips while Hugh drops kisses on his shoulders as they rock together. When Hugh guides them down onto their sides after Paul’s right knee starts to complain, fitting the length of their bodies together and cradling Paul in his arms. When he watches as Paul strokes himself in the same rhythm, replaces that broad, capable hand with his own.
Times when Hugh is on his back, propped up against the headboard so no one strains their neck, Paul’s waist between his thighs and his soft stomach perfect for Hugh to rub against. When he traces Paul’s lips with his thumb, smiling when Paul chases his finger with his tongue. When he wraps his arms around Paul’s shoulders and rolls them over until he’s on top, and Paul pouts at him before pulling him down for kisses. When they’re in no hurry and find release not with a shout but a sigh.
Notes:
Writing about intimacy as self-care from everything happening around me. I’m calm on the outside but the anxiety and outrage have taken up permanent residence inside, and I despise it :(. I’ve always worried for others, but this time I’m also scared for myself.
Paul and Hugh are a powerful means to lose myself in something that is the direct opposite of reality, and I’m so grateful to everyone for still reading.
Chapter 813: Sleeping (Bag)
Summary:
A shuttle isn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but Keyla isn’t complaining and Stamets and Dr. C don’t seem bothered by it at all.
Notes:
Takes place between Season Three and Season Four.
Chapter Text
Discovery is in drydock undergoing upgrades to her hull plating and holo-imaging systems, and most of her crew is left twiddling their thumbs - or equivalent appendages - while it happens. Never those to sit idle, a large number volunteer to accompany the Starfleet Corps of Engineers as they make the rounds of planets on the edges of Federation space, repairing and helping civilizations previously isolated by the Burn rebuild their infrastructure. It’s honest work, even if sometimes physically demanding.
This week, they're on a moon that's home to a Saurian colony. The humidity is a match for temperature-regulating uniform fabrics, everyone’s sleeves rolled up and jackets discarded to cope with the heat. They’re careful not to overtax their host’s resources, conserving replicator power and bedding down back on the shuttle at night. (It's one of Discovery's own 23rd century vessels, designed for hauling cargo without any dedicated crew bunks, but setting up bedding around controls and tie-downs to sleep with the environmental controls set to a blessedly dry 20°C is more than tolerable.)
Keyla brushes her teeth and finishes changing into pajamas in the tiny bathroom in the aft section. The panels up front are lit, providing enough of a blue-tinged glow for her to avoid stepping on anyone on her way forward, but it’s otherwise dark. She idly rubs the barely-there scratches on the backs of her hands and smiles, thinking of the cause:
Linus had led them to the community crèche with great excitement shortly after their arrival to monitor a clutch of eggs through the final stages of hatching. Dr. Culber had carried on a conversation with the Saurian physician present, but Keyla was too entranced watching the cracks spiderwebbing over each egg to listen in on it. Along with Tilly, she’d helped clear away the bits of broken shell and transfer each hatchling to a padded tray underneath a heatlamp. Their tiny, curious claws hadn’t drawn blood and she’d marveled at the intelligence in the eyes blinking up at her.
Shaking her head, she detours around Tilly snoring next to the stack of empty cargo containers. Rhys is lounging in the co-pilot’s seat, feet propped on the console with a PADD in hand, and she waves a goodnight at him before unrolling her bedding onto one of the long benches. Her duffle gets unceremoniously scrunched into something more or less resembling a pillow, and she clambers into the sleeping bag with another silent thanks to the climate controls.
Rolling onto her side, she takes in how Stamets and Dr. Culber are spooned together on the other bench, somehow sharing a single sleeping bag on seating deep enough for one average-sized bipedal humanoid. Even with the backs fully reclined, there isn’t a lot of space, and she marvels for a moment at how not uncomfortable they seem to be. The sleeping bags are relatively roomy, but she can’t imagine trying to fit a second body. (They’ve also buckled the side of it to the harnesses on the seat back, so at least she doesn’t expect to wake up to one of them being dumped on the floor.)
Interestingly, Keyla would have expected - not that she’s spent a ton of time thinking about it - Stamets to be the little spoon, but it’s quite the opposite. Rather, Discovery’s CMO is facing outwards, lying on his side with a pale arm around his waist anchoring the doctor into place. Stamets does seem to have his hand tucked neatly under Dr. C’s shirt, and she’s torn between giggling and feeling oddly intrusive at witnessing the casual intimacy.
“Don’t ask,” Rhys’s amused murmur makes her turn her head.
”What?”
”Those two.”
A thought strikes her then, of Stamets surrounded by a group of older hatchlings all chattering excitedly while he patiently explained something. The doctor’s eyes are always kind, but watching him watch Stamets with something infinitely softer…
“Honestly, I’m just glad they’re okay.”
Rhys hums in agreement.
”They’re together, so yeah.”
Chapter 814: Spring (Rolls)
Summary:
Paul and Hugh are an endless source of fascination for T’Vala.
Notes:
Set years before Discovery when Hugh is at Starfleet Medical with Tracy and T’Vala.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Hugh’s body aches all over, the sort of tender stiffness of overwork and a marked lack of sleep that no hypo can quickly banish. He really ought to shower and eat something, but after three days of constant activity, the shelter of Paul’s arms outweighs any other physical or psychological comforts. It’s warm, dark, and-
Swish.
“Is this a mating ritual?”
T’Vala’s voice is a bit muffled, and even without seeing her he can easily picture her mildly arched brow and upright posture. Neither of the men reply, although his Paul-pillow does bounce a bit when he laughs.
“Mmm,” Tracy sounds equal parts exhausted and amused, “probably not?”
“Fascinating,” T’Vala seems to be getting closer. “Given their lack of undress, your conclusion seems likely.”
Above and beneath him, Paul shifts, but his hands don’t stop rubbing circles over Hugh’s back and shoulders.
“He-
Sighing, Hugh gathers up the energy to form a sentence.
“I’m hiding.”
“What is the purpose of this…attempt at concealment?”
“If I can’t see the world,” he informs Paul’s stomach, “it can’t see me.”
Despite the layer of fabric in the way Tracy’s snort is most definitely audible. Paul’s knees squeeze his ribcage in solidarity.
“That assertion is illogical.”
“It’s supposed to be,” Tracy chuckles tiredly. “Granted, there’s not enough latinum in the universe for me to hide there -“
Hugh frowns and frees an arm from under Paul’s back to make a swatting motion in her general direction.
“-but I agree with the sentiment. Wholeheartedly.”
Two thumps.
Probably Tracy taking her boots off.
“I will have you know,” Hugh adds, noting with some annoyance that talking has made his hiding place humid, “that Paul wouldn’t let you anyway.”
A point of light grows above his head as Paul hooks a finger in his collar and lifts his shirt up enough to peer down at him, chin tucked towards his chest.
”That would definitely be awkward.”
Hugh makes a noise of assent and turns his face back towards the warm skin beneath his cheek. His partner’s torso is too lean to provide much padding, but the hollow beneath his ribs does make the perfect place to rest his head. The hair on Paul’s stomach tickles Hugh’s nose a bit, and he tries to ignore it. Nearby, he can make out the sound of fabric on fabric as someone - probably Tracy - drops into a chair.
”May I suggest consuming our meal while it is hot?”
There’s a crinkle of bioplastic containers being set on the coffee table, and the smell of basil and lemongrass means Tracy and T’Vala must have decided on Vietnamese food from the little shop two streets over. It would require walking past his building, and he does appreciate it when they’re probably both as tired as he is.
”Mmhmm.”
Paul’s face appears above him again, stomach scrunching up slightly as he looks down his shirt. An itch grows in his nose.
“Hugh?”
“I- ha ahhCHOOO!”
The sneeze makes a rather inappropriate noise into damp skin. Hugh groans and emerges a moment later, rubbing at his nose.
“Nice of you to join us.”
There’s zero criticism behind Tracy’s comment, and Hugh ignores it as he rolls onto his side and sits up, waiting for Paul to maneuver his legs off the couch. As expected, T’Vala is studying them with what he’s come to realize is the closest to amusement he’ll ever see from a Vulcan. Tracy’s bare feet are propped on the table, holding a steaming container wrapped in a napkin, a spring roll poised in midair.
“Thanks for getting dinner.”
Tracy takes a bite and smirks.
”I figured we could leave it outside the door if we had to.”
T’Vala’s brow rises eloquently, but she doesn’t offer comment.
”Very funny.”
Hugh pats his hair back down into a semblance of order and accepts his own tub of hot broth and noodles before reaching for the aromatic herbs. He settles against Paul’s side once his pho is garnished to his satisfaction, eating with eyes half-closed. The sound of chopsticks clicking punctuates the silence, and he lets himself drift a bit. Despite the exhaustion and minimal conversation, it’s a comfortable meal.
It’s also not precisely how he’d planned to spend the first three days of Paul’s two week visit, but he’s sure they’ll have a proper hello once he’s cleaned up and gotten at least eight hours of sleep.
Notes:
Hugh facedown on the couch with his head under Paul’s shirt when Tracy and T’Vala walk in is *such* a mental image, I wish I had the skill to draw it.
Chapter 815: Sleeping (Bag), Part Two
Chapter Text
Keyla wakes up later than usual without her alarm - 0738 by the chrono - and it takes her a few moments to remember why she's on a shuttle instead of the far more comfortable bed in her quarters. It’s still pleasantly cool and non-humid, overhead lights off but sunlight filtering on through the partially opaqued viewports. She wiggles her arms out and stretches slowly, yawning, then settles down on her side to survey the interior of the shuttle.
Just visible without turning her head, Rhys is slouched where he was last night, feet on the pilot's seat and covered with a blanket. The holonovel he must have been watching is paused, display frozen above his PADD. She squints a bit at the scene and smirks, wondering if Nilsson or Bryce was the one who passed on a recommendation for the delightfully trashy romantic comedy that's been making the rounds of Discovery's crew. And based on the snoring, Tilly is also still fast asleep in the aft compartment. (The deck is far less cushioned than the bench she's on, but their sleeping arrangements also explained how Tilly managed to have two sets of bedding to pad it.)
Across from her, the two men have shifted slightly from their original positions. Stamets is now stretched out fully on his back, sleeping bag unzipped and open enough for one bent knee to protrude over the edge of the bench. Instead of spooning, Dr. Culber is facedown on top of him, head resting on his chest and arms draped over his shoulders and their pillow. Keyla isn't sure exactly how that happened when they were both fitted together so snugly, but discards that thought in favor of studying the look of utter peace on Stamets's face. She realizes that she's not used to seeing him so still, no fingers fidgeting or knee bouncing in impatience. For all that she and Jo used to think of him as a "walking frown" down in Engineering and withdrawal following the war, his expressions have been remarkably animated since their leap into the future. Right now though, all of the frown lines are smoothed out, eyebrows relaxed. One of his hands is resting on Dr. Culber's bicep, sneaking up under the sleeve of his t-shirt and the other...
Keyla blinks, looks away, then back again.
Well then.
The thumb of Stamets's other hand is tucked beneath the waistband of Dr. Culber's pajama pants. It's only to the first knuckle, and she realizes it's probably simply to keep his hand from dangling in midair. She's also impressed that they're both still on the bench - regardless of their obvious shared personal space off-duty, Keyla can't imagine being comfortable enough to sleep tangled together like that.
She must have drifted off for a few minutes, because when Keyla opens her eyes again, she can hear murmuring over the background hum of the shuttle's systems.
"...get up, sweetheart."
Wondering if she ought not to be eavesdropping, she carefully slides down further on the bench to peek out from behind the edge of the sleeping bag.
"Sweetheart."
Stamets doesn't stir, but he makes a displeased noise that reminds her of a perturbed cat.
"Please?"
Dr. Culber seems to be trying to squirm out of his partner's embrace. A moment later, Stamets groans more loudly, the hand previously at the doctor's waist rising to circle his shoulders in an unmistakably possessive gesture.
"Babe, I really need to pee."
A grumpy but otherwise acquiescing noise follows.
"Be right back."
He twists his arm to unzip the sleeping bag further and sets one foot on the floor. With a sound of indulgent annoyance, he leaves his shirt in Stamets's grasping hands, and Keyla can't help the smile when Stamets makes another fretful noise and pulls the fabric up to his face, tucking it under his cheek. Dr. Culber smoothes back the messy blond hair (also a far cry from Stamets's perfectly coiffed hair on-duty) and bends to kiss his forehead before straightening.
Keyla feels vaguely embarrassed when he looks right at her and offers a smile.
"Morning."
He yawns and since it's early, the filter isn't working properly yet in Keyla's brain. The words are out before realizing how they might sound:
"You have got to tell me your ab routine."
Notes:
To be concluded in Part 3! Let's just say some noisy Saurian hatchlings demanded I include them, but I haven't been able to finish writing it yet.
...permanently exhausted and way behind on cosplay prep with STLV less than a month out. Sigh.
Chapter 816: Surfactant
Summary:
Paul, Hugh, a bathtub, and bubbles.
Notes:
Title refers to a substance like soap that alters the surface tension of a liquid, enabling bubbles to form.
Chapter Text
Their usual Thursday evening soak is plain mineral water, which is why Paul stops with one foot across the bathroom threshold when he spots the mounds of bubbles occupying the tub instead. They’re a far cry from the more familiar suds formed by body wash or shampoo, sporting raucous shades of iridescent blue, purple, and-
Is that glitter?
“Umm. Hi?”
Tearing his eyes away from where the water seems to be gaining sentience, he finds Hugh kneeling on the tiled floor with a bit of crumpled paper in his hands and an expression that’s equal parts sheepish and horrified fascination.
”…hi.”
Paul sets the clean towels he was carrying on the counter and edges closer, eyeing the foaming mass suspiciously. It seems to have stopped expanding, thank goodness, but reaches a blithe two feet above the water level. He swipes in front of his chest to open his tricomm for a scan…
…which does absolutely nothing because he’s naked except for a pair of socks intended for the laundry pile.
”I didn’t know this would happen?”
Hugh’s voice pitches upwards, somewhere between a statement and a question.
”You,” Paul blinks a few times, but the scene doesn’t change, “were- wait. What?”
It’s not his finest moment in terms of articulation, but his husband doesn’t seem to notice. In response, Hugh scrubs a hand across his face, leaving streaks of glitter in his beard.
”Tracy.”
”What about her?”
With a sigh, Hugh smoothes out a few wrinkles in the paper, holding it up. Paul shuffles sideways around the tub with its heaving monstrosity of bubbles and takes it gingerly between his fingertips. There’s nothing particularly distinctive about it, just traces of the same blue and purple in a bizarre circular pattern. Frowning, he turns it over to examine the other side, and finds more of the same.
”Remember our last shore leave? On Risa,” Hugh adds unnecessarily.”Tracy and I went shopping, and I picked up that lotion you like.”
Paul definitely does remember, not least because they managed to thoroughly scandalize Adira and Tilly with Hugh’s choice of swimsuit when they arrived early. (He’s also endlessly grateful that they didn’t see the striptease associated with it or his hands tied to the chair, because finding Hugh on his lap was bad enough.)
“I don’t remember this,” he tips his head at what used to be their tub, “so…”
Hugh climbs to his feet.
”It’s supposed to be a bath bomb.”
Paul can feel his eyebrows trying to climb into his hairline.
”A bomb.”
”You know, it fizzes and smells nice and adds a little color.”
He sniffs - the air does smell vaguely sweet - and leans forward, poking at the bubbles.
”I think this is more than a little color.”
His husband sighs again, giving Paul a rueful smile.
“I think whatever surfactant is in it reacted with the minerals in the water, and, well…this.”
“I see.”
It’s a good theory, and Paul considers actually scanning it just out of curiosity about the specific runaway chemical reactions, but he’s not that worried about it. He discards the idea a moment later for a more practical concern.
”Do you think it stains?”
Hugh scoops up a handful of bubbles, squinting at them.
”The programmable matter won’t-“
”I meant, would it stain me.”
“Oh. Umm. Probably not?”
Paul balances on one foot as he pulls off his sock, then switches to do the other. The cloud of bubbles tickles the hair on his shin as he cautiously dips his toes in. Beneath the heaving mass, the water feels more slippery than usual, and he swishes his foot back and forth a few times before withdrawing it again.
Well then.
Other than a truly disturbing amount of sparkles, his skin doesn’t seem to be anything besides slightly pink from heat.
”Babe? We can refill the tub.”
Shrugging, he reaches for Hugh’s hand.
”Come on, we’re getting in.”
“We are?”
“If it’s all biocompatible, I’d hate to waste it.”
Hugh blinks, then smirks.
”Going to be mad if it makes your balls blue?”
“No, but you can wash it off for me.”
”I can?”
”Yes.”
”Deal.”
(Paul’s skin is vaguely purple in the morning, and they’re still finding glitter weeks later despite the best efforts of the DOTs.)
Chapter 817: Samba
Chapter Text
”Here. Don’t say I never got you anything.”
Reno’s voice cuts through the other conversations going on around him, detouring right past the music without a hint of effort. She drops into the seat across from him - not the one with a white Medical jacket slung over the back - and sets a basket of bread on the table. Far from the early genuine annoyance it raised, her presence settles into Paul’s awareness now with an ease he’d never admit.
”Thank you?”
She shrugs and tips her head towards the dance floor.
”Why aren’t you out there?”
The side-eye he gives her has zero effect. There’s a sarcastic response on the tip of his tongue, but her question doesn’t seem to come with pretext, so he goes with honesty.
”I like watching Hugh dance.”
Reno follows his gaze across the floor to where Tilly and Nilsson are shepherding a small group of cadets who look fascinated as Paul’s husband demonstrates a few steps. The jacket he abandoned means Hugh’s bare arms and hips are on easy display along with everything else in just black uniform trousers and undershirt.
“Doc’s got some moves.”
She sounds impressed, which Paul counts as a win.
“Mmhmm.”
Nilsson joins Hugh, laughing as their arms get caught over her head when she goes to spin. The off-duty heels she’s wearing make her taller than him, and it takes a few steps to adjust. Paul’s never really taken to the samba as much as other styles (probably because ten kilos of latinum wouldn’t have gotten him out on the floor before meeting Hugh), but he’d hardly begrudge the man he loves a chance to dance with an enthusiastic partner.
Once the song ends, Nilsson performs an elaborate curtsey that makes Tilly nearly drop her drink, matched by Hugh’s equally ostentatious bow. After she steps back, he holds out his hand to one of the cadets, someone Paul thinks Tilly introduced as Sasha. She’s tentative as he walks her through the basics, head down to watch her own feet and arms stiff by her sides. Although they’re too far away for him to hear them, Paul’s certain Hugh’s smile is accompanied by gentle encouragement to look up and enjoy herself. He doesn’t flinch when Sasha accidentally steps on his foot, or give any indication of being bothered when the next cadet is clearly trying to make eyes at him.
”Huh,” Reno tears a roll in half, popping a piece in her mouth, “poor kid.”
Paul reluctantly stops staring at Hugh‘s delightfully firm backside to level a look at her.
”What?”
”Never mind.”
She doesn’t elaborate, just waves a hand in an equivocating gesture. He shrugs, attention returning to the sheen of sweat starting to make Hugh’s skin glow.
Beautiful.
If the flirtatious cadet looks vaguely disappointed when Hugh claps him on the shoulder and steps back, it’s nothing on the open-mouthed stare when Hugh beckons Paul over, ostensibly to demonstrate a tango lift, and blithely hauls Paul’s thigh up over his own hip before stealing a kiss mid-turn. He sets Paul back on his feet with a flourish, earning a smattering of applause from the cadets even as Tilly and Nilsson grin.
Life is good.
Notes:
(Sara Mitich is apparently 5’9, which is around Wilson’s height, so she’d definitely be taller in heels)
Work is nuts, I’m supposed to be giving a conference talk next week that I haven’t prepared for, and trying to do three cosplays simultaneously is a terrible idea.
But - since Wilson also confirmed for STLV, my Culmets heart is beyond happy. I can finally get him to sign my cross stitch, and hopefully deliver a hug.
Chapter 818: (Over)Steeped
Summary:
Even Captains have room to learn.
Chapter Text
Hugh’s table in the lounge is partly shadowed. It’s not enough for concealment, but sufficiently dark that anyone joining him won’t feel terribly exposed to the room in general. These days, it’s fairly common for people to seek him out when he’s set up informal shop near the fireplace. He keeps Dr. Culber’s welcoming and patient smile on hand, greeting those who meet his eyes on their way past with nods and a word or two.
The mostly-empty dishes from a late evening snack are pushed to the side, a mug of hot tea at his elbow, when someone sits down across from him.
“How do you make it work?”
Michael’s frowning, although it seems more thoughtful than troubled. Hugh leans forward, intrigued.
“ ‘It’ ?”
“You and Paul,” her tone is mild with a hint of bemusement. “You two just…are.”
Ahh.
“Are you asking because of you and Book, or is it something else?”
She doesn’t appear put out by him matching question for question. Instead, Michael’s shoulders sag nearly imperceptibly.
”You really do know everything.”
He rather diplomatically doesn’t point out that the entire crew is aware of how complicated her relationship is.
”No, I just know people.”
”…yes.”
The tea is still hot, although he’s left it too long, slightly oversteeped and bitter. There’s probably a metaphor in that, but he doesn’t think now’s the time to mention it.
”We make it work through work, Paul and I. And we’ve had a very long time to get to know each other without universe-altering events going on,” he adds, smile inviting her to share the humor. “Every relationship is different.”
Michael stares into the fire for a few moments, nodding to herself.
”You’re so…comfortable,” she eventually murmurs, “like it’s easy.”
“It is easy. It’s also difficult sometimes. But at the end of the day, remember that you don’t always have to like someone to love them.”
Her blank expression is telling.
”Don’t have to like…?”
”We love each other, and we also like each other most of the time. It leaves room for differences of opinion, for things that we don’t always agree on.”
”I see.”
He’s not sure she does, not completely. Michael loves deeply, Hugh’s certain, but he wonders if she doesn’t know herself as well as she thinks she does.
”I can offer some advice from your friend and not your CMO?”
“Please.”
The lounge isn’t really the place to be discussing something so personal for the Captain, so he steers away from digging.
“My abuela said to never go to sleep angry, if you can help it. Even if it means saying you’ll pick up an argument again in the morning. And it gets awkward, but it’s never served us wrong.”
Notes:
I shouldn’t have left most of my cosplay prep to the last few weeks. Argh! Less than a week to finish before STLV.
Chapter 819: Saru, Part Three
Summary:
Saru seeks out Hugh for another discussion of relationships.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Doctor, would it be…overstepping to ask another personal question? I find that, lacking context and experience, I cannot reconcile my own thoughts. And,” he exhales slowly, “I do not wish to make assumptions about my relationship with T’Rina.”
“Of course.”
“I- well. I fear I cannot articulate it properly.”
Hugh didn’t miss the fact that Saru chose the chair beside him rather than the couch opposite where he’s sitting. It feels distinctly less detached than a counseling session, but that’s not a bad thing.
“Take your time,” he says gently, “and don’t worry about how it’s worded.”
He stands and crosses to the replicator to give Saru some space with his thoughts. Hugh’s just about to sit down, tea tray on hand, when Saru finally speaks.
“I wish to inquire about the…” Saru tips his head to the side, “the physical aspect of your relationship with Doctor Stamets.”
The tray lands with more of a rattle than intended. Hugh credits over two decades of having M.D. after his name (and having T’Vala as a friend even longer) for keeping a neutral expression. He’s sure that’s what Saru asked, but-
Surely he can’t mean…?
“If we’re getting personal, you can call him Paul,” he offers, mind tripping over its own boots as the china rattles itself to stillness. “Is there something…specific?”
Saru taps his chin with a fingertip, thoughtful.
“May I ask about your reaction? Forgive the presumption, but it must entail a certain sense of intimacy?”
Hugh clears his throat.
“Intimacy.”
Nodding, Saru continues.
”The sense of closeness, and the significance of the touch? We- I would like to experience more, perhaps?”
On one hand, Saru is certainly family, and Hugh has fairly broad boundaries when it comes to those he’s trusts. On the other, Paul’s still slightly mortified at the (unintentional) amount of things Tracy’s borne witness to. Hugh’s best friend is one thing, but he isn’t sure his husband would appreciate it being brought up in conversation with anyone else.
Try the middle ground?
“Different species express their feelings in different ways, and touch is important to a lot of them. There’s as many reactions to it as there are individuals who experience intimate touch, regardless of the sociocultural implications. And the activities associated with intimate touch are just as varied. It becomes a personal decision, of course, and depends greatly on mutual consent to exploration.”
Saru blinks, hand rising to partially cover his mouth.
“Intimate touch. I don’t think. Oh- oh dear. That is-“ there’s a series of clicks, “not. Doctor, my sincerest apologies! I would never presume to ask after those…”
Kelpiens don’t blush the way many other bipedal humanoid species do, but Saru actually hiding his face in both hands is quite the equivalent. The laugh is relief, and he hopes Saru takes it the right way since it would be highly inappropriate in a formal counseling session. He waves his hand between them while trying to control the giggles, nearly upsetting the teapot.
“M’not. Not offended,” he manages, “not at all. I just didn’t know how I was going to answer that. What did you mean?”
“Holding hands,” Saru says into his palms, “oh dear.”
Notes:
I survived a week of four hours of sleep a night, but managed to turn out Cadet Uhura, a Disco ops Commander, and Emperor Georgiou’s armor in less than three weeks. The armor was made in three days, and I was literally painting details and frantically trying to get it to dry enough to pack before my flight. Zomg I hate collars and sleeves!
Star Trek Las Vegas has been a full experience. I’m not thrilled with the organizational skills, but very much enjoy the actual science talks going on as well.
I finally met Wilson today to have him sign the cross stitch that’s been waiting with Anthony’s signature since 2023. He was everything I hoped for and more. Wilson gives *the best* hugs, his full attention, and treats you like an old friend. And he tucked me under his arm for the photo op before I could even move my feet from standing politely next to him where everyone else had been :D.
…and he kissed my cheek. (I’m not the only one, but it was unexpected!). I’ll see him and Anthony again tomorrow for their duo photo op.
The Broadway dinner was intense. So many songs, and Anthony was in high demand as a duet partner! (He and Wilson sang “I’ll Cover You”, and Wilson forgot a line of lyrics along the way but Anthony prompted him. They ended with an adorable peck on the lips.)
Wilson’s solo number I felt deep in my chest, same with Anthony’s duet with Celia. And Wilson singing “Get Happy” with Celia was so powerful a rebuke against all of the hate being thrown at so many of us for existing.
I’m deeply disappointed that they started playing Seasons of Love with everyone on stage, then suddenly changed the music and hustled them off and just played the song from the Rent soundtrack directly It felt like such an unfair thing after a good evening.
Chapter 820: Strychnine
Summary:
Georgiou never stops looking for a weakness, and Hugh may have just revealed one to her.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“If I had time,” he tells Georgiou, “I’d have children.”
It’s not a lie, and he regrets the response immediately.
Thus far, her needling and attempts at menace haven’t worked their way beyond the armor he dons when zipping up his Medical whites. It started with the instinctive defense of Paul against her heavy-handed (and frankly disturbing) solicitation, his own unimpressed frown warring with the inner turmoil, and built from there. He’s been careful not to let her push him off balance, to give any indication that she can bully him into reacting.
This, though.
Her prowling around him, seeking any weakness, is more pressure on nerves already worn thin. Revealing anything personal to Georgiou is a potential danger, one he could decide to take on. Giving her an in that could harm Paul, is something else altogether.
He can’t help but think of Nella, his clever imp of a niece, or the far-flung but never fully relinquished dream of him and Paul having a family of their own. Hugh loves Adira dearly, a child they never expected to gain in this future. And yet, he can still imagine Paul with a baby nestled in his arms, the realization that he’s wonderful with children.
There was never the time.
Notes:
My Emperor Georgiou cosplay was a success! No cloak or sword, but I had the uniform, armor, and crown. I’ve never had people at cons ask to take my picture before, and the introvert in me is exhausted. Wilson and Anthony both complimented it in our photo ops, so I will absolutely take that and run with it.
The Culmets panel was a rollercoaster of laughter, thoughtfulness, and defiance against the world as it is. Wilson did a humorous retelling of how he was re-embodied totally naked, complete with demonstration of how he was lying on the deck. He also nudged Anthony’s phone back into his pocket for him when it started to slip out, described their frustration that Discovery never got a musical episode, and the two of them always bounce off each other.
Chapter 821: Sagacity
Summary:
Tilly asks Saru a very important question.
Notes:
Future!fic. I'm trying not to run down the rabbit hole of Maggy stories, but umm...no promises.
Maggy is introduced in Chapter 748 ("Swaddled").
Title refers to the quality of being wise, discerning, possessing deep insight, etc.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Parenthood has been by turns amazing and the single most grueling thing she's ever done, and for Tilly that includes being disassembled inside a molecular transporter and carried across dimensions by a sentient fungus. Her family aboard Discovery have been as supportive as they could possibly be from light years away, and Jax's parents on Mars are just a comm away. Jax himself is running on about as little sleep as she is, and Hugh had rather cheerfully informed her that an infant is one sort of marathon, but having a toddler is something else altogether. (Honestly, having Paul and Hugh living in San Francisco within a few blocks of the Academy almost feels the same as popping down to their old quarters on Deck Nine, Section Gamma, except these days it's with a squirming child and significantly less exuberance than Cadet Tilly could muster.)
While Maggy has two sets of loving grandparents nearby, there's an important role that needs to be filled. She's certain that Rhys and Jo and Keyla and Michael and everyone else that jumped into the future with them are a great fit and will be a part of her daughter's life along with Jax's friends - and of course, Adira - but there's still one person left who she wants to ask. It's not a stiffly formal invitation either, just a deliberate acknowledgement of someone who's been very, very important to her as well and who is the least likely to make any sort of assumptions whatsoever.
Saru seems surprised by the question when she brings it up over lunch, so much so that he pauses with his fork poised halfway between his plate and his mouth.
"I'm sorry, could you please repeat that?"
Huh.
Blinking, Tilly does so. In response, Saru sets down the fork and folds the napkin in his lap before leaning forward over their shared table.
"Surely Commander Stamets and Doctor Culber-"
"Paul's her Papa and Hugh's her Abuelo," her voice is quiet but firm. "Maggy needs an uncle, someone wise and caring and kind."
"And you believe that I-"
"I can't think of anyone better. You taught me so much, about leadership and strength and overcoming fear, and what it means to be who we are now."
"...I..."
She lays her own spoon alongside the discarded salad fork on the plate and tips her head to the side, conspiratorially.
"And I need someone who she won't have wrapped around her finger. Hugh told me about Paul and his niece Nella, but I didn't really believe him."
"Indeed?"
"Maggy's first word was 'Papa'."
Saru's mouth opens, then closes. He clears his throat, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
"I see."
"You have no idea," she deadpans, and he shakes his head at her mock-rueful expression before taking her hand carefully in his own.
"Kelpiens- I should say, in the past, often the siblings of our parents would take on the responsibility of helping to raise a child when they could not do so themselves. But," he shakes his head, seemingly dismissing whatever lingering thoughts remained, "what is important is now. I would be honored."
Notes:
There's about a decade between the end of Discovery and Maggy's arrival in my headcanon. Paul's still a Commander because 1) climbing rank has never mattered to him and 2) for goodness sakes, promotions happened waayyyy to frequently between seasons.
Wilson and I had most of a conversation while half-hugging last week, meaning I was talking into his shoulder and neck, and I'm still not over it. And yes, I will absolutely be raving about STLV for the foreseeable future :D
Chapter 822: Scotland
Summary:
A quiet moment from shore leave.
Notes:
Takes place pre-Discovery.
Very brief and non-graphic sexy time at the end.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
By and large, their time spent together that isn’t at one or the other’s posting (or Aida’s house) is in warm, sunny locations: Risa, Spain, Sydney, Tahiti…the list goes on. Paul’s always been more than happy to follow Hugh‘s love of spring and summer, even if it means he needs to bring extra UV protection and a hat. Seeing more of Hugh’s toned and tanned body is never a downside, nor are the inevitably beautiful sunsets and sultry evenings.
This time, Hugh insists that Paul choose, somewhere he’s never been but always wanted to go. They end up in a cozy bed and breakfast in Scotland, all done in plaids and dark wood with worn leather furniture and crown molding on high ceilings. It’s a modern revival of a 19th century building, synthesizer hidden away behind a wall panel and console discretely tucked in a corner next to an old-fashioned desk. From the loft, Edinburgh Castle is visible from the windows beside the bed, rising high on its sheer cliff, grey clouds and mist wreathing the air.
They arrive in the late afternoon, just in time to walk through a blustery drizzle that leaves them shivering by the time they’re checked in and begin unpacking. Dinner is a quiet affair, candles flickering on the table while they enjoy steak and ale pie followed by house made apple crisp. The heady burn of the wine has nothing on the fire in Paul’s eyes when Hugh licks cream off his dessert spoon, folding his napkin onto the table and signaling for the check in one motion. They return to their room shortly thereafter, making love and falling asleep curled together beneath the duvet in a sweaty pile of tangled limbs. It’s just the right amount of chilly with the real glass-paned windows, and Hugh happily serves as Paul’s space heater.
He’s awakened at 0700 by a priority message, someone at Fleet Medical requiring an urgent consult. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Hugh rapidly belts on a hotel-provided robe, grabs his PADD from his duffel, and hurries down the creaking wooden treads to take the call at the console. Unfortunately, trying to be quiet turns out to be a lost cause, Paul’s sleep-tousled head peering over the railing to blink owlishly at him while Hugh rapidly reviews a chart a few minutes later. Paul mimes covering his ears, but Hugh waves it away before turning his attention back to his colleague with carefully suppressed impatience.
The Andorian measles and a case of compartment syndrome don’t care that you’re on leave.
He hears footsteps coming down the stairs - much more slowly than his own had been - and the sounds of Paul opening and closing cupboards in the tiny kitchen area. By the time he wraps up the call, there’s a mug waiting for him on the coffee table. Steam wafts lazily upwards, and beside it is a small cup from the bathroom with a half-inch of mouthwash. His partner is ensconced in the oversized armchair by the tall Georgian windows, his own mug cradled between his palms as he watches the late October rain sheeting off the glass.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Hugh murmurs, “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
Paul hasn’t bothered to put on a shirt over his pajama pants, bare feet tucked under himself and a throw around his shoulders. He smiles up at Hugh, scooting over as he comes to perch on the wide arm beside him.
“It’s okay. Still on Deneva time, so it’s about noon.”
Hugh hums in acknowledgment, slipping a hand behind Paul’s neck and kissing his temple. He twists to bend over the table, quickly swishing the mouthwash and spitting it back into the cup before straightening to collect a proper good-morning kiss. Paul’s lips taste like cinnamon and espresso, the tip of his tongue tracing over Hugh’s in greeting. When they separate, Hugh nuzzles their noses together.
“Missed you.”
”In the last twenty minutes?”
There’s a brittle edge to Paul’s teasing question, a mutual understanding that he’s talking about more than just this morning. Instead of replying immediately, Hugh lifts the mug out of Paul’s hand, setting it on the table. He tugs at the hem of the throw, waiting for Paul to unfold his legs before settling on his lap. The rough wool surrounding him is at odds with the silky softness of the hair on Paul’s arms as they sneak under the robe and circle his waist. He snuggles into their loving embrace, grateful that there’s enough room for them both on the seat.
”Every moment I’m not with you,” he tells the patch of skin beneath Paul’s right ear, “every day.”
Beneath him, Paul shifts a little, distributing Hugh’s weight differently. One hand deftly unties his robe while the other pushes it off his shoulders, helping Hugh free his arms and rearranging the throw to cover his exposed torso. Paul traces idle circles across his back, nails scratching gently.
“Me too.”
Silence settles gently between them, the patter of raindrops a soft background to them exchanging kisses and nibbles and nuzzles. Paul’s hair grows steadily messier, static and Hugh’s fingers at work. Necking on a cold Scottish morning was never specifically on any list, but he can’t complain one bit about the experience.
This is perfect.
Eventually, squirming on Paul’s lap and the sensual joy of bare skin on skin wakes up other hungers that never lie dormant long when they’re together. Hugh moves to properly straddle his partner’s thighs, freeing him from the confines of the pajama pants and wrapping his hand around them both. Paul’s hand joins his - neither of them is particularly vain about size, but it’s also certainly never been lacking - and the kisses turn messy as they work each other up, higher and closer and hot.
(The tiny corner of his brain not fully dedicated to Paul’s pleasure warns Hugh that he’s probably leaving beard-burn on lips and chin, rousing Dr. Culber enough to remember to pull out the regen later. As soon as the mental note is made, desire silences the thought, distracted by Paul’s clever tongue and the hand groping his backside.)
Hugh tips over the edge first, which means he misses the exact moment that Paul follows. Foreheads pressed together, they ride out the aftershocks, kiss-swollen mouths meeting for clumsy kisses. Once they come back down, Hugh fumbles for a couple of napkins from the coffee table to clean up the worst of the mess, crumpling and tossing them neatly into the waste receptacle under the desk.
“Hi.”
Paul’s beautiful eyes are a deep, contented blue, his pinkened lips and cheeks the perfect counterpoint.
“Hi yourself.”
They lapse back into silence, pulling the throw around themselves again and watching the clouds give way to spots of sunlight. The coffee is just this side of lukewarm, but neither of them complain.
“There’s a farmers market maybe a mile’s walk from here,” Paul gestures towards the window sometime later, “and there should be an artisan craft fair there tomorrow.”
”Since when do you like shopping?”
The dubious tone earns him a quiet snort and a pinch to his ass.
”So you can buy Christmas presents for people, and be extra patient while I try too.”
Someone’s stomach grumbles.
“Mmm. Deal. After breakfast?”
Paul rubs a thumb over the love-bite coming up scarlet on Hugh’s shoulder.
”Room service?”
”You'll have to let me up to see the menu.”
”Actually,” he can hear the smile even as Paul licks his jaw, “order’s all ready to go.”
”Oh?”
Freeing one hand, Paul swipes awake the PADD Hugh someone missed on the side table, tapping in a couple of commands before flicking it off again.
”Mmhmm. I get to take care of you sometimes too, dear doctor.”
Hugh sits back just far enough to see his face. Tenderness gently sweeps away the last bits of lust, committing to memory the way Paul is looking at him, eyes bright with happiness and care.
”I love you.”
”Love you more.”
”Impossible.”
”Universal law.”
”How…theoretical of you, Doctor Stamets.”
”Universal constant, Doctor Culber.”
”Mmm. Should we alert the scientific community?”
”We could co-author a paper.”
”I like the sound of that.”
”Yeah?”
”Oh yeah.”
”After breakfast.”
Notes:
Based on the view from my own visit to Edinburgh last year, staying at the Apex Waterloo Place hotel :). I enjoyed several chilly, rainy Scottish mornings sitting beside the window with espresso in hand, although not with a Hugh of my very own.
Hoping that folks are doing as well as possible given the state of the world. I know I’ve been terribly slow to update, and I miss hearing from everyone. Sending hugs to all.
Chapter 823: Stereotactic
Summary:
They’re evacuating survivors from the Hiawatha, but something’s missing.
Notes:
Throwback to S2E1 “Brother”.
For those unfamiliar with the term, stereotactic in this context refers to using a precise system of three-dimensional positioning to guide a surgical procedure. It’s a bit fussy to set up, but vital for reproducibility and accuracy in many instances.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Bridge to Medbay.”
“Medical, Pollard.”
“Rescue mission on the Hiawatha successful, Doctor. Beaming survivors over six at a time, on gurneys. Transmitting medical data now.”
The main display blinks to life, streams of readings scrolling by. Tracy narrows her eyes, automatically prioritizing the injuries.
“Right. Perretta, Zarrin, Aisha, head down to the transporter room with me. Everyone else, get surgical suites one through seven prepped, prime the tissue synthesizer, and set up for neural grafts. Good?”
Tracy glances to the left and right, receiving nods before grabbing her medkit and leading the others towards out to the turbolift at a jog. Crew in the corridor step out of their way, and she’s grateful that they aren’t trying to wheel transport with them too. No one speaks on the ride down, too busy flicking through the sparse medical records.
All critical care. One open cranial wound, one case of compartment syndrome, one heart bypass without a machine…
There’s no time to think once they reach the transporter room, a group of cadets and ensigns on maintenance duty drafted in to serve as porters. They rapidly confirm the condition of the survivors, and Tracy escorts the second wave back to the medbay with a scanner in one hand and communicator in the other.
“Doctor Pollard, do you have all of the survivors?”
“Confirmed, Commander. Updates when they’re all stable-“
When the doors finally swish shut behind them, she lets her focus widen. Zarrin does a triage read off, someone else starts a cardiopulmonary assessment, and Perretta directs two techs to start collecting stem cells. Only two patients are left in the main medbay once the mass of people clears, and Tracy takes a moment to peel off her gloves and fully sanitize her hands again.
The compound spinal fracture with cord damage is going to need two of the steadiest hands, even with the latest stereotactical equipment. She pulls up a holographic model, setting it spinning to examine the highlighted portions more closely.
Tricky, but doable.
“Hugh, I need you-“
Tracy nearly bites her tongue snapping her mouth shut to cut off the flow of words. Months later it may be, but the proverbial wound still feels fresh and raw. At the next biobed, she sees Aisha swallow hard before making eye contact.
”I can. This external bypass,” she gestures at the odd setup, “it’ll hold until we’re done.”
”Sure?”
”Yes.”
Aisha is a perfectly qualified physician to partner with, and they’ve operated together before quite well. There’s no reason to remember that she and Hugh were one of the best surgical teams at Starfleet Medical, working in synergy and speaking in their own shorthand. No reason to think about the steady presence missing from her left side when charting, or the doctorate she couldn’t bear to take down from the CMO’s office. Certainly no reason for her throat to burn, at least until she locks down the reaction and stuffs it somewhere to deal with after their patients are seen to.
”Scrub in and meet you in Four?”
It’s clear as day that Aisha is managing her own emotions as well, closing her eyes and inhaling sharply. When she opens them again, a mask of artificial calm smooths her features, one Tracy is probably wearing herself. Aisha nods once, hands gripping the edge of the biobed.
”See you in there.”
Notes:
I realize Pike is going back for Michael at this point, but couldn’t find a good way to fit that in without distracting from Tracy’s thoughts.
Chapter 824: Skyward
Summary:
Hugh doesn’t have to hold back anything, and nothing is better than that.
Notes:
Contains sexytimes as good-natured set dressing. Seriously.
Chapter Text
Generally speaking, when Hugh’s on his back with his feet pointing skyward, he’s either completely focused on Paul or incapable of higher thought. Even when the seemingly insatiable hunger of their younger days has banked down to something more like three times a week instead of twice per day and their bedroom routines are predictable, it’s still the best sex he’s ever had. Paul is also absolutely gorgeous when his hair is sweat-damp and he’s flushed a deep pink all the way down to his chest, and Hugh’s the lucky man who gets to put his hands all over him almost any time he wants.
Suffice to say, it’s highly unusual for him to be thinking about anything or anyone else when his legs are slung over Paul’s shoulders. Hugh’s therefore justifiably surprised when a memory of someone he briefly dated while in med school cuts through the sounds of enjoyment.
(“You’re sweet, but you keep looking at me like…”
”Like what?”
”Like you have feelings about all of this.”
”I-“
”Hugh. I like you, and this is fun. You’re a super hot lay. Don’t- don’t try to make it more than what it is.”)
The tiniest of Paul’s smiles easily eclipses the distant echo of confused hurt nearly three decades in his past. He lets the memory go without concern when Paul pauses to catch his breath, pressing shaky kisses to the inside of Hugh’s ankle. They’re holding hands, fingers twined together, and it’s so much more than just their bodies touching.
More than the physical pleasure.
More than anything he’d ever known before the man he loves with his entire being.
He laughs quietly to himself, the satisfied hum drawing Paul’s attention.
”…everything okay?”
Hugh tugs on their joined hands, waiting until Paul shifts his weight back onto his knees before gently pulling his own free. He sets his palm against the center of Paul’s chest, over the wild thump of his heartbeat, over the nearly invisible remnants of the scar that almost stole him away. Paul’s left hand is wrapped around Hugh’s right thigh, and he marvels as ever at the contrast between their skin. For a moment, arousal fades into the background and all that’s left is the love thrumming through his body.
”Everything’s perfect,” he murmurs, “just like you.”
Others might think Paul’s snort is ungraceful and ungrateful, but Hugh knows better.
”Funny, I thought that was you.”
Grinning, Hugh spreads his legs wide enough slide off Paul’s shoulders, pulling him down for a proper hug. Paul goes willingly, just as unbothered by what’s going on below the waist. They’re sweaty and technically still in the middle of sex, but that’s never stopped the desire for a quiet cuddle.
So much more.
Chapter 825: Selective
Summary:
What happens if people are randomly compelled to say what they’re really thinking? Snapshots from a day of utter chaos.
Notes:
I lost the thread of where this was going, but didn't want it to languish in my drafts forever. So, consider it a set of connected but ultimately not-quite-explained scenes from an imaginary episode :)
Chapter Text
"Morning Commander."
"Hi Tilly."
Paul's still waking up, caffeine working its way through his system. He flicks open the multivariate analysis he was running yesterday, trying to determine if he can pick up where he left off or if he really ought to check the parameters again. A yawn interrupts him, tilting his head back, and he winces in discomfort as his jacket seems to catch on the hairs at the back of his head.
"Time for a haircut," he mutters.
Sighing, he unfastens his collar and unzips the front a couple of inches, working his fingers around the side of his neck to hopefully free any trapped strands.
"Are those- is that a hickey?"
Paul tucks his chin towards his chest as he automatically tries to carry out the physically impossible task of looking at his own neck before remembering that, yes, there is indeed an obnoxiously large love bite decorating his throat just below the uniform collar. He’s about to shrug when his brain does a full stop and reverses course.
Wait.
As comfortable as he is with Tilly - and she with them - it's rather out of character for even her frank manner to blurt that out at normal volume. He'd expect it from Harrington, but in all the years of knowing her, Tilly's at least tried to be polite about things.
“Why did I just say that?”
Tilly presses her lips together, face flushed nearly as red as her hair. Paul quickly re-zips his jacket, shakes his head as if to clear it, and decides pretending it didn’t just happen is the best course of action.
”So. Umm. About the simulation?”
He’s almost forgotten about it two hours later when Reno strolls by, takes one look at him, and actually smiles.
"Huh."
Paul glances over his shoulder, in case there's something happening behind him leading to his impending inconvenience and therefore a source of amusement. A blank expanse of bulkhead continues its silent existence, and he turns back to find Reno with an uncharacteristically soft look on her face, thumb spinning the wedding ring on her index finger.
"...what?"
"You look happy. Doc must be being good to you."
Normally, he'd be annoyed at Reno rendering him speechless, but all he's left with is confusion.
"Oookay?"
She blinks, then narrows her eyes.
"Please tell me this isn't another time loop thing."
”When did you notice it?”
Paul frowns, unsure why Michael is peering at him so closely.
“Umm. This morning? In Engineering. Wait- when did it start?”
“Since about nineteen-hundred last night.”
"Huh."
"Were you alone?"
"No, I was having dinner with Hugh."
”Doctor Pollard-“
"Sorry Captain," Tracy looks up from the console where she's rapidly inputting data into a model, "Hugh's just wrapping up now. You can ask him in about fifteen minutes."
Sighing, Michael narrows her eyes in thought before addressing Paul again.
"Neither of you thought anything was out of the ordinary? No one said anything that seemed unusual?”
"Not really? We had dinner and went to bed."
”Were you talking a lot?”
The thing is, he realizes with rueful humor, he and Hugh are at their most honest in bed together, so it's hardly a good litmus test. It’s one of the few places Paul doesn’t usually think twice about voicing whatever thought crosses his mind. Nothing about the way they traded unhurried blowjobs was out of the ordinary, just comfortable arousal and satisfaction in the other’s pleasure.
He realizes that thinking about it is a terrible idea when his mouth opens.
”Kind of busy-“ he slaps a hand over his mouth to physically muffle the rest of it, “isshhh ngwuhhh mrrrhhmm ehhh.”
Tracy rolls her eyes and goes back to her simulation.
”Of course you were.”
Swish.
Hugh walks in with a look of bemusement, collapsing a string of messages from Paul commenting on the increasing bizarre day.
”…and here we go,” Tracy mutters, “don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Michael's brow creases in confusion.
"Sorry?"
Tracy uses her chin to point at Hugh, then Paul.
"Those two."
”I love the way his forehead creases when he’s thinking,” Hugh announces to the room at large, “it’s so cute. And sexy.”
There’s only one other he in the medbay, not that it isn’t blatantly obvious who he’s referring to. Michael’s got her head tilted to the side, like she’s examining an unknown specimen.
”Why did I just say that out loud? I mean, it’s true,” Hugh adds, far less perturbed than anyone else Paul's seen today, “but now Tracy’s going to tease me about it.”
”Believe me, I have twenty-eight years of backlog to work through.”
Paul does his best to keep his mind blank, although that’s generally impossible. Interestingly, none of the other ‘background’ thoughts - contemplating a variable correction, considering what to get Adira for their birthday - seem to be in danger of being verbalized.
Of course it wouldn’t be anything innocuous.
“You know, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be in love like the two of them.”
Tracy actually freezes, mouth partway open but nothing coming to mind, but Paul and Hugh talk over each other in response to Michael’s wistful admonition.
"I'm the luckiest man in the universe."
"-everything."
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