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"What do you mean you can't fix the ship chronometers?" Captain Pike blinked at Commander Pelia as he removed his oven mitts and braced his hands against the kitchen island, giving the steaming, square pan of ziti he'd just pulled from the oven a wide berth.
"That's not what I said, Captain. There's nothing wrong with the ship's chronometers. There's nothing to fix."
The chief engineer glanced meaningfully toward a basket of breadsticks on the kitchen island. He'd made more than enough, and Pelia had made a special trip to his quarters after her shift. At his wave of approval, she plucked a golden brown breadstick from the basket, taking care to tuck the burgundy cloth keeping them warm around the remaining bread.
"Mm," Pelia exclaimed, brows raising. "You always did have a talent for bread."
Chris stood a little straighter at the praise, but his frown remained firm as he began shredding a stack of soft, fresh basil leaves with his fingers. "I'm telling you, I sit in my quarters, the bridge, the ready room, any time there's a modicum of silence I can hear them tick. Its driving me up the wall."
"I've had three of my best engineers check them. Scotty electrocuted himself disassembling the one in the mess hall. They're not designed to tick. They don't tick."
"Are you calling me crazy?"
"No," Pelia said, drawing out the word in disapproval. She polished off the last bite of breadstick neatly. "But please, stop calling my engineers at four o'clock in the morning."
Chris sighed, sprinkling the basil over the pan of ziti. "Fine. I'll figure something out."
"Good. But, you know," Pelia suggested slyly, "maybe this is something Captain Chin-Riley is better suited to help you with. I presume that's for whom you've donned the fancy green uniform and prepared this delicious spread?"
He considered the idea for a moment. If he gave Una the problem of the ticking chronometers, she just might solve it for him. That wasn't how he wanted to spend their brief time together, though. "The Edison is due at 1730," he acknowledged, naming Una's ship and the scheduled rendezvous time.
Pelia frowned. "That was twenty-five minutes ago."
"What?" Chris checked the time, and sure enough Pelia was right. "Damn."
He lifted his apron over his head and tossed it onto the counter behind him. "Thanks for taste-testing the breadsticks."
"Garlic heals the soul."
They walked to the door together, but stopped as the panels hissed open.
Una stood in the hallway, hand raised to ring the chime, overnight satchel hung on her shoulder. She'd styled her hair short, shorter than he'd ever seen it, near her earlobes, and brought back the soft waves she used to wear a decade ago. It looked new and fresh as her entire face brightened in recognition.
Chris grinned back, and it felt both good and strange to use those muscles. When had he stopped?
"Sorry I'm late," Una said, shaking her head, curls brushing her cheekbones. "The ceremonial candle lighting on Dregaran II got a little out of hand last night."
"Out of hand how?" Chris asked, wary. They were due to pass near Dregaran II space on their way back to Earth. If there'd been a diplomatic incident he'd need to know about any missteps with the newly admitted Federation world.
Una sighed. "La'an is briefing Spock now. The Prelate's firstborn wasn't minding where he stepped during the Procession of the Eternal Flame."
"Oh no."
Technically, the Enterprise was supposed to have participated in the ceremony, but when they'd been delayed by a highly contagious and corrosive nacelle barnacle infestation, Starfleet Command redirected the Edison to take their place at the last minute. The opening processional was of the utmost importance, as this year was the first that Starfleet had been invited to participate in the ceremony.
Pelia cackled. "You took Chalice of Flame right to the back of the head, I presume."
"I lost about ten inches of hair and the traditional robes they'd loaned me are a bit holier now," Una quipped, wryly.
"Maybe I should apply for a position your ship next, instead of going back to Mars," Pelia said. "Maybe gravitational waves aren't as boring as they sound if you're making pit stops like that on your little sojourn toward the Gamma Quadrant."
Una looked slightly ill at the suggestion, but Pelia winked as she took her leave. "Have a nice visit, Captains."
As soon as the engineer rounded the corner, Una not quite begged, "Please find something interesting for her to do on your ship."
With the chronometer issue in the back of his mind, he winced a little, but smiled and clapped his hands together, snapping his thoughts back to the woman standing before him. "Would you like dinner or guest quarters to freshen up first?"
"I've had a very long two days and I can smell the ziti from here," Una said, flatly. "Feed me."
Chuckling, he stepped aside to invite her into his quarters.
She went straight for the kitchen, dropping her satchel in a chair on the way, and began pulling out wine glasses and plates.
A strange emotion welled up inside of him and pushed into his chest as he watched her slip right back into their old dinnertime routine. He cleared his throat. "Wine's in the cabinet to your left."
"I remember."
Dinner with Una was everything he could have hoped for: delicious food and better company. Her laughter rang through his quarters as they reminisced, and he reveled in the warmth and joy her presence brought him.
After Una insisted she can't eat another bite, they retired to the couch clutching matching tumblers of whiskey. Their talk flowed from the past to the present, touching on Una's inaugural mission with the Edison and the eight months she'd spent in deep space studying gravitational waves, to Enterprise making her way back to Earth for his promotion to Fleet Captain, to the Edison's onward push toward the Gamma Quadrant as they chased an inconsistency detected in their last data dump.
"Thank you," Chris said, pouring himself another drink, "for handling Dregaran II and then making a detour to see me."
Una shrugged, fingertips idly tracing the rim of her empty glass. "My ship, my rules."
Tick.
"And very well deserved," he said, chuckling, but his mouth was suddenly dry, cottony.
Tick.
He gulped down another finger of whiskey.
"How are you really doing, Chris?" Una's voice was soft, her eyes warm and glinting in the firelight. "You look tired."
Tick.
"I haven't been sleeping well."
"Still?"
"Just a lot on my mind I guess." He cleared his throat. He wasn't planning on speaking of this with her tonight, but either the softness of the mood or the burn of the whiskey compelled him to say, "Una, I need you to do something for me. A favor."
Tick.
"Anything," she said, setting her glass on the coffee table and shifting to face him on the couch.
He smiled, fondness squeezing his chest, his throat. "You know of my fate," he said, ignoring the growing frown on her face. "What I wanted to ask, what I need is... don't visit me after the accident."
He paused, waiting for her to start the familiar argument they usually ended up having when they spoke on this matter. Tonight, though, it didn't come. No interjections of frustration or anger, only a wide-eyed, glassy sadness and silence.
"I don't want you to remember me that way," he forged on, "and if everything comes to pass the way it was in my vision, I won't—I won't be able to communicate with you."
Una shook her head, her mouth hardening. She shifted closer to him on the couch, leaned forward, and cupped his cheeks in her hands, surprising him. Her skin was warm and soft against his jaw's rough shadow of stubble.
"Life is beautiful in all its forms." she said, forcefully, deliberately, staring him down as though he were a cadet or unruly ensign.
She wiped a tear from his cheek with her thumb and smiled, warmly, as she began pulling away.
At the last moment, he turned his face into her palm, pressing a kiss to the base of her thumb as it passed, the sour tang of his own wiped tear clinging to his lips.
Una froze.
"I'm sorry," he apologized, cheeks flushing, leaning back, away from her touch. What a stupid, impulsive thing to do.
She leaned forward again, pressed a soft kiss to his stunned mouth. "I'm not."
"Okay," he said, dumbly, mind suddenly cluttered with a thousand questions. A single coherent thought tumbled out. "Just to be clear, I wasn't looking for a pity fuck when I invited you for dinner."
"I know," she said, simply. But then, her voice low and soft in a way that makes his toes curl and his cock twitch, she asked, "Does it look like I pity you, Chris?"
Her blue eyes were dark and stormy beneath her long lashes, the dark slash of her eyeliner, and a subtle pink flush peeked out from beneath her uniform collar. How far down did that flush go? He swallowed hard.
"No."
A familiar mischievous grin slid across her face. "How should we celebrate tonight?" she asked. "Like this?"
She topped off both their whiskey glasses and handed him his.
"That's a good start," Chris said, heart beating faster, thump, thump, thump, "but we've already had drinks."
Was this actually happening? He debated taking a shot, but when Una made no move to drink her own glass, he set his down on the coffee table
"Then maybe like this?" She caught his hand as he sat back, brought his fingers to the zipper of her uniform tunic, helped him drag the metal teeth apart to her sternum.
"That could be a—yes."
She grinned, wicked. Stood. Unzipped her tunic to the end and slipped her arms from the sleeves. "And then like this?" she asked, dangling the uniform from a crooked finger before allowing it fall to her vacated seat on the couch.
She lowered herself to his lap, knees braced on either side of his thighs. Her hands fell lightly on his shoulders, a final question. "And maybe something more like this?"
His hands rose to her waist, settling on her hips. "Like this," he declares.
"Aye, Captain," she cheeked, eyebrow raised as she descended upon him.
Whiskey still clung to their breath as they melted into one another. Her lips were soft, pliant, and when he swept his tongue across her lower lip she opened with a tiny sigh that rocketed straight to his groin.
Oh, this.
This was like coming back to space after being grounded on Earth.
He slid his hands beneath her undershirt, palms pressed flat against the warmth of her back above her high-waisted leggings.
In response, her hands fisted in his collar before squirming beneath the fabric.
"I have to confess something," she said. "I despise the green tunic."
"How dare you."
She nodded solemnly, skating her fingers down his chest to the hidden tie fastening the two lapels together. "I wear it as little as possible. And I'm afraid yours has to go."
"I bet you look fabulous wrapped in Starfleet green."
"I do," she acknowledged, pushing the shoulders of his tunic down and kissing a line of wet, sucking bites down his neck. "Now, take me to bed, and let me memorize all of you."
As he did just that, he decided that the thing he loved most about Una was how damn soft she was beneath her sharp efficiency. She made love the same way she ran a starship. Thorough. Methodical. And yet still savoring the discovery of something new.
When they finished, lying tangled and sweaty in each others arms, he pressed a kiss to the side of her soft, warm breast and slipped into sleep.
A nightmare jerked him awake. Una was still there, thank god, lounging cat-like next to him as she flicked through a PADD. Naked below the sheet, although he was willing to bet she'd made use of the sonic shower while he was asleep.
"Sorry," he said, scrubbing his face with his palms. "Didn't mean to drift off like that."
"Trust me, fucking you into a REM cycle has been the highlight of the last twenty-four hours by a long shot." She softened her smirk. "I'm glad you were able to get some rest."
"I'll have M'Benga prescribe me 20cc's of Number One, taken daily as needed."
Una thumped his shoulder with the back of her PADD and tossed it aside, further down on the bed, before scooting closer and kissing him slow and deep. He tugged her body on top of his, their legs tangling, bellies warm and pressed together. Her weight anchored him into the mattress, the moment.
"Chris, I want to share something with you," she whispered between kisses.
"Okay," he whispered back, fighting the urge to rock his hips up into hers.
"I... we... have a tradition," she began. The slight hesitation as she said we quelled his restlessness. This sounded like the beginning of something from her home, her past that she guarded so carefully. "It's called the Lightening." She looked up at the ceiling, frowning. "Roughly."
"I'm listening," he said, attention refocused on her words and not her mouth. They'd agreed long ago that the less they spoke of her illegal status within Starfleet and the Federation, the safer she would be. As a result, she'd shared precious little of Illyrian culture with him, and he'd never pressed her for information. This must be important.
"It's an annual tradition. We pick a family member or close friend and share something that's been weighing us down over the past year. Not for the other person to solve the problem or offer absolution. Simply... to know that someone else is with you, sharing your burden."
Chris nodded, thoughtful. Who would Una have picked as a partner as a child? A parent? A best friend? A lover, once she was older? Was her family able to practice in the open, or were they forced to keep their ways hidden from an uncompromising Federation? He couldn't ask all that now, so he settled on the simple query, "Is it reciprocal?"
"It can be, but it's not necessary." She traced the lines on his forehead with steady, gentle strokes. “Tell me a secret, Christopher Robin Pike. You've carried mine for so long. Let me keep something of yours safe."
He chuckled. "You're going to need to stop doing whatever you're to my forehead if you want an answer. I'll go straight back to sleep."
She hummed and stopped as he asked, waiting patiently with her head on his chest, ear pressed to his heart.
What secrets did he have that Una didn't already know?
"Maybe I could leave you with one more?" Una offered.
"Yes, please," Chris said, grateful to have an example of how this was supposed to happen.
"I'm going to turn myself in to Starfleet when this mission is complete."
Chris stopped breathing. His arms tightened around her, and she let him hold her in his distress.
"I'm tired, Chris. I'm tired of hiding who I am. I want to be free."
What do we do when Starfleet finds out? Una's words from almost a decade ago echoed in his ears.
He knew then, what to say.
"I've retained a lawyer for you," he blurted out.
Una sat up, frowning. She tucked her hair behind her ear, but the short locks fell immediately back into their original place. "What lawyer?"
"She's a civil rights lawyer, and an Illyrian. Her name is Ketoul."
Una laughed, a sharp bark at first that she tried to smother with her hand pressed to her mouth, but soon developed into a full-on belly laugh.
Perplexed, Chris asked, "What am I missing?"
"Neera. Neera Ketoul is—was my childhood best friend."
"I had no idea. And she never mentioned."
Una sobered, arms crossed across her breasts. "No, she wouldn't have. We didn't part on good terms."
Knowing what he did of the two women, both equally driven in opposite directions, that didn't surprise him. "Maybe this could be a chance to reconcile," he offered.
"Maybe," Una said, skepticism etching deep lines across her forehead.
"If anything happens to you, she's supposed to be on the first transport to Starfleet Headquarters, that's the deal. I'll forward you the paperwork so it doesn't get misplaced in the aftermath, I don't know if it's better or worse to give her a heads up when..." Chris trailed off as he watched Una take in what he'd said. The implications.
"It's soon then, the accident," she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion. "Before I get back."
He nodded.
She shook her head and closed her eyes for a moment, lips pressed together hard, and then she bent to cover his mouth with hers. They tussled in the sheets for a few minutes, palming curves and rocking hips until they were slick and stiff and humming with sweaty desperation. Una, atop him again, sank sweetly onto his throbbing member, and he melted, boneless as she rocked an almost lazy rhythm. He watched Una move, sinuous in the steady starlight , as the light bathed her in an ethereal glow. The gritty haze of too little sleep and the heightened emotion wrecked his self-control. He couldn't take the slow pace anymore. His hand slid down to where they were joined, searching for her clit in the silky heat and rhythm of their passion.
"Bridge to Captain Chin-Riley." Lieutenant Uhura's voice burst over the comm. "There's a priority one transmission from Starfleet for you."
"Fuck," Una hissed, her hips thrusting one last desperate time against his before she rolled off of him.
Chris' erection thumped hot and slick against his stomach, and he groaned into his forearm at the loss of contact.
Una tugged on her undershirt, skimming her fingers through her hair to settle it. "Route it to Captain Pike's personal terminal, two minute delay," she requested as she stepped into a pair of Chris' sweats that he'd laid out for a late night workout of another kind.
"Understood. Bridge out."
Chris took one more second to even out his breathing and then rolled out of bed, tugging the bed sheets straight with a quick snap before yanking on another pair of sweats retrieved from a drawer. He pressed a kiss beneath Una's ear on his way to the kitchen, giving her privacy.
It wasn't quite breakfast time yet at 0410, but his hands needed something to do, and it didn't feel right to escape into the fresher to finish himself off while she was talking to the brass on the other side of the wall.
He opened the chiller, pawing through the eclectic assortment of ingredients leftover from last night's dinner. There were eggs to use up before they went bad. And bacon, he might have some bacon left over from his last breakfast meeting. Coffee, too, he should start a pot of coffee for them.
That settled it. Omelets and bacon for two. He was plating two fluffy, yellow masterpieces when the light from his personal terminal finally went dark. From the kitchen, he watched as she searched for the pieces of her uniform, then stopped as she made eye contact with him through the doorway. Chris held up her plate in invitation, and tried on a smile a size too small.
"Got time for a bite, Captain?" he asked.
"Quick one." She exited his sleeping area still in his sweats, distraction pulling the corners of her mouth down.
"Classified?" he asked, pouring them each a cup of coffee and handing her the one without room for cream or sugar. He felt like indulging a little this morning.
Una hummed in affirmation, taking a generous sip from her mug.
They didn't discuss much over breakfast, preferring the company and privacy of their own troubling thoughts, but it was nice to be with her again, to sit with someone else in the darkness of the mind. To be Lightened.
Quicker than he would have liked, they stood at the door, dressed in their respective uniforms, her unused overnight satchel resting on her shoulder once more. The urge to hug her, keep her, kiss her against the wall until she demanded mercy, convince her to run away with him, convince her to stay was almost unbearable.
Before he could act in such an unwise manner, she lifted his hand to her mouth, kissing each finger, naming each fingerprint after his personal creed. "Service, sacrifice, compassion..."
"And love," he finished, wiping away the single tear rolling down her cheek with his thumb. He didn't say he loved her, and neither did she. Their friendship had long been woven with love of all kinds and stitched with devotion.
For the first time in the last decade, Christopher Pike considered that that would not change after the fulfillment of his fate.
"I will come to see you, after, when my mission is over," she promised, reading his mind, or his face. "You don't have to see me if you don't want to, Chris, but you should be reminded that you're not alone."
He inhaled sharply and looked anywhere but the intensity of her gaze. "Okay. Yeah. That would be fine. No promises."
"No promises," she acknowledged, squeezing his hands tight.
To hell with unwise. Chris leaned into her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, face buried in her shoulder. She stiffened in surprise, but then her hands clutched at the back of his shoulders, pulling him closer with a fierceness that brought tears to his eyes.
Behind them, buried in the bulkhead near the door, the chronometer kept its silent, relentless watch.