“See you as soon as I’m able, love. Don’t wait up.”
Doctor Sarah April looked up at her husband in silent anguish. Can’t you send someone else? Her eyes pleaded with him. Ten people have already disappeared on that planet—
I have to go, Captain Robert April’s eyes said back to his wife. Thirty years experience in deep space shined in his eyes as he looked back at her.
I can’t risk another member of my crew. You know that, Sarah. You know the captains who have gone before whose example I follow.
There was only time for the lightest and softest of kisses before he let go of her hands and stepped onto the transporter platform. It was all she could do not to slip her hand around the back of his neck and draw his head down to hers for a proper kiss. But he was the captain and he bore the responsibility for his ship and his crew. Even one moment lost to distraction could mean the lives of more of his crew.
Sarah took one last look at her husband’s gentle face before the shimmer of the transporter effect whisked him away from her.
“God be with you, ye daft ha’porth,” she murmured, slipping into broad Yorkshire as she always did in moments of great stress, but he was gone.
It’s unlucky to watch a parting friend out of sight.
Sarah turned and fled back to her sickbay. There was nothing she could do but wait. And try to imagine her life without Robert in it.
But there was nothing for her restless hands to do. No check-ups, no procedures, no one needing her healing skills or caustic country wisdom. She tried to sit in her own chair in her own office, but not even the picture of her beloved horse, Honey, could give her comfort. Everywhere she looked, Robert was there. Sitting across from her with tears in his compassionate eyes as she told him the fate of a patient. Standing framed in the doorway, his tall, slender frame drooping with exhaustion but his eyes lighting up at the very sight of her. Rushing in, breathless, to tell her one bit of news or other that he couldn’t wait another moment to share.
And the cot in the corner… but she couldn’t even glance in the direction of that little cot. The memories of the intimacy they had shared there sent a stab of such acute pain through her heart that she nearly cried out. It was unthinkable that they might never again—
“Bloody ‘ell fire!” She jumped from her chair and nearly ran for the turbo lift. Whatever was going to happen to Robert, she had to be the first to know. She made her way to the Bridge.
“Captain’s orders. If he isn’t back in one hour, we warp out of the system and advise Starfleet Command.”
The kind but firm eyes of the ship’s first officer, official grandmother, and all around badass, Lorna Simon, glanced at but could not meet the anguish in Sarah’s moor green ones. It took all of Sarah’s professionalism not to blurt out “Then you’ll beam me down and I’ll be with my husband, and you’ll go on without me.” There was time enough before she had to take that stand and die on that hill. Until then…
“No word from the captain yet?”
The burly First Nations communications officer shook his head. “Not yet, Doctor.” And though it wasn’t protocol, he added, “I’m sorry.”
Robert was so faithful about checking in, she thought, trying to swallow her terror. She was a Starfleet physician; she knew what could happen to officers on a hostile planet. She had saved Robert’s life more than once. If he hasn’t, it’s because he can’t.
What the bloody ‘ell fire are we doing out here? Closing her eyes and digging her fingernails into her palms, Sarah April took her stand by the command chair and remembered a shy, quiet, dreamy young man whose entire life had consisted of poring over star charts, ships schematics, and the logs of Captain Archer. All through high school, she had been his closest friend and confidante, as he had been hers.
“The dream of stars,” he would say to her, as they sat on their stile on the Yorkshire moor, “is ‘a wild call and a clear call and may not be denied.’”
“Ah! You can have my share,” she always replied scornfully. “I’ll keep me feet planted on solid terra firma, ta.”
And thirty years later, here I am, she thought wonderingly, because I’d rather live in space with him than live without him on earth.
As she had taught him the essentialness of roots in one’s own country, so he had taught her the essentialness of wings to fly the misnamed void between the stars. They were rooted in their native Yorkshire together; they were flying through the stars together, and as long as they were together, they were home.
Husband, lover, Captain, chaplain. He was so many things to her that she couldn’t even begin to comprehend what she would do if—
Sing me home, Sarah. Sing me home.
She wasn’t sure how she heard her husband’s voice in her head. Was it through their bond? Was it a memory? Were the hostiles telepathic?
Murmuring something about going for a cup of tea, Sarah darted from the Bridge.
She dashed into their private quarters. Folded neatly on the bed was his hand knit woolen sweater; if she picked it up and buried her face in it, the tears would come, and then she would not be able to sing him home.
She found her guitar in the corner of their living space next to the bookshelf. Without a glance at the familiar spines— they had read so many books together over the years and, if he didn’t come back, his last letter to her was folded in the old Bible, marking the passage “many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.” And she couldn’t— she couldn’t—
Her long surgeon’s fingers faltered on the strings as she tuned her instrument. Her hair had fallen out of its serviceable bun and brushed her cheek. Robert would have tenderly smoothed it back. He would rest his hand on her knee as she played and softly keep time with the other hand…
Will ye no’ come back again?
Her voice began faint and frail as her favorite old teacup, but rapidly gained strength as she sang the old Jacobite air.
Better loved ye canna be,
Will ye no’ come back again?
She could not know that her song reached her husband. Planetside, imprisoned, in mortal danger, threatened with torture and brain surgery and forced breeding, Robert April heard his wife’s voice in his heart, and held on a little more tightly to life. No matter what happened, he had to get home safely to Sarah. He had promised.
“Doctor April, do you mind—“
The irritated voice of First Officer Simon interrupted Sarah’s restless pacing. Back and forth, to and fro, up and down the command well, Sarah could not stand still. As long as she marched, her pain and tension marched with her and she could keep breathing. If she stopped, it would crush the breath from her body.
“Lorna, my husband—“
“I know, Sarah. Don’t think I don’t. I’ve been married twice and widowed once. But how your pacing the quarterdeck is going to help the captain—“
“Ten minutes, Commander,” Sanaway called the time from his station.
Ten minutes. Only ten minutes before Enterprise, following orders, warped away without her captain.
Better loved ye canna be,
Will ye no’ come back again?
“April to Enterprise.”
Sarah’s knees smote one against another and abruptly gave way. She sat down with a thud on the steps leading down to the command deck. That was his voice.
Oh my God Rob you just wait until I get my hands on you— I’ll either kill you dead or make passionate love to you, I’m not sure which—
She didn’t hear the exchange between the captain and his first officer. All she could hear was the sound of that beloved voice resonating in her heart. She unconsciously reached toward the communications board as though she could reach out and touch his hand. And then he was asking for her.
“Is Sarah there on the bridge?”
Where the hell else would I be, ye daft ha’porth, with you sodding off trying to get yourself killed, she thought, but did not say. “I’m here, Rob,” she blurted out. Whatever has happened to you, whatever you have gone through, I’m here.
‘I’m here.’ There were no two more sacred words in the language.
“When are you coming home?”
He must have heard the quiver in her voice. “Soon,” he reassured her, and his voice was filled with promise.
He was home.
He had no sooner materialized on the platform but Sarah was there, standing by the console, holding out her hands for him. He was in full command mode; his eyes shadowed with sorrow and his jaw grim and set.
“I want Lt. Una checked over in sickbay. She’s had a hell of a time,” her husband ordered breathlessly.
Didn’t he understand how close I came to losing him—
Lt. Una was shaking her head. “Due respect, I’m fine, sir. Permission to go get cleaned up and resume my post?”
“Granted.”
It had been an unspoken understanding between Robert and Sarah, from their very first day of marriage, that finding themselves alone in a turbolift was their private signal to begin snogging. No words. No signals. It was just on. They took youthful delight in discreetly emerging from the ‘lift, eyes demurely cast down, hastily straightening their uniforms, refraining even from holding each other’s hands.
The stress and terror of the past hour, the horror and pain, all was forgotten as he turned into his wife’s warm arms. His lips sought blindly for hers and he was home. The sweet and coolth of the peppermint tea she had been drinking lingered on his lips. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the smell of her warm freshly scrubbed skin. Coming home to Sarah was coming home to a roaring peat fire in the old hearth, kettle whistling on the old Aga, oxtail soup simmering in the cast iron, after a day of running on the moors. Her hair still carried the scents of heather and woodsmoke and baby lambs.
Why did we come out here? Sarah thought, when everything we need is in one another? As she stood on tiptoe to get closer to his kiss, she felt everything he loved about space open up in a great panorama before her. The awe, the wonder, the beauty, of nebulae and starscapes and planets yet to be explored. In that moment, she saw them all through his eyes, and she understood.
I’m home. And the relief was like sinking down onto the hearth rug and warming one’s chilled extremities. Sarah’s my home. Whatever I have been searching for is here. And as he kissed her, all he could see was the green of the moors that she loved so much.
The reality of what it meant to be home, when so many of his crew were not, began to come home to him. In her warm arms, he began shivering. “I’m home. God, Sarah, I came so close to not—“
But Sarah shook her head and put her fingers over his lips. “Don’t. You’re home safe. That’s all that matters.”
Yes. All. There were important conversations to be had. Decisions to be made. Precious lives to grieve. Diplomatic relations to open. But just for a few moments before the lift deposited them back on their bridge, there was time to stand with their arms around each other, his face pressed to hers, and just be alive, and together, and safe.
It might have been otherwise.
“Come.”
Captain April lifted his head at the sound of the door chime. He was just finishing up reports on his missing crew members and was steeling himself for the painful task of writing letters to their families. His heart was aching and his eyes were blurry with exhaustion. Sarah’s going to have a word with me if I don’t turn in soon, he thought; but the door chime precluded such considerations. A member of his crew needed him.
“Lt. Una! Come in and sit down.”
“Sir, could I have a word?”
Una’s dark eyes were haunted. He knew that look; he felt it often enough in his own eyes. Her hands opened and closed in nervous spasms. This was so unlike the self possessed, supremely confident navigator he had greeted only a few weeks ago that he felt his heart twist with empathy. She had lost alanding party; she had lost her closest friend.
“Of course,” he said gently, pouring a cup of tea from the pot on his desk and pushing it across to her. “Have a cup of tea.”
“No thank you, sir. I’m all set.”
“Drink it,” he said sternly. “Consider that a direct order. Tea is good for what ails you and if nothing ails you it’s good anyway.”
“Very well, sir.” Obediently Una lifted the steaming cup and breathed the fragrant steam.
“Sir, I wish to tender my resignation from Star Fleet.” The words came out in a rush. “I acted in a manner inconsistent with my training, sir. I’m a disgrace to this uniform. I— they would be alive if not for my hubris—“ her voice broke.
Robert April looked across at her with eyes full of tenderness and understanding. “I do not accept your resignation, lieutenant. Nor do I accept that you are a disgrace to the uniform. You made mistakes. We all make mistakes; ‘to err is human, to forgive—‘“
“My errors cost lives. I don’t deserve to be on your ship. I’ve disappointed you, sir. I made a series of bad decisions—“
“Una,” he interrupted her gently, “you’re grieving. You’re not thinking clearly right now. I have read your reports; and I am telling you, in my judgement, you did the best that you could under extreme circumstances, and I am proud to have you as one of my officers.”
“But sir—“
“I will not accept your resignation,” he said firmly, “until you have taken shore leave and completed the course of counseling recommended to you by your doctor. Sarah knows the life changing effects counseling can have.”
Una was shaking her head. “I’m Illyrian, sir, I do not require the same stress relief techniques that humans require—“
“Then take some time to think it over,” her captain responded. He paused for a moment of reflection and a sip of tea. “Una, I have been where you are now,” he said finally, in a different tone. “I have over the years lost members of my crew under my command. And with every loss, a part of me dies too.”
Una sat silently for a moment, digesting this. She and her captain had gone through life or death crisis together, and he was now, it seemed, opening his heart. “How do you go on, sir?” she asked, her voice suddenly husky.
Captain April looked straight into her eyes. “I go on, in their place and in their honor, as the Vulcans say. There is no shortcut to the grieving and mourning process, Una. God knows I wish there were. But in the end, all the soul searching and asking ‘what could I have done differently’ and ‘why wasn’t it me instead of them’ doesn’t bring those lost ones back. And it’s bloody silly even to ask those questions.”
“Yes sir,” she said faintly. “Bloody silly. I’ll remember.”
“I’m always here to listen,” he reassured her.
“Thank you, sir...” her voice trailed off and she stared down at her teacup.
“Was there something else?” He tried to press the utter exhaustion out of his voice. He hadn’t slept in almost thirty six hours and he ached to be spooning with his wife.
“Sir— when we were— in that prison— and I said I’d rather die than be forced to breed with you—“
“I remember,” he said calmly.
“I— I didn’t mean any offense—“
“Una, please listen to me.” He set down his teacup and folded his hands on his desk. “I took no offense because I felt exactly the same way. Before I would force myself upon any being, or before I would permit myself to be taken by force, I would fall on my sword. I, too, would have died before I permitted our captors to use us to breed slaves.”
Una’s eyes widened. “But— but that’s not what they told us about human males, sir—“
The captain’s soft eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “Is that so?” he said mildly.
She shook her head. “They told us, in the Academy, that human males have an insatiable appetite for sexual encounters. That they do not care who their partner is or whether the encounter is consensual or coerced. That they will take any opportunity for an encounter and that they are always ‘up for it.’”
“It would seem,” her captain said evenly, “there are some terrible myths that have spread about the known galaxy regarding human males. Please pardon me... I must speak plainly... this is very heavy on my heart... it seems that a myth is circulating, the way these myths do, that human males do not care what kind of sexual contact they have, that any is better than none at all, even hurtful, degrading, non-consensual, coercive contact, and I am telling you here and now, and put this down in your log, that is a damned evil wicked LIE.”
His last word sounded like a clap of thunder, his solemn words fell like a torrential rain storm on the respectfully silent audience, and lightning flashed briefly in his eyes. Robert could be all the more formidable in these rare moments because his every day persona was so easy going.
Una had never heard her soft spoken, mild mannered, fatherly Captain speak with such ferocity and heat before.
In a gentler tone, he went on. “No, Una. That is simply not true. I can only speak for myself. I view sexual relations as a sacred, holy, sacrosanct thing. My wife and I are monogamous. Under no circumstances have I ever, nor will I ever, break my vows to my wife. It is true that I would die first.” He took a deep, cleansing breath. Did she need to know this next bit? Was it too personal to share with a subordinate? It was a teaching moment; and as a teacher, he would not hold back.
“Furthermore, Una,” he went on quietly. “Furthermore. I would have been no use to them. I cannot have children. I am sterile.”
For one moment, the anguish in her captain’s eyes was so great that Una did not know where to look. The look of pain was gone in a moment, but Una would never forget what she had seen. He took a deep breath and went on. “I did not tell you all this on the planet because the aliens holding us captive did not need to know that.”
“I don’t understand—“
“Loose lips sink ships, Lieutenant. Had they overheard our conversation, they might have exploited our weaknesses to the fullest extent,” her captain instructed her. “Una... we are highly trained Starfleet officers. But I am telling you today, sometimes not all the training in the world is sufficient. At any moment, no matter how strong we are, no matter how able we are to defend ourselves, someone with more power than we have could come along and rob us of every last shred of agency. And any one of us could have our power taken away from us, our choices completely stripped away, and have no control whatsoever over what happens to us. We like to think our training makes us invincible. Would that it did. If you think our training makes us invincible, go into Medical or the chaplaincy, and you’ll get that arrogance sorted out fast enough. And those aliens, once they learned that we would die before we would willingly breed with one another, might have done exactly that.”
A painful blush was spreading over Una’s cheeks. Why hadn’t she thought of that? She had put her captain in a terrible position— what might they have done to him? She shuddered to think.
“I’ll learn for next time, sir,” she said in a small voice.
“I have faith in you, Una. That’s why you’re here. Think about what we talked about, eh?”
Robert sat in silence for a moment after Una had gone. He hoped he had said the right things. Perhaps he should ask Sarah to have a word...
Sarah. His need for his wife had reached the point where it could no longer be ignored. He sighed and set off for their quarters.
He found her deeply asleep in their bed. Loathe to wake her, he prepared to slip in next to her as quietly as he could. But even in her sleep, she could sense him; and she felt for him until he slipped one arm under her head and wrapped the other around her. She sighed a deep sigh and settled against him. All was well.
Doctor Sarah April looked up at her husband in silent anguish. Can’t you send someone else? Her eyes pleaded with him. Ten people have already disappeared on that planet—
I have to go, Captain Robert April’s eyes said back to his wife. Thirty years experience in deep space shined in his eyes as he looked back at her.
I can’t risk another member of my crew. You know that, Sarah. You know the captains who have gone before whose example I follow.
There was only time for the lightest and softest of kisses before he let go of her hands and stepped onto the transporter platform. It was all she could do not to slip her hand around the back of his neck and draw his head down to hers for a proper kiss. But he was the captain and he bore the responsibility for his ship and his crew. Even one moment lost to distraction could mean the lives of more of his crew.
Sarah took one last look at her husband’s gentle face before the shimmer of the transporter effect whisked him away from her.
“God be with you, ye daft ha’porth,” she murmured, slipping into broad Yorkshire as she always did in moments of great stress, but he was gone.
It’s unlucky to watch a parting friend out of sight.
Sarah turned and fled back to her sickbay. There was nothing she could do but wait. And try to imagine her life without Robert in it.
But there was nothing for her restless hands to do. No check-ups, no procedures, no one needing her healing skills or caustic country wisdom. She tried to sit in her own chair in her own office, but not even the picture of her beloved horse, Honey, could give her comfort. Everywhere she looked, Robert was there. Sitting across from her with tears in his compassionate eyes as she told him the fate of a patient. Standing framed in the doorway, his tall, slender frame drooping with exhaustion but his eyes lighting up at the very sight of her. Rushing in, breathless, to tell her one bit of news or other that he couldn’t wait another moment to share.
And the cot in the corner… but she couldn’t even glance in the direction of that little cot. The memories of the intimacy they had shared there sent a stab of such acute pain through her heart that she nearly cried out. It was unthinkable that they might never again—
“Bloody ‘ell fire!” She jumped from her chair and nearly ran for the turbo lift. Whatever was going to happen to Robert, she had to be the first to know. She made her way to the Bridge.
“Captain’s orders. If he isn’t back in one hour, we warp out of the system and advise Starfleet Command.”
The kind but firm eyes of the ship’s first officer, official grandmother, and all around badass, Lorna Simon, glanced at but could not meet the anguish in Sarah’s moor green ones. It took all of Sarah’s professionalism not to blurt out “Then you’ll beam me down and I’ll be with my husband, and you’ll go on without me.” There was time enough before she had to take that stand and die on that hill. Until then…
“No word from the captain yet?”
The burly First Nations communications officer shook his head. “Not yet, Doctor.” And though it wasn’t protocol, he added, “I’m sorry.”
Robert was so faithful about checking in, she thought, trying to swallow her terror. She was a Starfleet physician; she knew what could happen to officers on a hostile planet. She had saved Robert’s life more than once. If he hasn’t, it’s because he can’t.
What the bloody ‘ell fire are we doing out here? Closing her eyes and digging her fingernails into her palms, Sarah April took her stand by the command chair and remembered a shy, quiet, dreamy young man whose entire life had consisted of poring over star charts, ships schematics, and the logs of Captain Archer. All through high school, she had been his closest friend and confidante, as he had been hers.
“The dream of stars,” he would say to her, as they sat on their stile on the Yorkshire moor, “is ‘a wild call and a clear call and may not be denied.’”
“Ah! You can have my share,” she always replied scornfully. “I’ll keep me feet planted on solid terra firma, ta.”
And thirty years later, here I am, she thought wonderingly, because I’d rather live in space with him than live without him on earth.
As she had taught him the essentialness of roots in one’s own country, so he had taught her the essentialness of wings to fly the misnamed void between the stars. They were rooted in their native Yorkshire together; they were flying through the stars together, and as long as they were together, they were home.
Husband, lover, Captain, chaplain. He was so many things to her that she couldn’t even begin to comprehend what she would do if—
Sing me home, Sarah. Sing me home.
She wasn’t sure how she heard her husband’s voice in her head. Was it through their bond? Was it a memory? Were the hostiles telepathic?
Murmuring something about going for a cup of tea, Sarah darted from the Bridge.
She dashed into their private quarters. Folded neatly on the bed was his hand knit woolen sweater; if she picked it up and buried her face in it, the tears would come, and then she would not be able to sing him home.
She found her guitar in the corner of their living space next to the bookshelf. Without a glance at the familiar spines— they had read so many books together over the years and, if he didn’t come back, his last letter to her was folded in the old Bible, marking the passage “many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.” And she couldn’t— she couldn’t—
Her long surgeon’s fingers faltered on the strings as she tuned her instrument. Her hair had fallen out of its serviceable bun and brushed her cheek. Robert would have tenderly smoothed it back. He would rest his hand on her knee as she played and softly keep time with the other hand…
Will ye no’ come back again?
Her voice began faint and frail as her favorite old teacup, but rapidly gained strength as she sang the old Jacobite air.
Better loved ye canna be,
Will ye no’ come back again?
She could not know that her song reached her husband. Planetside, imprisoned, in mortal danger, threatened with torture and brain surgery and forced breeding, Robert April heard his wife’s voice in his heart, and held on a little more tightly to life. No matter what happened, he had to get home safely to Sarah. He had promised.
“Doctor April, do you mind—“
The irritated voice of First Officer Simon interrupted Sarah’s restless pacing. Back and forth, to and fro, up and down the command well, Sarah could not stand still. As long as she marched, her pain and tension marched with her and she could keep breathing. If she stopped, it would crush the breath from her body.
“Lorna, my husband—“
“I know, Sarah. Don’t think I don’t. I’ve been married twice and widowed once. But how your pacing the quarterdeck is going to help the captain—“
“Ten minutes, Commander,” Sanaway called the time from his station.
Ten minutes. Only ten minutes before Enterprise, following orders, warped away without her captain.
Better loved ye canna be,
Will ye no’ come back again?
“April to Enterprise.”
Sarah’s knees smote one against another and abruptly gave way. She sat down with a thud on the steps leading down to the command deck. That was his voice.
Oh my God Rob you just wait until I get my hands on you— I’ll either kill you dead or make passionate love to you, I’m not sure which—
She didn’t hear the exchange between the captain and his first officer. All she could hear was the sound of that beloved voice resonating in her heart. She unconsciously reached toward the communications board as though she could reach out and touch his hand. And then he was asking for her.
“Is Sarah there on the bridge?”
Where the hell else would I be, ye daft ha’porth, with you sodding off trying to get yourself killed, she thought, but did not say. “I’m here, Rob,” she blurted out. Whatever has happened to you, whatever you have gone through, I’m here.
‘I’m here.’ There were no two more sacred words in the language.
“When are you coming home?”
He must have heard the quiver in her voice. “Soon,” he reassured her, and his voice was filled with promise.
He was home.
He had no sooner materialized on the platform but Sarah was there, standing by the console, holding out her hands for him. He was in full command mode; his eyes shadowed with sorrow and his jaw grim and set.
“I want Lt. Una checked over in sickbay. She’s had a hell of a time,” her husband ordered breathlessly.
Didn’t he understand how close I came to losing him—
Lt. Una was shaking her head. “Due respect, I’m fine, sir. Permission to go get cleaned up and resume my post?”
“Granted.”
It had been an unspoken understanding between Robert and Sarah, from their very first day of marriage, that finding themselves alone in a turbolift was their private signal to begin snogging. No words. No signals. It was just on. They took youthful delight in discreetly emerging from the ‘lift, eyes demurely cast down, hastily straightening their uniforms, refraining even from holding each other’s hands.
The stress and terror of the past hour, the horror and pain, all was forgotten as he turned into his wife’s warm arms. His lips sought blindly for hers and he was home. The sweet and coolth of the peppermint tea she had been drinking lingered on his lips. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the smell of her warm freshly scrubbed skin. Coming home to Sarah was coming home to a roaring peat fire in the old hearth, kettle whistling on the old Aga, oxtail soup simmering in the cast iron, after a day of running on the moors. Her hair still carried the scents of heather and woodsmoke and baby lambs.
Why did we come out here? Sarah thought, when everything we need is in one another? As she stood on tiptoe to get closer to his kiss, she felt everything he loved about space open up in a great panorama before her. The awe, the wonder, the beauty, of nebulae and starscapes and planets yet to be explored. In that moment, she saw them all through his eyes, and she understood.
I’m home. And the relief was like sinking down onto the hearth rug and warming one’s chilled extremities. Sarah’s my home. Whatever I have been searching for is here. And as he kissed her, all he could see was the green of the moors that she loved so much.
The reality of what it meant to be home, when so many of his crew were not, began to come home to him. In her warm arms, he began shivering. “I’m home. God, Sarah, I came so close to not—“
But Sarah shook her head and put her fingers over his lips. “Don’t. You’re home safe. That’s all that matters.”
Yes. All. There were important conversations to be had. Decisions to be made. Precious lives to grieve. Diplomatic relations to open. But just for a few moments before the lift deposited them back on their bridge, there was time to stand with their arms around each other, his face pressed to hers, and just be alive, and together, and safe.
It might have been otherwise.
“Come.”
Captain April lifted his head at the sound of the door chime. He was just finishing up reports on his missing crew members and was steeling himself for the painful task of writing letters to their families. His heart was aching and his eyes were blurry with exhaustion. Sarah’s going to have a word with me if I don’t turn in soon, he thought; but the door chime precluded such considerations. A member of his crew needed him.
“Lt. Una! Come in and sit down.”
“Sir, could I have a word?”
Una’s dark eyes were haunted. He knew that look; he felt it often enough in his own eyes. Her hands opened and closed in nervous spasms. This was so unlike the self possessed, supremely confident navigator he had greeted only a few weeks ago that he felt his heart twist with empathy. She had lost alanding party; she had lost her closest friend.
“Of course,” he said gently, pouring a cup of tea from the pot on his desk and pushing it across to her. “Have a cup of tea.”
“No thank you, sir. I’m all set.”
“Drink it,” he said sternly. “Consider that a direct order. Tea is good for what ails you and if nothing ails you it’s good anyway.”
“Very well, sir.” Obediently Una lifted the steaming cup and breathed the fragrant steam.
“Sir, I wish to tender my resignation from Star Fleet.” The words came out in a rush. “I acted in a manner inconsistent with my training, sir. I’m a disgrace to this uniform. I— they would be alive if not for my hubris—“ her voice broke.
Robert April looked across at her with eyes full of tenderness and understanding. “I do not accept your resignation, lieutenant. Nor do I accept that you are a disgrace to the uniform. You made mistakes. We all make mistakes; ‘to err is human, to forgive—‘“
“My errors cost lives. I don’t deserve to be on your ship. I’ve disappointed you, sir. I made a series of bad decisions—“
“Una,” he interrupted her gently, “you’re grieving. You’re not thinking clearly right now. I have read your reports; and I am telling you, in my judgement, you did the best that you could under extreme circumstances, and I am proud to have you as one of my officers.”
“But sir—“
“I will not accept your resignation,” he said firmly, “until you have taken shore leave and completed the course of counseling recommended to you by your doctor. Sarah knows the life changing effects counseling can have.”
Una was shaking her head. “I’m Illyrian, sir, I do not require the same stress relief techniques that humans require—“
“Then take some time to think it over,” her captain responded. He paused for a moment of reflection and a sip of tea. “Una, I have been where you are now,” he said finally, in a different tone. “I have over the years lost members of my crew under my command. And with every loss, a part of me dies too.”
Una sat silently for a moment, digesting this. She and her captain had gone through life or death crisis together, and he was now, it seemed, opening his heart. “How do you go on, sir?” she asked, her voice suddenly husky.
Captain April looked straight into her eyes. “I go on, in their place and in their honor, as the Vulcans say. There is no shortcut to the grieving and mourning process, Una. God knows I wish there were. But in the end, all the soul searching and asking ‘what could I have done differently’ and ‘why wasn’t it me instead of them’ doesn’t bring those lost ones back. And it’s bloody silly even to ask those questions.”
“Yes sir,” she said faintly. “Bloody silly. I’ll remember.”
“I’m always here to listen,” he reassured her.
“Thank you, sir...” her voice trailed off and she stared down at her teacup.
“Was there something else?” He tried to press the utter exhaustion out of his voice. He hadn’t slept in almost thirty six hours and he ached to be spooning with his wife.
“Sir— when we were— in that prison— and I said I’d rather die than be forced to breed with you—“
“I remember,” he said calmly.
“I— I didn’t mean any offense—“
“Una, please listen to me.” He set down his teacup and folded his hands on his desk. “I took no offense because I felt exactly the same way. Before I would force myself upon any being, or before I would permit myself to be taken by force, I would fall on my sword. I, too, would have died before I permitted our captors to use us to breed slaves.”
Una’s eyes widened. “But— but that’s not what they told us about human males, sir—“
The captain’s soft eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “Is that so?” he said mildly.
She shook her head. “They told us, in the Academy, that human males have an insatiable appetite for sexual encounters. That they do not care who their partner is or whether the encounter is consensual or coerced. That they will take any opportunity for an encounter and that they are always ‘up for it.’”
“It would seem,” her captain said evenly, “there are some terrible myths that have spread about the known galaxy regarding human males. Please pardon me... I must speak plainly... this is very heavy on my heart... it seems that a myth is circulating, the way these myths do, that human males do not care what kind of sexual contact they have, that any is better than none at all, even hurtful, degrading, non-consensual, coercive contact, and I am telling you here and now, and put this down in your log, that is a damned evil wicked LIE.”
His last word sounded like a clap of thunder, his solemn words fell like a torrential rain storm on the respectfully silent audience, and lightning flashed briefly in his eyes. Robert could be all the more formidable in these rare moments because his every day persona was so easy going.
Una had never heard her soft spoken, mild mannered, fatherly Captain speak with such ferocity and heat before.
In a gentler tone, he went on. “No, Una. That is simply not true. I can only speak for myself. I view sexual relations as a sacred, holy, sacrosanct thing. My wife and I are monogamous. Under no circumstances have I ever, nor will I ever, break my vows to my wife. It is true that I would die first.” He took a deep, cleansing breath. Did she need to know this next bit? Was it too personal to share with a subordinate? It was a teaching moment; and as a teacher, he would not hold back.
“Furthermore, Una,” he went on quietly. “Furthermore. I would have been no use to them. I cannot have children. I am sterile.”
For one moment, the anguish in her captain’s eyes was so great that Una did not know where to look. The look of pain was gone in a moment, but Una would never forget what she had seen. He took a deep breath and went on. “I did not tell you all this on the planet because the aliens holding us captive did not need to know that.”
“I don’t understand—“
“Loose lips sink ships, Lieutenant. Had they overheard our conversation, they might have exploited our weaknesses to the fullest extent,” her captain instructed her. “Una... we are highly trained Starfleet officers. But I am telling you today, sometimes not all the training in the world is sufficient. At any moment, no matter how strong we are, no matter how able we are to defend ourselves, someone with more power than we have could come along and rob us of every last shred of agency. And any one of us could have our power taken away from us, our choices completely stripped away, and have no control whatsoever over what happens to us. We like to think our training makes us invincible. Would that it did. If you think our training makes us invincible, go into Medical or the chaplaincy, and you’ll get that arrogance sorted out fast enough. And those aliens, once they learned that we would die before we would willingly breed with one another, might have done exactly that.”
A painful blush was spreading over Una’s cheeks. Why hadn’t she thought of that? She had put her captain in a terrible position— what might they have done to him? She shuddered to think.
“I’ll learn for next time, sir,” she said in a small voice.
“I have faith in you, Una. That’s why you’re here. Think about what we talked about, eh?”
Robert sat in silence for a moment after Una had gone. He hoped he had said the right things. Perhaps he should ask Sarah to have a word...
Sarah. His need for his wife had reached the point where it could no longer be ignored. He sighed and set off for their quarters.
He found her deeply asleep in their bed. Loathe to wake her, he prepared to slip in next to her as quietly as he could. But even in her sleep, she could sense him; and she felt for him until he slipped one arm under her head and wrapped the other around her. She sighed a deep sigh and settled against him. All was well.
