Author’s Note: This is a piece of fan fic I wrote twenty years ago, and I’m revising and editing it to bring it up to my writing standards today.
This fic is based on the short story “Though Hell Should Bar the Way” by Greg Cox in “Enterprise Logs”. I loved that story and wanted to know what happened after the story faded to black. So I wrote it.
All backstory about these characters is my original work.
“Sarah, go to bed. Get some sleep.”
Her husband’s gentle voice, rough with exhaustion, startled Sarah April from a light doze. Her weary head had dropped onto her husband’s shoulder. Had she fallen asleep? How could she even close her eyes?
The couple had been keeping a private candlelit vigil for the lost souls of Tarsus IV. They had arrived at the famine-stricken colony what felt like years before, prepared to offer medical assistance and food stuffs to the beleaguered colonists, only to hear the words no Captain wanted to hear— one half of the population was... gone.
Once they had gained information on what had happened from the terrified, weeping, unbelieving survivors, Sarah had thrown herself into treating shock, starvation, and trauma. Robert had placed his competent First Officer in charge of the ship and had shifted into chaplain mode, offering comfort to as many of the survivors as he possibly could. It had broken his heart to discover young Jimmy Kirk amongst the survivors; he had sat with the boy for a long time, trying to fill in for the traumatized boy’s father.
Emotionally drained, physically aching with exhaustion, the couple had at long last taken refuge in their private quarters. Here, they could shut the small city in space of their starship away, retreat to their own little world, and draw strength from the mutual companionship, comfort, and help each had of the other. Here, they could drop the brave faces they must put on for their crew, and grieve and mourn together.
“Perhaps we should light a candle,” Sarah finally whispered.
They had reassured each other that of course some day justice would be done. Of course someday these tragedies would not happen anymore. Someday... but tonight, they were regrouping their strength so that they could be strong for a colony of traumatized survivors, all of whom looked to the starship captain and the ship’s doctor for inspiration, strength, and courage.
Robert let go of his wife’s hand just long enough to light their vigil candle and to reach for her guitar. Tenderly, he placed it on her knees.
“I thought your music might help you,” he said softly, “I know what comfort you take in your quiet hours of practice.”
Her honey colored hair fell about her face and her eyes shone in the candlelight. Her long surgeon’s fingers curled around the neck of her instrument. She had just strung brand new strings and tuned her guitar, and it was ready to resonate with her heart.
She played opening chords of the old anti violence song, “Blowin’ in the Wind.” Very very softly, she began to sing.
But the line about too many people dying was too much for her. She had broken down sobbing on her husband’s shoulder.
Somehow, she must have cried herself into a light doze, there in the safest place in her world.
“I don’t think I can sleep,” she finally whispered back. The candle was flickering and guttering; its light blurred in her exhausted vision. The reports and endless fatality lists on the low table before them would not let her sleep.
“My darling, you have exhausted yourself, and you need to rest. Let me get you something from sickbay—“
She shook her head. “No. You’re as exhausted as I am. I... perhaps we could make some chamomile tea?”
Robert stood up, and offered his hands to help his wife up. Shyly, hesitantly, he began, “Dearest... I’m so ashamed of this, but— but—“
“Ashamed of needing a cup of—“ she looked more closely at him, and immediately understood. “Oh. Oh Robert I can’t tonight. I’m just so tired I ache—“
He was shaking his head, his cheeks covered with rosy blushes. “Sarah, I’m so sorry. I’m not asking you for anything and I’m not expecting anything. I want you to rest. I’ll be alright. Please, please don’t worry about me, Dearest.”
But his need for her was so much deeper than just the physical. The brokenness of his heart and the bruises on his spirit craved for her tenderness and her love. Love making, for them, had never been simply about physical tension and physical release. From their very first night together, it had been about knowing each other to the very core of their beings, about comforting and reassuring each other.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t say No. Enthusiastic and clearly expressed consent was the foundation of their love life.
It was that in spite of her initial reaction, she didn’t want to say No.
As her arms tightened around him, her hands slipping under his uniform tunic to stroke his back, he was still apologizing. She cut him off with her lips on his.
She finally drew back and looked him squarely in the eyes. “Never ever apologize for needing your wife. Give me five minutes to clean up. Meet me in our bed.”
***
Sarah awakened to darkness and... chill. She had been sleeping entwined with another body that was no longer there. In the haze of half sleep, she felt that she was chained to the dead— lying amongst them— sleeping with the sleepers— their unseeing eyes staring into hers—
“Robert!” she cried out in utter unreasoning terror, reaching for him. But he wasn’t there.
In the next room, she could hear quiet footsteps. He had gotten out of bed and was pacing the deck. He must be in as much distress as she was— perhaps even more—
She slipped out of their bed and thrust her arms into her wrapper, hastily tying it around her waist.
He immediately looked up and saw her standing in the doorway.
“Oh my darling, I am sorry. Did I wake you? I was trying to be so quiet—“
Shivering, she said, “Yes. The bed is colder than space and I feel like a dead person. Are you alright?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Do you want comfort or do you want medications?”
“Comfort. Always. Would you sit with me for a bit?”
She settled beside him on the sofa, and he opened his own robe to let her settle her head against his bare chest.
“Perhaps it might help to talk about it?” she suggested, slipping her hands under his robe to hold him.
Nestling so close that she could feel his heart beat, she could feel his profound grief soothed by her presence. He smoothed a lock of hair away from her face as he pondered his answer.
“I keep thinking...” he shook his head, searching for the right words. “I keep thinking about those who are alone tonight. You and I have each other. So many people tonight are alone with their pain, their grief...”
“Robert,” Sarah gently chided him. “If we knew tonight the sorrow that is onboard our ship... let alone the sorrow that is breathing down there on that planet... we’d probably lose our minds. It would be so great. We can’t take it all into ourselves. We have to remain compassionate but objective, to some degree.” She swallowed hard. “I... I haven’t always practiced what I preach, Robert. I’ve let the tragedies I’ve seen in medicine break my heart. You know this. No one knows better than you know. But I’ll try... if you will.”
He sat quietly for a long time. Sarah’s country wisdom always set the turmoil in his mind into perspective. He had relied upon her judgement for a lifetime.
“I... it’s just so personal for me,” he finally said. “It’s been so many years but— when I lost Lark’s mother—“
It was so strange, sometimes, to be a second wife. Sometimes Sarah still felt the ghost of that young tragic bride coming between her lips and her husband’s. She had no doubt that she was Robert’s soul mate as he was hers. But there would never cease to be an ache in his heart, of love lost before it could come to fruition. She knew that he had given to his first wife a young man’s first passion. To her, he gave the love of his manhood. What he had with her... the mutual society, comfort, and help that each had of the other... could never hope to compare to that first stormy troubled love that had given him his precious daughter. But sometimes Sarah felt the throb of sorrow that they had never been able to experience with each other the fiery passion of first love.
She shook the sorrowful reflections aside and gently took his dear face in her hands, the way he loved for her to do.
Teasing him with a Shakespearean paraphrase, she began, “Friends, Romans, countrymen, and husbands, lend me your ears—“
“You have more than one?”
“A whole harem. Listen to me. Those colonists will find healing, just as you did. You are an example to them that life can be lived triumphantly, even after great tragedy. Tell them your story, Robert. Open your heart to them. Show them with your life that there can be great love and great joy after unbearable pain and loss.”
His eyes were filled with tears as he nodded. “With you by my side, I can. Now let’s go back to bed.”
This fic is based on the short story “Though Hell Should Bar the Way” by Greg Cox in “Enterprise Logs”. I loved that story and wanted to know what happened after the story faded to black. So I wrote it.
All backstory about these characters is my original work.
“Sarah, go to bed. Get some sleep.”
Her husband’s gentle voice, rough with exhaustion, startled Sarah April from a light doze. Her weary head had dropped onto her husband’s shoulder. Had she fallen asleep? How could she even close her eyes?
The couple had been keeping a private candlelit vigil for the lost souls of Tarsus IV. They had arrived at the famine-stricken colony what felt like years before, prepared to offer medical assistance and food stuffs to the beleaguered colonists, only to hear the words no Captain wanted to hear— one half of the population was... gone.
Once they had gained information on what had happened from the terrified, weeping, unbelieving survivors, Sarah had thrown herself into treating shock, starvation, and trauma. Robert had placed his competent First Officer in charge of the ship and had shifted into chaplain mode, offering comfort to as many of the survivors as he possibly could. It had broken his heart to discover young Jimmy Kirk amongst the survivors; he had sat with the boy for a long time, trying to fill in for the traumatized boy’s father.
Emotionally drained, physically aching with exhaustion, the couple had at long last taken refuge in their private quarters. Here, they could shut the small city in space of their starship away, retreat to their own little world, and draw strength from the mutual companionship, comfort, and help each had of the other. Here, they could drop the brave faces they must put on for their crew, and grieve and mourn together.
“Perhaps we should light a candle,” Sarah finally whispered.
They had reassured each other that of course some day justice would be done. Of course someday these tragedies would not happen anymore. Someday... but tonight, they were regrouping their strength so that they could be strong for a colony of traumatized survivors, all of whom looked to the starship captain and the ship’s doctor for inspiration, strength, and courage.
Robert let go of his wife’s hand just long enough to light their vigil candle and to reach for her guitar. Tenderly, he placed it on her knees.
“I thought your music might help you,” he said softly, “I know what comfort you take in your quiet hours of practice.”
Her honey colored hair fell about her face and her eyes shone in the candlelight. Her long surgeon’s fingers curled around the neck of her instrument. She had just strung brand new strings and tuned her guitar, and it was ready to resonate with her heart.
She played opening chords of the old anti violence song, “Blowin’ in the Wind.” Very very softly, she began to sing.
But the line about too many people dying was too much for her. She had broken down sobbing on her husband’s shoulder.
Somehow, she must have cried herself into a light doze, there in the safest place in her world.
“I don’t think I can sleep,” she finally whispered back. The candle was flickering and guttering; its light blurred in her exhausted vision. The reports and endless fatality lists on the low table before them would not let her sleep.
“My darling, you have exhausted yourself, and you need to rest. Let me get you something from sickbay—“
She shook her head. “No. You’re as exhausted as I am. I... perhaps we could make some chamomile tea?”
Robert stood up, and offered his hands to help his wife up. Shyly, hesitantly, he began, “Dearest... I’m so ashamed of this, but— but—“
“Ashamed of needing a cup of—“ she looked more closely at him, and immediately understood. “Oh. Oh Robert I can’t tonight. I’m just so tired I ache—“
He was shaking his head, his cheeks covered with rosy blushes. “Sarah, I’m so sorry. I’m not asking you for anything and I’m not expecting anything. I want you to rest. I’ll be alright. Please, please don’t worry about me, Dearest.”
But his need for her was so much deeper than just the physical. The brokenness of his heart and the bruises on his spirit craved for her tenderness and her love. Love making, for them, had never been simply about physical tension and physical release. From their very first night together, it had been about knowing each other to the very core of their beings, about comforting and reassuring each other.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t say No. Enthusiastic and clearly expressed consent was the foundation of their love life.
It was that in spite of her initial reaction, she didn’t want to say No.
As her arms tightened around him, her hands slipping under his uniform tunic to stroke his back, he was still apologizing. She cut him off with her lips on his.
She finally drew back and looked him squarely in the eyes. “Never ever apologize for needing your wife. Give me five minutes to clean up. Meet me in our bed.”
***
Sarah awakened to darkness and... chill. She had been sleeping entwined with another body that was no longer there. In the haze of half sleep, she felt that she was chained to the dead— lying amongst them— sleeping with the sleepers— their unseeing eyes staring into hers—
“Robert!” she cried out in utter unreasoning terror, reaching for him. But he wasn’t there.
In the next room, she could hear quiet footsteps. He had gotten out of bed and was pacing the deck. He must be in as much distress as she was— perhaps even more—
She slipped out of their bed and thrust her arms into her wrapper, hastily tying it around her waist.
He immediately looked up and saw her standing in the doorway.
“Oh my darling, I am sorry. Did I wake you? I was trying to be so quiet—“
Shivering, she said, “Yes. The bed is colder than space and I feel like a dead person. Are you alright?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Do you want comfort or do you want medications?”
“Comfort. Always. Would you sit with me for a bit?”
She settled beside him on the sofa, and he opened his own robe to let her settle her head against his bare chest.
“Perhaps it might help to talk about it?” she suggested, slipping her hands under his robe to hold him.
Nestling so close that she could feel his heart beat, she could feel his profound grief soothed by her presence. He smoothed a lock of hair away from her face as he pondered his answer.
“I keep thinking...” he shook his head, searching for the right words. “I keep thinking about those who are alone tonight. You and I have each other. So many people tonight are alone with their pain, their grief...”
“Robert,” Sarah gently chided him. “If we knew tonight the sorrow that is onboard our ship... let alone the sorrow that is breathing down there on that planet... we’d probably lose our minds. It would be so great. We can’t take it all into ourselves. We have to remain compassionate but objective, to some degree.” She swallowed hard. “I... I haven’t always practiced what I preach, Robert. I’ve let the tragedies I’ve seen in medicine break my heart. You know this. No one knows better than you know. But I’ll try... if you will.”
He sat quietly for a long time. Sarah’s country wisdom always set the turmoil in his mind into perspective. He had relied upon her judgement for a lifetime.
“I... it’s just so personal for me,” he finally said. “It’s been so many years but— when I lost Lark’s mother—“
It was so strange, sometimes, to be a second wife. Sometimes Sarah still felt the ghost of that young tragic bride coming between her lips and her husband’s. She had no doubt that she was Robert’s soul mate as he was hers. But there would never cease to be an ache in his heart, of love lost before it could come to fruition. She knew that he had given to his first wife a young man’s first passion. To her, he gave the love of his manhood. What he had with her... the mutual society, comfort, and help that each had of the other... could never hope to compare to that first stormy troubled love that had given him his precious daughter. But sometimes Sarah felt the throb of sorrow that they had never been able to experience with each other the fiery passion of first love.
She shook the sorrowful reflections aside and gently took his dear face in her hands, the way he loved for her to do.
Teasing him with a Shakespearean paraphrase, she began, “Friends, Romans, countrymen, and husbands, lend me your ears—“
“You have more than one?”
“A whole harem. Listen to me. Those colonists will find healing, just as you did. You are an example to them that life can be lived triumphantly, even after great tragedy. Tell them your story, Robert. Open your heart to them. Show them with your life that there can be great love and great joy after unbearable pain and loss.”
His eyes were filled with tears as he nodded. “With you by my side, I can. Now let’s go back to bed.”
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