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lizbeeRating: all-ages
Warnings: Mild body horror; I'm still pretty mad about how season 2 ended, if you were wondering
Relationships: Truthfully there is too much het to call this gen, but not enough shipping to call it het
Characters: Katrina Cornwell, Christopher Pike, Ash Tyler, glimpses of L'Rell
Notes: Good news, I haven't entirely forgotten how to write fic. Bad news, titles are still really hard; this one is from "Good Grief" by Dessa, because when in doubt, turn to Genius.com. Many thanks to Lion Owl for her beta and Aristofranes for reassuring me that the emotional beats worked.
Summary: Kat has been waiting for her chance to confront Chris Pike.
Tracking her prey is easy: head down, hands in pockets, don't get too close. Don't hide in the shadows, that's too obvious. You're just two people amidst hundreds exploring the markets of Pacifica's southern beach on a cool night.
Her quarry stops to watch some firedancers, and by the light of their torches, she sees the smile on his lips. He's greyer than she remembers. He looks tired. Neither of them are quite the people they used to be.
He moves on, heading for the beach. The air is full of the peppery scent of the trees that grow thick along the shoreline. The crowd thins out.
Good, she thinks. Easier to get him alone.
Too late, she remembers this means he can get her alone. He disappears into the shadows for a moment, and when she pauses to look for him, he strikes.
He slams her against a tree, arms pinned behind her in a regulation grip, immobilising but not painful. Still the Boy Scout, she thinks. He hasn't changed that much.
All her instincts tell her to pull herself free and rip his arm off.
She forces herself to be still.
His voice is low and, despite his restraint, furious.
"The officer whose appearance you've borrowed gave her life in service to a higher cause," he growls. "More than that, she was my friend. So you'd better have a damn good reason for this disguise."
She thought she was ready for this moment, but now it's here, her voice wobbles.
"After Airiam's funeral," she says, and the tree bark scrapes her cheek as she speaks, "we went back to your ready room and toasted her with tequila. We talked about failure." She can sense him listening. "You kissed me."
His grip loosens, but he doesn't release her.
"You kissed me back," he says.
She pushes him away and turns to face him.
"Hi, Chris," she says.
"Kat."
Despite the darkness, she thinks there's hope in his eyes. Or maybe that's just her own wishful thinking.
He says, "I watched you die."
She didn't know that. Her memories of those last hours are fragmented. She remembers relinquishing the captain's chair on the Enterprise, and then waking up--
"It's a long story," she says.
"I've got time."
"I know."
He has four days of shore leave, on the orders of Dr Boyce and the even firmer insistence of Number One. She's been waiting for this chance, but now the moment is here--
Seize it.
She looks up at him.
"You wanna take a walk?"
*
Pacifica -- the ocean planet -- is famous for the wide, white sandy beaches and tropical climate of its equatorial zone, but this island is closer to the south pole. The beach has pebbles instead of sand; Kat picks one up and turns it over in her fingers. It's a shade of blue you wouldn't find in a stone on an Earth beach. She decides she likes it, and slips it into her pocket.
The water laps at her boots, and she wishes she was wearing something warmer than a sleeveless cardigan over a tank top. She wraps her arms around herself and perches on a rock, pulling her knees to her chest.
Chris is watching her. Studying her. Kat pushes her hair out of her face and considers showing him her scars.
In the end, she doesn't have to.
"The Klingons," he says.
She nods.
"L'Rell chose her crew from the ranks of House Mo'Kai. Warriors who knew what Ash Tyler was, who could be trusted with her secrets." Kat smiles. "House Mo'Kai respects secrets. They collect information. And they watch. Closely. L'Rell's transporter chief saw there was a human in proximity to the warhead, even after the section was evacuated. As soon as the shields dropped, she beamed me out."
"What for?"
Kat shrugs. "Intelligence they could use against the Federation? To present an offering to her chancellor? To prove she could?"
She had asked K'Tagh that very question, but the woman -- already drunk on bloodwine -- just laughed and refilled Kat's cup.
"It doesn't matter. I was all but dead--" A lump of charred flesh, L'Rell's mother had said, and L'Rejj sounded like her daughter as she added, and the meat did not smell appetising -- "but the Matriarchs enjoy a challenge."
"These are the same Matriarchs who--"
"Created Ash Tyler, yeah."
"So you're--"
"Not like Ash." The wind pushes her hair into her face, so Chris won't see her expression as she says, "I have a lot more Klingon DNA in me than he does."
The taboo against genetic manipulation runs deep in the Federation. She remembers the disgust she felt when she had first learned of Paul Stamets's self-experimentation. Her surprise and relief when she finally met him, and found that, at least externally, he looked human.
She feels Chris study her again, and though she resents it, she understands.
Then he sits down beside her, his gaze turning towards the ocean, and he says, "What's it like? Waking up in a new version of your body?"
There's something more than idle curiosity behind this question.
"I can't really say," she admits. "For the longest time, my life started when I woke up on that Klingon biobed. My life before was just something they told me about. And I was … I didn't want those memories. I only left because staying would endanger my House."
She scrapes the palms of her hands lightly against the rock, and remembers the stone floor of the monastery, the way her fingertips burned where they had touched the time crystal. The shape of her name: not Qat of House Mo'Kai but Katrina Cornwell, Starfleet admiral.
The call of duty.
"I'm sorry I can't give you a better answer," she says.
Chris waves her apology away.
"So," he says, "you serving again?"
She has to laugh.
"Chris, twenty-two percent of my DNA is Klingon, and twenty-nine percent of my brain had to be replaced with cybernetic augmentations." And she doesn't think she sounds bitter as she says, "You think Starfleet still wants me?"
"I'm sorry."
Kat shrugs. It's not so much the rejection that stings, as the memory of the way her former colleagues -- her friends -- had looked at her.
"I found a way to serve," she says.
Chris examines her for a moment, then reaches out, pausing briefly to give her a chance to pull back -- and when she doesn't, he tugs her cardigan's lapel aside to reveal the black insignia.
"I should have guessed," he says. "You running the place yet?"
"Ash Tyler runs Section 31," Kat tells him. "I make suggestions. He listens. Mostly."
"Right. Does Starfleet know?"
"I don't think they want to ask."
"Right. I know how that goes."
Chris's dimple flashes, and in that moment, the anger Kat has been holding at bay comes to life.
"Yeah," she says, her voice rough. "You're a real son of a bitch, you know that, Chris?"
He recoils, face hardening, becoming the starship captain, not the Boy Scout.
But he doesn't have to ask what she's talking about.
"I had to be pragmatic," he says. "And you, of all people, don't get to lecture me about that."
"Maybe I've become an idealist in my second life." The wind is picking up; she has to raise her voice to be heard. "Discovery's crew deserved better. Michael deserved better."
"You think I don't know that?" He jumps off the rock and takes a few angry steps forward, towards the ocean, then turns back. "Spock said--"
"Yes, by all means, take the advice of a man grieving for his sister!"
"He was right."
"Bullshit." Kat stands up, leaning against the rock with her arms crossed. "We could have done better."
"Maybe," he says, "but you weren't there. And like you said -- sometimes we have to sacrifice our values."
"Fuck you, Chris."
She turns to walk away. To leave him standing alone, conscious of his failure.
She gets as far as the treeline before she stops and turns back. Chris is sitting on their rock again, his back to the ocean.
"Feel better?" he asks.
"Not really."
"Number One says sparring helps."
"With you?"
"With Spock. Scuttlebutt has it he broke her collarbone last month. And I know for a fact she dislocated his shoulder."
"Not the healthiest of coping mechanisms."
"We're simple people on the Enterprise. Not like you sophisticates in Section 31."
"Right." Kat settles beside him. "I broke Ash's eye socket."
"Ouch."
"Yeah. He's strong, but I'm agile." The wind is blowing her hair into Chris's face. He doesn't seem to mind. "I looked after the kids. On Qo'NoS. All the little warriors of House Mo'Kai. I liked it. I miss them." She rests her elbows on her knees. "When I got my memories back, I thought -- those kids. Discovery's crew. I commanded that ship, you know. For a few days. I was responsible for them."
"I know."
"I owe them something."
"We all do." Chris's face is bleak. "It seemed like the right decision at the time. Now -- well."
"The truth will come out eventually," says Kat. "Crewmembers sent messages to their families. People talk to each other."
"And Section 31 hears every word?"
"Sometimes." Always, but Chris doesn't need to know that. "Discovery was lost in battle. That makes sense. Pretending that she never existed at all, never had a crew--"
"The spore drive--"
"Is bound to be reinvented eventually." Kat retrieves the little blue stone from her pocket and rolls it between her fingers. "My assessment is that the truth of Discovery's existence will be public knowledge within five years. And frankly, I don't see that as a bad thing. How Starfleet deals with it -- well, that's not my problem anymore."
"It'll be hard for Spock."
Kat's sympathy for Spock is limited; had his relationship with his sister been less fraught, she suspects they'd be having a different conversation right now.
But all she says is, "And for his parents, I know."
"It's not the crime--"
"It's the cover-up," she finishes. "I made my recommendation to Starfleet last week: start declassifying files now. Nothing about artificial intelligence, or time travel, just a ship whose crew served with distinction and gave their lives in the line of--" She stops. That's still how her own personnel file ends. She hopes it's equally untrue for Burnham and her comrades. "Let Discovery become a footnote," she finishes at last. "It's less than they deserve, but--"
"Better than what they've got."
Chris gets up and walks toward the waves again. This time, Kat follows him.
"I fucked up, didn't I?" he says.
"You were grieving." Kat braces herself against the wind. "I might have done the same."
Chris reaches out, putting his hands on her shoulders. Kat smiles and accepts the embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist, enjoying his solidity. His warmth.
He tightens his arms around her, and she thinks she's not the only one drawing strength and reassurance from the contact.
"On Discovery," she says, "I had good reasons for not sleeping with you."
"I know. Your rank--"
"Personal reasons." Kat presses her face against his neck and inhales his scent. "They still stand."
Although she's tempted. She can feel his pulse on her skin, and there's a part of her that would very much like to sink her teeth into his cheek.
Last time she slept with a Starfleet captain -- a lifetime ago, when she was a different person -- it ended with a phaser in her face. Chris is Chris and Gabriel is dead, but she swore she would never repeat that mistake.
Everything else in her life has changed, but not that.
She pushes him away.
"It's getting late," she says.
"Tide's coming in."
They walk back towards the market.
"I'm thinking of leaving the Enterprise Chris says. "The five-year mission's almost done, we're due for a refit next year. Time to give someone else a chance."
"What will you do?" Kat asks, as if she doesn't already know Starfleet is dusting off the obsolete rank of fleet captain for him.
"I don't know," he says. Then he stops walking, grabbing her arm. "That's a lie. On Boreth, I saw--"
He swallows. Shakes his head. And, in a blink, the naked fear in his face is gone. Hidden.
"Chris--"
"It's nothing," he says, and forces a smile. "I shouldn't have said anything."
"I know what the time crystals can do."
"Then--" He looks away. He is, she can see, tempted. Whatever he's been carrying since he visited Boreth, whatever future he saw, it's getting closer. "Listen," he says, "do me a favour."
"Anything."
"Look out for my crew. If anything happens to me--" When it happens to me… "--if you can watch over them--"
"From my panopticon?"
"I trust you. Hell, I trust them, too, but I'd feel better knowing--"
"Chris," says Kat, taking his hand, "you know what the time crystal showed me?"
"Do I want to?"
"It gave me back my past -- most of it -- but pieces of the future, too." She forces a smile. "I saw--" A moon exploding. A star going nova. "The specifics don't matter. But one thing was clear. There will come a time when our survival -- the Federation, the Klingons, everyone -- hangs in the balance. We could wipe each other out, or build something together. And it's Spock who'll tip the balance."
"That … sounds like him."
"I'll look after your people."
"Thank you."
He hesitates.
"Kat," he says, and touches her arm--
--a flicker of a memory, watching his face as she seals the hatch behind him --
I don't want this. She pushes the memory away.
"It's good to see you," he says. "That's not really enough, but--"
"No," says Kat. "I understand."
She kisses his cheek and watches him walk away.
When he's gone, she steps back into the shadows and taps her insignia.
"Cornwell. One to beam up."
*
Ash is in the anteroom off the bridge. These little ships are all that remains of Section 31's fleet, barely more than warp engines and cloaking devices with a handful of rooms attached.
"Did you have it out?" he asks, putting his PADD down.
"Barely." Kat sinks into a chair, rubbing her eyes. She only needs a few hours' sleep these days, but the exhaustion, when it hits, is the same. "But I feel better."
"Good."
"You gonna tell Starfleet I've been paying visits?"
"If they ask."
They won't ask. When they finally turned Kat loose -- after months of tests and examinations; the last artificial Klingon-human hybrid to turn up had been a brainwashed spy, after all -- it was with the implicit agreement that she wouldn't bother Starfleet, and Starfleet wouldn't bother her.
Ash offered her a job, a way to serve, a purpose. Starfleet turns a blind eye to her presence. Ash signs off on her reports, and everyone is happy.
She misses the kids on Qo'noS -- young adults, some of them, by now -- but they're safer without her. L'Rell's empire is fragile, and when rumours spread of a woman who appeared human living in the House Mo'Kai compound … no one died in that first assassination attempt except the poor fool who thought to take on the Matriarchs, but they all knew more would come. Kat left for Boreth two days later.
She'll never go back, she knows that. Never see her Klingon family again -- save maybe, secretly, L'Rell.
She has her duty, now. She can serve the Federation with honour, even from the shadows. And if she's careful, she can build the foundations for peace without betraying either side of herself.
But first, she's going to get some sleep.
In her quarters, she strips and takes a moment to examine her scars. L'Rejj did a good job of rebuilding her from the ground up, but there's a strip of pale, ridged Klingon skin running down her spinal column, and four notches of flesh on her abdomen, two on each side of her belly.
Other than these, she looks like herself.
Before she climbs into bed, Kat retrieves the blue stone from her pocket, warming it between her palms.
Her possessions these days are few. She left Qo'noS with nothing but the clothes she was wearing and the d'k tagh L'Rell had given her. She hasn't accumulated much more.
It's just a rock. Without value or meaning.
But it was with her when she met an old friend. Rebuilt a connection. Let go of something.
She keeps the stone.
end
Warnings: Mild body horror; I'm still pretty mad about how season 2 ended, if you were wondering
Relationships: Truthfully there is too much het to call this gen, but not enough shipping to call it het
Characters: Katrina Cornwell, Christopher Pike, Ash Tyler, glimpses of L'Rell
Notes: Good news, I haven't entirely forgotten how to write fic. Bad news, titles are still really hard; this one is from "Good Grief" by Dessa, because when in doubt, turn to Genius.com. Many thanks to Lion Owl for her beta and Aristofranes for reassuring me that the emotional beats worked.
Summary: Kat has been waiting for her chance to confront Chris Pike.
Tracking her prey is easy: head down, hands in pockets, don't get too close. Don't hide in the shadows, that's too obvious. You're just two people amidst hundreds exploring the markets of Pacifica's southern beach on a cool night.
Her quarry stops to watch some firedancers, and by the light of their torches, she sees the smile on his lips. He's greyer than she remembers. He looks tired. Neither of them are quite the people they used to be.
He moves on, heading for the beach. The air is full of the peppery scent of the trees that grow thick along the shoreline. The crowd thins out.
Good, she thinks. Easier to get him alone.
Too late, she remembers this means he can get her alone. He disappears into the shadows for a moment, and when she pauses to look for him, he strikes.
He slams her against a tree, arms pinned behind her in a regulation grip, immobilising but not painful. Still the Boy Scout, she thinks. He hasn't changed that much.
All her instincts tell her to pull herself free and rip his arm off.
She forces herself to be still.
His voice is low and, despite his restraint, furious.
"The officer whose appearance you've borrowed gave her life in service to a higher cause," he growls. "More than that, she was my friend. So you'd better have a damn good reason for this disguise."
She thought she was ready for this moment, but now it's here, her voice wobbles.
"After Airiam's funeral," she says, and the tree bark scrapes her cheek as she speaks, "we went back to your ready room and toasted her with tequila. We talked about failure." She can sense him listening. "You kissed me."
His grip loosens, but he doesn't release her.
"You kissed me back," he says.
She pushes him away and turns to face him.
"Hi, Chris," she says.
"Kat."
Despite the darkness, she thinks there's hope in his eyes. Or maybe that's just her own wishful thinking.
He says, "I watched you die."
She didn't know that. Her memories of those last hours are fragmented. She remembers relinquishing the captain's chair on the Enterprise, and then waking up--
"It's a long story," she says.
"I've got time."
"I know."
He has four days of shore leave, on the orders of Dr Boyce and the even firmer insistence of Number One. She's been waiting for this chance, but now the moment is here--
Seize it.
She looks up at him.
"You wanna take a walk?"
*
Pacifica -- the ocean planet -- is famous for the wide, white sandy beaches and tropical climate of its equatorial zone, but this island is closer to the south pole. The beach has pebbles instead of sand; Kat picks one up and turns it over in her fingers. It's a shade of blue you wouldn't find in a stone on an Earth beach. She decides she likes it, and slips it into her pocket.
The water laps at her boots, and she wishes she was wearing something warmer than a sleeveless cardigan over a tank top. She wraps her arms around herself and perches on a rock, pulling her knees to her chest.
Chris is watching her. Studying her. Kat pushes her hair out of her face and considers showing him her scars.
In the end, she doesn't have to.
"The Klingons," he says.
She nods.
"L'Rell chose her crew from the ranks of House Mo'Kai. Warriors who knew what Ash Tyler was, who could be trusted with her secrets." Kat smiles. "House Mo'Kai respects secrets. They collect information. And they watch. Closely. L'Rell's transporter chief saw there was a human in proximity to the warhead, even after the section was evacuated. As soon as the shields dropped, she beamed me out."
"What for?"
Kat shrugs. "Intelligence they could use against the Federation? To present an offering to her chancellor? To prove she could?"
She had asked K'Tagh that very question, but the woman -- already drunk on bloodwine -- just laughed and refilled Kat's cup.
"It doesn't matter. I was all but dead--" A lump of charred flesh, L'Rell's mother had said, and L'Rejj sounded like her daughter as she added, and the meat did not smell appetising -- "but the Matriarchs enjoy a challenge."
"These are the same Matriarchs who--"
"Created Ash Tyler, yeah."
"So you're--"
"Not like Ash." The wind pushes her hair into her face, so Chris won't see her expression as she says, "I have a lot more Klingon DNA in me than he does."
The taboo against genetic manipulation runs deep in the Federation. She remembers the disgust she felt when she had first learned of Paul Stamets's self-experimentation. Her surprise and relief when she finally met him, and found that, at least externally, he looked human.
She feels Chris study her again, and though she resents it, she understands.
Then he sits down beside her, his gaze turning towards the ocean, and he says, "What's it like? Waking up in a new version of your body?"
There's something more than idle curiosity behind this question.
"I can't really say," she admits. "For the longest time, my life started when I woke up on that Klingon biobed. My life before was just something they told me about. And I was … I didn't want those memories. I only left because staying would endanger my House."
She scrapes the palms of her hands lightly against the rock, and remembers the stone floor of the monastery, the way her fingertips burned where they had touched the time crystal. The shape of her name: not Qat of House Mo'Kai but Katrina Cornwell, Starfleet admiral.
The call of duty.
"I'm sorry I can't give you a better answer," she says.
Chris waves her apology away.
"So," he says, "you serving again?"
She has to laugh.
"Chris, twenty-two percent of my DNA is Klingon, and twenty-nine percent of my brain had to be replaced with cybernetic augmentations." And she doesn't think she sounds bitter as she says, "You think Starfleet still wants me?"
"I'm sorry."
Kat shrugs. It's not so much the rejection that stings, as the memory of the way her former colleagues -- her friends -- had looked at her.
"I found a way to serve," she says.
Chris examines her for a moment, then reaches out, pausing briefly to give her a chance to pull back -- and when she doesn't, he tugs her cardigan's lapel aside to reveal the black insignia.
"I should have guessed," he says. "You running the place yet?"
"Ash Tyler runs Section 31," Kat tells him. "I make suggestions. He listens. Mostly."
"Right. Does Starfleet know?"
"I don't think they want to ask."
"Right. I know how that goes."
Chris's dimple flashes, and in that moment, the anger Kat has been holding at bay comes to life.
"Yeah," she says, her voice rough. "You're a real son of a bitch, you know that, Chris?"
He recoils, face hardening, becoming the starship captain, not the Boy Scout.
But he doesn't have to ask what she's talking about.
"I had to be pragmatic," he says. "And you, of all people, don't get to lecture me about that."
"Maybe I've become an idealist in my second life." The wind is picking up; she has to raise her voice to be heard. "Discovery's crew deserved better. Michael deserved better."
"You think I don't know that?" He jumps off the rock and takes a few angry steps forward, towards the ocean, then turns back. "Spock said--"
"Yes, by all means, take the advice of a man grieving for his sister!"
"He was right."
"Bullshit." Kat stands up, leaning against the rock with her arms crossed. "We could have done better."
"Maybe," he says, "but you weren't there. And like you said -- sometimes we have to sacrifice our values."
"Fuck you, Chris."
She turns to walk away. To leave him standing alone, conscious of his failure.
She gets as far as the treeline before she stops and turns back. Chris is sitting on their rock again, his back to the ocean.
"Feel better?" he asks.
"Not really."
"Number One says sparring helps."
"With you?"
"With Spock. Scuttlebutt has it he broke her collarbone last month. And I know for a fact she dislocated his shoulder."
"Not the healthiest of coping mechanisms."
"We're simple people on the Enterprise. Not like you sophisticates in Section 31."
"Right." Kat settles beside him. "I broke Ash's eye socket."
"Ouch."
"Yeah. He's strong, but I'm agile." The wind is blowing her hair into Chris's face. He doesn't seem to mind. "I looked after the kids. On Qo'NoS. All the little warriors of House Mo'Kai. I liked it. I miss them." She rests her elbows on her knees. "When I got my memories back, I thought -- those kids. Discovery's crew. I commanded that ship, you know. For a few days. I was responsible for them."
"I know."
"I owe them something."
"We all do." Chris's face is bleak. "It seemed like the right decision at the time. Now -- well."
"The truth will come out eventually," says Kat. "Crewmembers sent messages to their families. People talk to each other."
"And Section 31 hears every word?"
"Sometimes." Always, but Chris doesn't need to know that. "Discovery was lost in battle. That makes sense. Pretending that she never existed at all, never had a crew--"
"The spore drive--"
"Is bound to be reinvented eventually." Kat retrieves the little blue stone from her pocket and rolls it between her fingers. "My assessment is that the truth of Discovery's existence will be public knowledge within five years. And frankly, I don't see that as a bad thing. How Starfleet deals with it -- well, that's not my problem anymore."
"It'll be hard for Spock."
Kat's sympathy for Spock is limited; had his relationship with his sister been less fraught, she suspects they'd be having a different conversation right now.
But all she says is, "And for his parents, I know."
"It's not the crime--"
"It's the cover-up," she finishes. "I made my recommendation to Starfleet last week: start declassifying files now. Nothing about artificial intelligence, or time travel, just a ship whose crew served with distinction and gave their lives in the line of--" She stops. That's still how her own personnel file ends. She hopes it's equally untrue for Burnham and her comrades. "Let Discovery become a footnote," she finishes at last. "It's less than they deserve, but--"
"Better than what they've got."
Chris gets up and walks toward the waves again. This time, Kat follows him.
"I fucked up, didn't I?" he says.
"You were grieving." Kat braces herself against the wind. "I might have done the same."
Chris reaches out, putting his hands on her shoulders. Kat smiles and accepts the embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist, enjoying his solidity. His warmth.
He tightens his arms around her, and she thinks she's not the only one drawing strength and reassurance from the contact.
"On Discovery," she says, "I had good reasons for not sleeping with you."
"I know. Your rank--"
"Personal reasons." Kat presses her face against his neck and inhales his scent. "They still stand."
Although she's tempted. She can feel his pulse on her skin, and there's a part of her that would very much like to sink her teeth into his cheek.
Last time she slept with a Starfleet captain -- a lifetime ago, when she was a different person -- it ended with a phaser in her face. Chris is Chris and Gabriel is dead, but she swore she would never repeat that mistake.
Everything else in her life has changed, but not that.
She pushes him away.
"It's getting late," she says.
"Tide's coming in."
They walk back towards the market.
"I'm thinking of leaving the Enterprise Chris says. "The five-year mission's almost done, we're due for a refit next year. Time to give someone else a chance."
"What will you do?" Kat asks, as if she doesn't already know Starfleet is dusting off the obsolete rank of fleet captain for him.
"I don't know," he says. Then he stops walking, grabbing her arm. "That's a lie. On Boreth, I saw--"
He swallows. Shakes his head. And, in a blink, the naked fear in his face is gone. Hidden.
"Chris--"
"It's nothing," he says, and forces a smile. "I shouldn't have said anything."
"I know what the time crystals can do."
"Then--" He looks away. He is, she can see, tempted. Whatever he's been carrying since he visited Boreth, whatever future he saw, it's getting closer. "Listen," he says, "do me a favour."
"Anything."
"Look out for my crew. If anything happens to me--" When it happens to me… "--if you can watch over them--"
"From my panopticon?"
"I trust you. Hell, I trust them, too, but I'd feel better knowing--"
"Chris," says Kat, taking his hand, "you know what the time crystal showed me?"
"Do I want to?"
"It gave me back my past -- most of it -- but pieces of the future, too." She forces a smile. "I saw--" A moon exploding. A star going nova. "The specifics don't matter. But one thing was clear. There will come a time when our survival -- the Federation, the Klingons, everyone -- hangs in the balance. We could wipe each other out, or build something together. And it's Spock who'll tip the balance."
"That … sounds like him."
"I'll look after your people."
"Thank you."
He hesitates.
"Kat," he says, and touches her arm--
--a flicker of a memory, watching his face as she seals the hatch behind him --
I don't want this. She pushes the memory away.
"It's good to see you," he says. "That's not really enough, but--"
"No," says Kat. "I understand."
She kisses his cheek and watches him walk away.
When he's gone, she steps back into the shadows and taps her insignia.
"Cornwell. One to beam up."
*
Ash is in the anteroom off the bridge. These little ships are all that remains of Section 31's fleet, barely more than warp engines and cloaking devices with a handful of rooms attached.
"Did you have it out?" he asks, putting his PADD down.
"Barely." Kat sinks into a chair, rubbing her eyes. She only needs a few hours' sleep these days, but the exhaustion, when it hits, is the same. "But I feel better."
"Good."
"You gonna tell Starfleet I've been paying visits?"
"If they ask."
They won't ask. When they finally turned Kat loose -- after months of tests and examinations; the last artificial Klingon-human hybrid to turn up had been a brainwashed spy, after all -- it was with the implicit agreement that she wouldn't bother Starfleet, and Starfleet wouldn't bother her.
Ash offered her a job, a way to serve, a purpose. Starfleet turns a blind eye to her presence. Ash signs off on her reports, and everyone is happy.
She misses the kids on Qo'noS -- young adults, some of them, by now -- but they're safer without her. L'Rell's empire is fragile, and when rumours spread of a woman who appeared human living in the House Mo'Kai compound … no one died in that first assassination attempt except the poor fool who thought to take on the Matriarchs, but they all knew more would come. Kat left for Boreth two days later.
She'll never go back, she knows that. Never see her Klingon family again -- save maybe, secretly, L'Rell.
She has her duty, now. She can serve the Federation with honour, even from the shadows. And if she's careful, she can build the foundations for peace without betraying either side of herself.
But first, she's going to get some sleep.
In her quarters, she strips and takes a moment to examine her scars. L'Rejj did a good job of rebuilding her from the ground up, but there's a strip of pale, ridged Klingon skin running down her spinal column, and four notches of flesh on her abdomen, two on each side of her belly.
Other than these, she looks like herself.
Before she climbs into bed, Kat retrieves the blue stone from her pocket, warming it between her palms.
Her possessions these days are few. She left Qo'noS with nothing but the clothes she was wearing and the d'k tagh L'Rell had given her. She hasn't accumulated much more.
It's just a rock. Without value or meaning.
But it was with her when she met an old friend. Rebuilt a connection. Let go of something.
She keeps the stone.
end
no subject
Date: 2019-12-08 11:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-12-08 10:01 pm (UTC)Damaged survivors having issues and still helping each other is my cryptonite anyway...
SAME