Chapter Text
The universe realigns itself around the Discovery as time and space normalizes and the blur caused by temporal distortion fades away.
In the captain’s chair commander Saru breathes a silent sigh a relief. They had made it.
But the space in front of them is utterly empty, no sign of Terralysium or commander Burnham.
“Lieutenant Detmer, scan our surroundings,” he says. “See what you can find. Lieutenant Bryce, try to hail commander Burnham. Lieutenant Owosekun, find out the status of the ship.”
His orders are met with a brief, “Aye sir,” from all three.
Bryce is the first to report back.
“Nothing from commander Burnham sir. In fact, I can’t find any signal from her suit. I’ll try to keep hailing her and bolster the signal strength. See if I can reach her.”
“You may want to bolster it a lot, Bryce,” Detmer interjects. “There’s nothing on the scanners out there. No technology, no planets, no stars, no nothing within scanning range.”
She looks back as Saru.
“We’re in the middle of nowhere sir.”
“I see. Thank you, lieutenants. Bryce please continue as you planned. Detmer, see if you can find out exactly where we are.”
Clearly they had not reached their intended destination, unless somehow the whole solar system had disappeared in the intervening 930 years. Far more troubling was Michael’s abscense. How could they have been parted during the journey and where had she landed? Saru can only hope that space is all that separates them.
Though his ganglia are but a memory, the recollection of the fear he would once have felt in this situation echoes through Saru’s body. But now is not the time for that.
“Owosekun, ship’s status?”
“Reports still coming in sir, but it seems like though we have taken heavy damage and have several hull breaches that needs patching up, all essential systems are operational. Including engines. Weapons are also functional but our shields are in tatters.”
“Spore drive?”
“Operational, but commander Stamets appear to be missing.”
“Um, no,” comes Tilly’s voice softly to his left. “Commander Stamets is in sickbay. Lieutenant Nilsson and I helped him there. He got hurt pretty badly on the way to shuttle bay with the suit.”
“Do you know how he’s doing?” Saru asks.
Tilly shakes her head.
“I had to leave him there to come back here.”
“Very well.”
“Sir,” Detmer interrupts. “I think I have a location for us, but if I’m right we’re nearly 500 light years from our intended destination.”
“Well, I suppose it could be worse. Travelling through time is hardly an exact science. Thank you, lieutenant Detmer.”
“Captain? I think I have located a signal from commander Burnham. It's coming from Terralysium,” Bryce says, sounding worried.
“That would be good, lieutenant, wouldn't it?”
“Well sir, what I’m getting is her suit's distress call.”
oOoOo
The Discovery's engine has stopped their high-pitched whines that made all of sickbay vibrate and the odd spacial distortion that Hugh could only assume was some sort of time distillation from going through the rift have abated, leaving sickbay back to its normal self. Apart of course, from the very high number of wounded crew members currently occupying the beds. But the numbers of wounded arriving have all but stopped and those coming in have only minor injuries, so his conclusion is that they have safely got away from Control to… wherever, whenever, they are now.
Tracy is sitting down inside the office after the rest of the medical staff all but ordered her to do that. They had all been on their feet far too long, treating too many patients far too quickly, but Tracy had been the one nominally in charge after the CMO decided to stay on board the Enterprise and Hugh, though having anciennity, had only come back on board at the proverbial last minute.
Everyone else are checking on patients, mending those minor injuries still coming in, and generally tending to the duties of any Starfleet medical staff might. No indication that they're light years and centuries separated from their homes.
As for Hugh, he’s engaged in disinfecting the wounds of an Andorian ensign. Before that he was ministering to a lieutenant from engineering who’d had a console blow up right in front of them, though they had miraculously only gotten nicked by the resulting flying debris.
All the while he works, he never strays far from Paul’s side. Not that sickbay is big, but he’s never more than three steps away.
Sending the Andorian on her way he looks about for the next in line, only to find Tracy Pollard standing next to him.
“Don’t you think it is time you had a break?” she says.
“I thought we all agreed that it was time you had one,” Hugh counters gently.
“I’ve had mine and you all have been working as hard as I have.”
“I can wait a bit, one of the others can go before me.”
Tracy gives him a long, hard look.
“You know, putting off waking him isn’t going to make things any easier. And it isn’t good for him to be in a coma any longer than he needs to be.”
“I know.”
“I can bring him out if you want me to, if you don’t want to talk to him.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll do it. We need to talk.”
He isn’t sure how much, if any, of what he said Paul heard, or will recall once he wakes, but either way they most certainly need to talk.
“Then I suggest you bring him out of the coma and then have your break. Use it for what you need to.”
Hugh nods.
“Okay. Thank you.”
Tracy pats him on the arm before heading to the other end of sickbay to give him and Paul what room is possible.
Hugh takes a deep breath, pciks up one of the hyposprays and adjust the content to counteract the sedative he gave Paul earlier. Placing it against Paul’s neck he gently depresses the plunger.
Cupping Paul’s head he runs his fingers through his hair.
“Time to wake up Paul. Time for you to come back to me.”
oOoOo
The last thing Paul recalls with any clarity is being thrown against the bulkhead, a searing pain in his chest and his frantic scramble to complete the Red Angel suit. The rest - being half carried along the corridors, the chaos of sickbay, Hugh - is a blur of disconnected images and sensations, filtered through a haze of pain and blood loss. That last, hazy memory, of Hugh leaning over him, talking to him, was certainly a hallucination brought on by the trauma. Though one Paul was grateful for. If he was going to die at least he would die hearing the voice of the man he still loved, would always love.
And then there was nothing.
Until there was something again.
Slowly he becomes aware again of his body, of arms and legs that feel so heavy. But the pain in his chest is only a faint echo now.
So he didn’t die? He feels almost regretful; it would have solved his problems.
He can almost hear the indignant scolding Hugh would give him if he ever learned of Paul’s thoughts, to him life was always too precious to throw away no matter what.
As his awareness continues to increase, he notices the hand caressing his hair, a familiar feeling, and an equally familiar voice talking to him, though he cannot yet make sense of the words.
He tries to move, but can’t get his limbs to comply. All of his body feels like it is made of lead. An attempt to voice his discontent results only in a low-pitched whine.
“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re safe.”
Oh, now the voice makes sense. That’s something.
“You won’t be able to move for another couple of minutes. It’s normal, it’ll wear off. Just be patient. I’ll stay with you all the way through it. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”
Hughs voice? But Hugh had been an illusion. Hadn’t he?
He tries to open his eyes though his eyelids feel as leaden as the rest of him. On the fourth attempt he succeeds.
A blurry but familiar face comes into view, wearing that soft, heartfelt smile he knows so well.
“You’re hopeless you know that?” Hugh says fondly. “You never could wait for your body to keep up with the rest of you. But I’m afraid that this time you’ll have to, at least for a while. You were hurt pretty badly.”
Paul licks his lips, they and his mouth feels very dry.
“I’ll give you something to drink once you’re a bit more coordinated,” Hugh says.
“Hugh?” Paul manages to say, through some miracle.
“Yes, it’s me.”
“How?”
“I stayed. Do you remember any of what I told you when you came in?”
Paul thinks back. Though everything of that is hazy Hugh’s voice alone, his words, are clear in Paul’s mind.
“Yes.”
Hugh’s eyes shine with tears.
“I meant it, every word of it. You are my home. I want to stay with you, even a thousand years into the future.”
Paul can feel tears well up in his own eyes, his throat tightening. Desperately he tries to raise an arm so he can hold Hugh close, but all he can manage is a jerk of his body. Frustrated he grunts.
“Shhh, you’ll be able to move soon. Just give it a little time.”
“Want, hug you,” Paul says.
“Of course,” Hugh answers with a smile and leans down, wrapping his arms around Paul, lifting him slightly off the bed.
The feeling of Hugh’s arms around him, the solidity of his chest against Paul’s own, the soft scratching of his beard against his cheek, make the tears he has been holding back for so long, finally spill over.
He manages somehow to raise one hand and clutch at Hugh’s jacket as he buries his face in the crook of his neck.
“It’s okay Paul,” Hugh whispers into his ear before pulling back just enough that Paul can see his face. He too it crying, though his smile remains. “We’ll be okay. It’ll take time, but we will be.” Then Hugh hugs him tightly once more and doesn’t let go for a good long while.
But they can’t hold on forever and finally Hugh sits back with a sigh after having gently lowered Paul back down on the bed.
“How do you feel,” Hugh asks him.
“Better. I think I can move now,” Paul answers, testing by flexing his fingers and toes. That works as it should.
“How about your chest? Any pain?”
“A little. It’s sore not sharp, like a bruise on the second day.”
Hugh nods.
“I’ll just do some scans of you and then you should get some rest. You need it and I need to get back to work. But I won’t be far.”
Paul studies Hugh as he uses the tricorder. It’s only now he notices the blood streaks on Hugh’s uniform and how drawn and tight his face is. He must be exhausted. Paul casts a look around sickbay, it’s fuller than he’s ever seen, over its capacity. They really went through hell to get here, wherever it is they are. Since there’s no alert the danger must be past and presumably they’ve arrived at their destination. Idly he wishes he knew more details, but it is no more than a stray thought. He’s too tired for more and Hugh’s here, that all the certainty he needs at this moment.
“So, what’s the verdict? Will live?” he quips when Hugh puts down the tricorder.
Hugh shoots him an angry glance.
“That wasn’t funny,” he says sharply.
Damn, stupid joke to make at this moment.
“You’re right, it wasn’t. I’m sorry, that was inconsiderate.”
Hugh sighs and shakes his head.
“Though I suppose your returned ability to make completely terrible jokes mean you’re recovering.” He sits down at the edge of the bed and takes Paul’s hand, his face serious. “Paul I-” Breaking off he takes a long, shuddering breath.
Paul struggles to sit, wanting to hug him, tell him again that he’s sorry but Hugh puts his free hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down.
“Don’t. Paul you’re still... well, you’re fragile. Modern medicine can only fix so much, your body needs time to recover on its own too. You need to take things easy. Everything strenuous is off the table. I know how much you hate sitting and doing nothing, but for the next couple of weeks that’s what you’ll need to do. Unless you want to undo all my hard work.” Hugh swallows hard. “You came this close to dying, Paul.”
“No. No I don’t want to undo your work.” He squeezes Hugh’s hand, raising his other to caress Hugh’s cheek. “It was a very stupid joke. I’ll behave. Promise.”
Hugh lets out a slow, shuddering breath.
“I’m going to hold you to that,” Hugh says, bending down and kissing Paul on the forehead. “We’ll talk more later, but for now get some rest. And if you need anything just call out. I’ll be right over there.”
Paul lets go of him with a soft sigh, watching as Hugh returns to his job before closing his eyes to doze. He really is very tired.