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Darem had been expecting the fist to the face from the moment they were all cuffed. People like that, they wouldn’t go for the girls—no matter that Genesis could probably take a punch better than him, like she could best him at everything else—because it was all about appearances. The show of strength. Beat down their biggest, their strongest, and the title would be yours.
People like that. It’d been the first thing he’d done, walking into the Academy, trying to pick a fight with the first Klingon he’d seen.
So he’d expected the fist. He hadn’t entirely expected the force behind it, like a starship punching to warp. Something crunched in his nose. He fell back, vision cutting out, limbs going loose, head exploding in pain. Pathetic. Get up. Get up.
“This is a Federation-style transaxilating relay. Where did you get Federation components?”
He managed to pull himself up, long enough to leer, long enough to show them he wasn’t beaten. He was good at that, at least. Putting on a show.
The next punch blacked him out again, for a second. His head was going to split in two. He tasted blood, on his lips, running down the back of his throat. He staggered to his feet again and grinned, certain of one thing and one thing only.
He was going to die. They all were, him and Genesis and SAM. Here, at the outskirts of nothing, for no reason at all. Well. At least Caleb had gotten what he’d wanted.
He was going to die, and he hadn’t even—
“Take her hands,” the old man in the silver robe intoned.
Darem did, nervously. Kaira flashed him a smile. The rocky formations of the matrimonial moon loomed all around him. The air, hot and dry, seared his lungs. He’d never been off Khionia before. His land-form felt clumsy, unwieldy, like it wasn’t his.
“Repeat after me,” the old man said. “I, Darem Reymi, promise my hand—“
Darem did as he was told, the words awkward on his tongue, even though he’d practiced them over and over and over.
“I, Darem Reymi, prom—promise—?”
He’d stumbled. Off to the side of the altar, watching him, his parents’ faces were stony. He’d messed it up already. It was the one thing above all he was supposed to get right and he’d already messed it up. His heart pounded in his throat. The one thing.
Kaira nodded encouragingly. Her small fingers squeezed his. Darem took a deep breath, and another. Like a true Khionian warrior.
“I, Darem Reymi, promise my hand,” he said, “and my love, and my life to you. I will serve dutifully as your Jvera. I will be true to you always and honor this sacred vow for as long as I live.”
You’re my best friend, Darem thought, as Kaira repeated the words back to him. You come up with the best games and you’re always nice. Why would I ever want anything else?
It was done.
The old man in the robe droned on and on about duty and honor and legacy. Darem listened and breathed the hot dry air and tried not to fidget and wished he could slide back into the cool, welcoming sea. Mother and Father didn’t even look at him once on the transport home.
The bicep he’d dated in school had been just that. Rude, arrogant, uninterested in anything but Calica and himself. But those shoulders, god, and the way his muscles had rippled under the sonic pulse of the showers after practice. The way he’d taken Darem in strong, calloused hands and molded him, like clay—
Mother and Father hadn’t objected to the dalliance, not exactly, not with his sealing still so many years away. But the future king of Khionia was to be consort to a queen, and Darem had as yet failed to show any of the requisite interest in the scores of girls who surrounded him. People were beginning to whisper. People were beginning to think he wasn’t fit for the task.
A disappointment. One that could not be allowed to stand.
His future as Jvera was the one thing that mattered above all, the one thing every other achievement was for. His duty, to Kaira, his parents, his people. What he wanted, what he had ever wanted, was nothing in comparison to that.
So Darem pursued the heel’s sisters and cousin too for good measure, and flirted and ogled and spread rumors of his own virility far and wide. By the time he got to Starfleet Academy, it was as natural as breathing underwater.
He was perfect. Tall and wiry and strong. His kind, intelligent eyes and the full curve of his lips and the sharpness of his jaw, perfect. And he was entirely, unabashedly, amazingly…himself. Darem hadn’t thought it possible. Darem couldn’t look away.
When Jay-Den told him he could squash him like a bug, he had no idea how right he was.
Darem took Jay-Den’s hands, gently kicked his legs apart, and positioned him carefully. Reverently, even. Jay-Den’s lean muscle was firm and supple beneath his touch. Darem pressed in, close enough to feel him breathe, to feel the rumble of the words in his chest, close enough to smell his soap and something earthier and spicier beneath that was simply Jay-Den. Closer than he’d allowed himself to come to anyone who made him feel that way, in so long. The desire had pooled low in his belly. He wanted to drink him in, to feel him, taste him.
He wouldn’t, of course. He knew better than that.
Darem let his voice fall away, and Jay-Den took up the chant, perfect and confident and strong. Darem couldn’t look away.
Kyle. Fucking Kyle. “Best of the War College” Kyle. Everywhere he went was Kyle. Charming and thoughtful and earnest and handsome and sweet. Hanging on Jay-Den’s every word and his arm and who knew what else. Fucking Kyle.
It was the one thing that had mattered above all else, the one thing every other accomplishment had been for, even that goddamed belaklavian, and Darem had let them all down.
Kaira. His parents. His people.
How was it that none of them had ever seen it, but Jay-Den had, after only a day?
Or, maybe the better question was, how was it that he hadn’t managed to smile convincingly enough to perform the one duty that had ever mattered, even for a day?
Breathe, Jay-Den had told him, when icy fear gripped him and the dry desert air stuttered in his lungs. He could still feel the weight of Jay-Den’s hands on his shoulders, steadying him. His gaze gentle, grounding, calm. Even through his panic, he had wanted to drink him in.
He’d wrapped Jay-Den in the Royal Sealing Mantle constructed of the sea tendrils of Ryllios, symbol of the strength of his people and fragility of tradition, without even thinking for a second. You’ll go blue, he’d whispered, like an idiot.
It was done. It was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. It was the worst thing he’d ever done. He was free. For the first time in his life, he was free.
Turned out, his PADD could receive subspace messages from Khionia, after all. He was a disappointment, a disgrace, and a failure, and cut off from the family fortune. It was no less than he’d expected. But he was free.
“There's an expectation on them to get married and be happy, but they leave it too long before saying what they want. Who they really want.”
Darem knew what he wanted. Who he wanted. He knew what he needed to do, what he needed to say. The only problem was, he couldn’t seem to do it. Already, he’d left it too long.
The blood was running down his face, coating his chin, choking the back of this thoat. The ache reverberated through his skull. He was still grinning. Convincingly enough, he hoped.
“Try to run, holo-girl, I'll shoot your friends. Now, where did you get Federation components?”
Another blow to his already-broken nose. He was on his back again, seeing stars, blood pooling in his mouth. His head was going to explode from the pain. Get up. Get up. They’d turn on Genesis next if he didn’t get up. That was how these people were. Darem knew that better than anyone.
He spat blood in the Venari Ral woman’s face. Laughed and braced for the next skull-cracking blow. He could take it. Keep taking it. He was good at that too.
Jay-Den’s quarters were hotter and drier than usual, the environmental controls jacked up to Qo’noS normal. The air was thick with some foreign spice, rich and warm and welcoming. They sat in a circle, Kyle notably absent, and the joy that radiated off Jay-Den at having all his friends there for his ritual made something in Darem’s heart sing.
Not to mention, House Kraag. He really liked the sound of that.
The Klingon words were awkward on his tongue, and he fumbled them a little, but the smile that lit Jay-Den’s face was warm and bright and beautiful. As if it hadn’t mattered at all. Darem smiled back, his heart in his throat, and never wanted the moment to end. Never wanted Jay-Den to stop smiling. Never wanted Jay-Den to stop smiling at him.
What he wanted—
“Drink mine for me?” Caleb said, shoving his bowl in Darem’s direction.
Caleb’s rude exit ruined the celebratory mood, already strained by SAM and Genesis’s roomie drama. Within minutes, the girls had gone too.
Jay-Den still sat on the floor, his legs crossed, his expression inscrutable, the disappointment nevertheless rolling off him in waves. Darem sidled closer and squeezed his shoulder. The lean muscle beneath his uniform was tense. After a moment, Jay-Den closed his eyes and let out a long breath.
“Caleb’s a dick,” Darem said bracingly. “This was important to you. This was important. You want me to go after him? I’ll—”
“Darem.” Jay-Den shook his head.
“It was beautiful,” Darem added. In the face of Jay-Den’s silence, he couldn’t seem to stop running his mouth. “The ritual. All that about—family. And House Kraag. It’s an honor. I mean it.”
Jay-Den’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. The sad, blank expression on his handsome face flickered, for a moment. His gaze moved from the floor to Darem, and Darem’s breath caught.
“I appreciate that,” Jay-Den said slowly. “But I am not…angry…at Caleb.”
“No? Because let me tell you, I—”
“I am sure he had his reasons,” Jay-Den said forcefully, and if it sounded like he was trying to convince himself of that fact, well, Darem could understand that. “Even if I do not understand them completely. He is my brother.”
“He’s a dick,” Darem repeated. “What I think—“
“Darem.”
Darem fell silent. For a few breaths, they just looked at each other.
“Can I at least help clean all this up?” Darem said.
Jay-Den’s lips curved into a small, sad, ghost of a smile, nothing like the one he’d flashed at Darem just a few minutes earlier. The anger within Darem simmered again. How dare Caleb put an expression like that on Jay-Den’s face. The asshole.
“Thank you,” Jay-Den said. “That is very… considerate.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It is not nothing to me,” Jay-Den said, and Darem swallowed, and licked his lips, caught in the tractor beam of that beautiful green gaze once again.
Jay-Den pressed the ceremonial bowl into his hands, the chech'tlhuthlh still sloshing within. “Here. You might as well drink it for him.”
“But isn’t this…”
“The ritual is over. It is often customary to share what remains with the new members of the House. I would be honored to share it with you.”
“Alright, then.” Darem smiled and brought the bowl to his lips. “To House Kraag.”
He passed it back to Jay-Den, who did the same, his eyes glinting.
Together, without saying much, they got to cleaning and storing the ritual components and putting away the ingredients for the chech'tlhuthlh and generally restoring Jay-Den’s room to its standard, Starfleet-approved state. They passed the chech'tlhuthlh back and forth as they did.
Tomorrow, they would all be going to Betazed, then home for the summer, or if not home—elsewhere. There wouldn’t be any more quiet, intimate moments like this, and who knew where Kyle might fit into it all. It was, Darem realized, the last chance he was going to have.
Maybe it wasn’t the time, after what had happened with Caleb. But if he didn’t say something now—
If this is your true path, timing does not matter.
Yes. He’d tell him. Tonight. He just had to wait for the right moment.
The minutes slid by. They were almost done cleaning up. After that, there be would no excuse to keep hanging around Jay-Den’s quarters. He watched Jay-Den place the dishes from mixing the chech'tlhuthlh meticulously in a row to dry, his every movement lithe and measured. Perfect.
All he had to say was Jay–Den, there’s something I need to tell you. I know you might not feel the same. But you mean the world to me. Give me a chance, and I won’t let you down. He’d gone over it a thousand times in his head.
But the words stuck in his throat. If Jay-Den didn’t feel the same, everything would change. He’d know. He’d see Darem for who he really was. And Darem would never again be able to come so close. Jay-Den was possibly the only of his classmates who even genuinely liked him, outside of maybe Ocam, and he was going to put that on the line, for what?
Pathetic. Do it. Do it.
“Jay-Den,” he said abruptly, only his voice sounded too loud in his ears. He’d turned to face Jay-Den fully and the room kept spinning around him. There was something wrong with his tongue. His gaze alighted on the bowl, now empty and lined up to dry. “There’s something I…” he frowned, and blinked. “Jay-Den, what was in that stuff?”
Jay-Den’s ridged brow furrowed. “The chech'tlhuthlh?”
Darem nodded vigorously. “The stuff.”
“Nectar of the DIghna' plant, syrup of the Arkhsamm tree, aged bloodwine…”
“Aged bloodwine? Real alcohol, not synthehol?”
Jay-Den’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. The ritual requires real bloodwine. Are you alright?”
Without meaning to, Darem started to laugh. Jay-Den’s handsome, perfect face softened in concern. Strong hands settled onto Darem’s shoulders.
“Fine,” Darem breathed. “I’m fine…”
He was back on the matrimonial moon again, panic tightening his lungs, the weight of a world on his shoulders. Jay-Den had held him like that, and seen him, really seen him, like no one else ever had, and he hadn’t turned away. All beautiful eyes and full lips and sharp jaw. If Darem were to take just a step closer—he could taste him, feel him, drink him in. Jay-Den’s hands slid from his shoulders to his arms, almost a caress, but Jay-Den was frowning.
“Darem, are you…drunk?”
“Oh yeah,” Darem said, half in realization himself. He was drunk. Really drunk, it seemed. He could metabolize the synthehol they sold in bars just fine, but…bloodwine? Pfft. It had hit him like a runaway shuttlecraft. “Enzyme. Like the bananas. Khionians don’t—mm.”
Jay-Den shook his head. He stepped back, away from Darem.
“I think you should return to your room.”
“No, Jay-Den, I, there’s something—something l—” He closed his eyes. This was it. His last chance. Tomorrow was Betazed, and then the summer, and probably Kyle, and he’d left it too long again.
Jay-Den did not sound amused. “You are extremely drunk.”
“Yes, I am,” Darem said loudly. “So, thanks for the chech—the checht—the stuff. The ritual. So glad you want me in your House, not like Caleb, the dick.” It was now. Now was the time. Now or never. Stupid, stupid. He cleared his thoat. “You know I think the world of you, Jay-Den, and I—“
Jay-Den’s expression had gone stony. Unreadable.
He was seven years old again, the air too dry and hot, his body clumsy and unwieldy, like it wasn’t even his. He’d messed it all up before it had even begun. The one thing that mattered. The one thing he wanted. His heart pounded in his throat.
“—I have to go,” he finished.
There was hurt on Jay-Den’s face again, like when Caleb had left, only maybe—different, somehow. Nah. Had to be Darem’s imagination, because he’d like that, wouldn’t he?
“Darem?”
The whole room was lurching around him. Jay-Den seemed the only part that was standing still. But there was nothing Darem could say that wouldn’t give it all away, so he just turned and walked out, leaving Jay-Den blinking at him from the doorway.
It was okay. It was fine. Better, actually, this way. Darem would only have let him down in the end.
He couldn’t stomach the thought of returning to his room, where Caleb might be waiting, so he stumbled in the other direction with no particular destination and ended up in the shuttle bay, where, as it turned out, Caleb, SAM, and a grudging, judgy Genesis were busy stealing a shuttlecraft.
“How long have you been on Ukeck?”
Darem braced himself for another punch, another starburst of pain, but Genesis was quicker.
“Only a couple of hours.”
The blow didn’t come, but it made no difference. They were all going to die, him and Genesis and SAM, on this nowhere planet, for no reason at all, and no one except Caleb would ever know what had become of them.
Did you tell Jay-Den you were leaving? he’d snapped at Caleb, still incensed over the ritual. But maybe he was a mirror after all, because he was going to die, and he hadn’t even told Jay-Den goodbye.
His head was splitting. Blood poured from his broken nose and choked the back of his throat. The world spun dizzily. He’d lived for Kaira, for his parents, for his people. But when he’d finally had the chance to live for himself, he’d been too afraid of wanting anything to say what he had needed to say.
Out of nowhere there was chaos. Caleb and his mom, showing up improbably to save the day, or try to. Shooting and grappling and people shouting in the dark and bodies hitting the ground. His wrists still bound, woozy, it was all Darem could do to stay on his feet until it ended. And it was going to end soon. There were too many Venari Ral. They had never stood half a chance.
Darem closed his eyes and saw kind, intelligent eyes and full lips and a sharp jaw. A smile, warm and bright. “Jay-Den,” he murmured, too low to hear over the din. “You mean the world to me. Give me a chance, and I won’t let you down.”
It was too little. Too late.
Then out of nowhere again the Athena roared overhead, all bright lights and displaced air from the thrusters, and the Venari Ral were shouting and scrambling and SAM was yelling and the golden twinkle of the transporter beam caught them all. Their hope. Their salvation.
And just maybe, another chance.