Reboot Fic: Fire Dancing 4/4 (Draws VIII)

[syredronning]

Title: Fire Dancing (Draws VIII)
Author: Acidqueen
Series: Reboot aka ST:XI aka AOS – Draws Series
Codes: Pike/Kirk/McCoy and other pairings; several original characters of various genders
Rating: NC-17 for some hot scenes; warning: teacher/student relationship
Word count: complete 41.000, this part 10.000

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 -



***
When Pike comes back to life, everything is a shady gray silence with little dots of red chirps. He's flat on his back and there's something around his head and neck, something hard and stiff that's keeping him in position.

"Sir – admiral!" The words are overly loud and ring in his ears, turning the gray into a light blue. There's a touch and a shift of the ground beneath him, something cool on his fingers.

"Sir. Can you hear me? Please, say something."

"Shh." His lips deliver something, obviously. Something heavy leans on his right shoulder, whispered words drifting through the shadows.

He should know that voice. He does know that voice. "Dael?" He can't turn his head but he badly wants to see her. There's something suspiciously like a sob close to his right ear.

"I'm dying?" A full sentence; he's pleased with himself, even though there's something very wrong with his brain and he feels a bit guilty for eternally ignoring the danger.

"No, sir. But I almost killed you!"

"Not gonna happen." Looking is too much work, so he blindly tries to move his right hand but she seems to lie on it, so he tries his left. There are things in the way but then his fingers uncoordinatedly brush through her hair, every move a tremendous effort. There are memories rising, of rain in the desert. "You got the horse home."

"I made a mistake. You could've died."

Suddenly there's a lot of movement in the room.

"Now that you could see that he survived, please leave the room and get some rest, cadet," someone says and it's definitely not him. But he completely agrees if it means he's got time to figure out what she's talking about. People move around him, shifting shadows when he opens his eyes.

"Look at me, sir," a circle above him says, and Pike tries but he's not sure what he's supposed to look at, all the wrong colors and vague forms.

"I'm Doctor Anumanchi. You're in the intensive care unit at SFM General. All will be well. You had a cascading brainstem failure. Don't be concerned that you can't move your head right now. It's a neural stabilizer." There's a cautious touch on his left hand. "We'll sedate you again for now to give the emergency therapy more time to work. We'll speak later."

Pike doesn't like the idea of being out of it again but then there's already the telling stab and all goes black.

*

He hates doctors. It was in the Narada aftermath that Pike realized the full amount of said hate, but he's never liked them, never liked feeling weak and disoriented and being subjected to the decisions of others.

It really doesn't help that he currently is disoriented, more than he'd ever been, thanks to a kind of perpetual motion sickness and a new surprise side effect every day. He had agreed to the therapy that the doctores Anumanchi and McCoy created for him, trusting them to have his best interest in mind, but he doesn't have to like it. He's on artificial nutrition, the forced head position makes his insides curl and his shoulders ache, and even after four days, just closing his hands to a fist doesn't work yet.

"The good news, " McCoy had told him over the long distance real-time transmission, "is that the injection Dael gave you stopped the swelling in your brain caused from the accident with the horse. The bad news is that it caused a cascading failure in your brainstem which almost killed you. You can't really control your limbs right now but we analyzed the data and the positive side effect of this failure is that the underlying problem reared its ugly head. Which gives us a leverage to deal with it. I wish I could tell you that we've got a quick fix for you, but we don't. We'll have a treatment laid out now, but it's experimental, and if it doesn't work, we'll have to try something else. "

Four days, and his fingers still won't form a fist, not even as he angrily stares at his raised hand.

Technically, he's allowed to see visitors but he's too sick most of the time and for once doesn't want to be seen so helpless. He had noticed Farnham's damn serious face when his friend had come to visit against his recommendation, and it's been easy to get John into talking Nat and Tom out of visiting him.

"I'll be better in a week," Pike had said, and Farnham had nodded and put on a fake smile, being too intelligent not to know that in reality, the future of his existence is very much up in the air right now.

The only one who's regularly welcome is Dael, because after overcoming her guilt (thanks to McCoy's statement that he'd have applied the same drug, with the same catastrophic effect), she's matter-of-factly talking to him about the Academy and her courses and engaging him in discussion about tactics and treaties and interplanetary diplomacy. It's exhausting but also relieving – at least some parts of his brain seem to work fine, even if sometimes his voice fails, or his eyes can't focus on things. He's even passed out a few times. The therapy makes him experience all of the brainstem's interesting facets and if he were a med student, he'd probably love it. As it is, Pike wants to get back to his strategic Borg problem and, fuck all, have a day in his life in which he doesn't feel like a boat in a hurricane.

Determinedly gnashing his teeth, he succumbs to the full program, which includes his body being plastered with TENS units and someone physically moving his legs twice a day to remind his brain how it feels if the muscles and nerves actually work. Nothing of it hurts but it's mostly happening out of his sight and it still feels as if his legs aren't a part of him. This indifference comes to a sudden hold when he notices the sexy male nurse on day five, and while he still can't see and feel much, the higher regions of his brain jump at the idea like nothing. And another region too.

Two hours later, he gives up and dictates a note in his voice-controlled comm. next to the bed.

John, I need your help. Badly. Bring lube.

It's five hours later when his friend shows up, a large grin on his face.

"Thought no visitors during night shift," Pike says sleepily.

"I'm persuasive." Farnham's grin deepens as he leans down and places a rather chaste kiss on Pike's lips. "You feeling better?"

"Not much, but some parts of my body work too damn well and my coordination's still down the drain."

"Never thought you'd call me to give you a helping hand." Said hand slips down and pats Pike's groin. Pike isn't actually sure if he's really hard or if the arousal is all in his brain, but it's unbearably real in any case.

"No toying with me, John," Pike mutters, his breathing quickening. "Please."

"Would be my great chance to have you finally beg." Farnham purses his lips. "But I won't take advantage of your inconvenient situation." His eyes drift around the room, his expression turning more serious. "You're sure we should do this? There are cams and monitors all around, and your doctors will kill me if you end up worse than you already are."

"Cleared it with them. Told me to go easy, but it's not forbidden." Pike tries to shift his legs, and for once there seems to be actual movement. Forehead creased in concentration he spreads his legs a little, his groin rising to meet the lingering palm. "Come on, John. Please." He is begging, damn.

Farnham pulls the cover aside and moves downwards, out of Pike's sight. It only takes a moment, though, before he exactly knows where John's head is, because a hot mouth settles on his dick and sucks it in. Pike would arch if he could, so he only presses his hands into the bedding and spreads his legs a little more. "Give me your fingers, John. Please. Fuck me with them."

There's the sound of lube and he feels – feels, yeah – the moment something cool presses into him, quick and dirty and absolutely needed tonight. He doesn't know how many there are but they move in and out and then there's the mouth on him again. His body is trembling, his head and neck aching from the impulse to join the movement and being unable to do so. He raises a sluggish hand into the air, reaching out to find the head of his lover. Lacing his fingers into short hair, he holds on for a second, but then his leftover coordination goes to hell and he's reduced to a shivering bundle of messed-up nerves that dance on their own. Soon he comes with a groan, the throes of orgasm tearing his limbs as Farnham rides it out with him.

Pike comes back to full conscience with the cover tugged around him, arms carefully placed underneath it.

"Somehow it's good to know that some things didn't change," Farnham says above him, and this time the smile is real, reaching his eyes. He holds Pike for a moment, sharing a deep kiss that tastes of sperm and a little of coffee, then moves away. "I've got to go."

"Thanks for coming, John. You're the best."

"I'm not. But I wish I were." Farnham's hand pats his chest for a moment. "You can call me any time, Chris. I just can't promise I'll be quick."

"Understood. Thanks again." There's almost an I love you on his lips but it wouldn't be true, not in the long run, and so Pike doesn't say it. Or maybe, he thinks sleepily as he hears the click of the closing door, he does love John in a way, but he's not in love with John, and that makes all the difference.

The next day is the first to see some real improvements.

"I heard you got some healing sex," Kirk says in his next message, and what seems to have been intended as a joke sounds surprisingly edgy. "If we were there, you'd already be walking."

I wish, Pike thinks. Don't I wish.

*

It's day ten when Pike is finally freed from the equipment around his head and able to move – well, get moved – into a wheelchair. He hates these too but it's an incredible improvement to being tied to a bed, so he doesn't complain. He asks for a shower and spends a full hour under the hot water, exerting his newly acquired control of his fingers to clean himself thoroughly.

He's got another session with Doctor Anumanchi in which she explains his current status (stable) and the prognosis (unclear) and he thinks that he really expected medicine to advance beyond the point of educated guesswork, but he knows he's being unjust. They've done everything they could for the moment, and now his brain needs to get around and sort the chaos. It means rehab for at least six week, an elaborate program of exercises for body and brain not unlike the one he'd gone through after the Narada. Considering that he needed almost a year to recover back then, his future looks suddenly dark and bleary, a familiar twinge of depression settling in his stomach.

At least this time he's got still his job, unlike last time when everything that had been important to him had been crushed and gone.

"I heard the institution is almost a day away," Dael says as she hears the news. She sits on the visitor chair as he packs his things, having helped him fetch the few belongings that were out of his reach.

"I hope you visit me anyway," he says and looks at her with a smile. "There's regular transportation to and from the place, as it's one of the 'fleet's preferred institutes. I sent the launch dates for the next two weeks to your PADD together with the address where new dates can be found."

Pike is being egoistic and he knows it – there's no reason why she should make the long ride just to cheer him up, even though the semester break is coming up. But he's gotten used to her being around for discussions, and he'd really miss that. "Your travel expenses would be paid by the 'fleet," he adds. It's a lie but his income is large enough to cover her trips, and what good is having money if not for catering to his needs while he is still alive? If he had died in the desert, he couldn't have taken his precious savings with him anyway.

Pike carefully puts some PADDs into his suitcase. He'd get more equipment installed in his room in the rehab, anything he needs to keep steering the Borg task force while staying there, even though he'll probably have some restrictions on his work load. He smiles as he thinks back to McCoy's last transmission.

"Think of your brainstem just having gone through a major reconfiguration. You wouldn't want to send a ship out of orbit without giving your crew time to get acquainted with the new systems and to iron out the problems," McCoy said.

"An engineering comparison from you, doc?" Pike replied, amused.

"I know how to talk to captains," the doc grumbled, and then smiled. "Take care. We'll be out of range soon, but I expect daily recordings from you. Full reports, including all raunchy details. We miss you, you sexy bastard. Try not to get killed for a month or two."

He'd try his best, Pike thinks as his gaze drifts from the suitcase up to Dael. She's looking at him with a strange expression in her dark eyes, and he tilts his head. "Anything wrong, cadet?"

"No, sir," she answers quickly, too quickly, but before he can say anything, she gets up and straightens her spine into a military stance. "I'll take my leave of you, sir. Have a good journey."

He nods, mouth dry. "Good luck with the finals. I have no doubt that you'll pass them all with flying colors."

She nods too, a jerky snap of her head. "Sir. Thank you, sir." Then she turns on the spot and leaves the room.

With a sigh, he heavily rests his chin on his palm. He'll never understand her. He is surprisingly hurt and confused by the way she left, which is a sharp cut from the easy exchanges of last two weeks. Resuming his packing, much slower now, he wonders if he said anything wrong but can't come up with a good explanation for her behavior, so at last settles to accept that human beings are eternally illogical.

The sparsely populated medical transport starts an hour later, and Pike's somber mood lightens as he looks out of the shuttle windows, almost feeling the wind dance around his nose.

"This is the captain speaking," a voice comes out of the speaker. "We're a little ahead of schedule, so I decided to take a little trip into the atmosphere. Earth is looking good today, so enjoy the view."

Pike hopes the crew doesn't do this only for him, but if they do… it's a great gift. He rubs over his cheek, a sudden pressure in the back of his eyes.

*

It's week three of six (the first six, he's sure there's more to come), and he's crawling back from therapy. Not literally, but that's his internal word for it because that's how he feels about it. Although he knows that this isn't helpful at all, he despises his rather useless lower body when he forcefully moves the wheelchair through the corridors. There would be antigrav chairs in the house but wheeling himself around works wonders for his arm and shoulder muscles, so he'd rather bother with it than to become even weaker than he is.

It's when he turns around the corner to his floor that he sees her standing at his door, and his heart jumps.

"Cadet Dael," he calls out, and she turns to him and smiles as if they had never parted in a very strange atmosphere, her tattoos bright and uncovered. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth right now, he's just happy to see her. They have coffee and sandwiches in the cafeteria, and she talks about her successful semester finals. She isn't as good as his former protégées, but considering her past, he thinks she's come a very long way. It would sound condescending to say that, so he simply congratulates her on her achievements, trying to hide the full amount of his pride. He gives her one of the apples that the farmer had sent him together with a note that his beloved Whitestar has fully recovered, and for good measure he shares some of Tom's prized peaches too.

When she wants to fly back, the transport is fully booked, much to Pike's surprise.

"No problem," says the nurse on the counter, and gives her a single room for the night, not far from Pike's. On the next morning, over breakfast, Dael is invited to stay for a few days by the head of the institution. She sheds a confused glance at Pike, who shrugs and notes that she could see it as some kind of vacation, so she agrees.

It's week one of her stay, and he's only counting because he soon realizes that this didn't happen just by chance.

*

Dael stays and quietly becomes a part of the rehab program – his and everyone else's, somehow. The doctors and nurses treat her like a guest, but they also offer her this and that group to join, this and that session to test. Instead of only sitting with him, she soon also sits and speaks with other people in the corridor, some kids her age, some older people. At first, enough people flinch away from her tattoo-covered features that remind everyone in Starfleet of the biggest tragedy the Federation had yet to face, but even hard-boiled officers find it beyond themselves to keep up their anger and resentment over time.

"I hated her whenever I passed her, " Aileen McGoverns tells him later, one of the few survivors of the Farragut who lost both legs in the ambush above Vulcan, "but then I talked to her and just I couldn't hate her anymore. Jesus Christ, she's the age of my daughter. And my daughter isn't responsible for me sitting here nurturing my depression. These kids aren't responsible for any of it. Only Nero is."

At the lunch and dinner table, Dael still only eats a quarter of her plate, but he notices that her meals are high-caloric, and over time her overly thin face rounds a tiny bit, her clothes sitting a little less loose. That's when he understands she's also here for her own rehab program, and he's not sure if she realized that.

*

The only game Pike currently masters is the Invisible Ship, something that already tickled his fancy five years ago. As that means there's little challenge in it, he allows himself only two games a week. It's Saturday afternoon and he's sitting comfortably in front of a fake bridge screen in the barely illuminated holo suite, his gloved hands up in the air to control the ship's actions. This time he has invited Dael to join him, so she's now standing behind his chair, watching the simulation.

"They had tried to equip ships with a maneuvering unit like this, but humans – and most other species – want to have solid controls, feel real panels under their fingertips, no matter how lightly they have to press," Pike explains as he brings the invisible ship out of the dock with a snip of his forefinger. The screen shows the space above Jupiter, a view he's always liked a lot.

"The simulation has twenty different levels, and a set of additional levels with space battles." He engages one of the battle settings, two Klingon cruisers above a small, lightly violet planet.

"This game isn't about diplomacy at all, it's solely for honing the coordination and maneuvering skills for this ship. In the first weeks, it was hard as I still didn't have full control over my hands yet, but it's rather easy for me now." Pike quickly engages the cruisers, zig-zagging between them and soon disabling their engines with quick hits. "I've played this already a few times, the simulation isn't as clever as the academy programs. Once you know the solution, it's easy." He stops and restarts the game on the first level, then removes the gloves, giving them to Dael.

"Here, give it a try."

She pulls them on and takes a place in front of him. "Kneel down in front of the chair, I'll help you with the directions," he says, and she does as suggested. Sharing her view on the hands and the scenery, he bends a little forward and starts his instructions. "Imagine you've got five panels in front of you, laid out in a half circle. The unusual thing here is that each panel also has a depth of five layers with different functions on each." He takes one of her outstretched hands and pulls it closer to her body. "When the glove shines like this, you're working on the surface. When it's dark like this –" he moves it away from her – "you're in the lowest level. The first lesson is to get a feel for the size and depths of the panels. From there, the functionalities of each panel and each layer have to be trained. The simulation has explicit lessons for each, but I always felt that working with the ensemble of the most necessary functions is better training."

He watches her moving her hands in thin air; the only response of the system is the minute changes in the gloves' intensity.

"I wonder –" Dael says and makes a pointing movement with her right forefinger, freezing when the screen comes alive with a dozen of alerts.

"You've just started the waste ejection in a space dock. Not a recommended procedure." Pike tries not to grin, but it's an amusing operation error. Taking her right hand once more, he teaches her the command to stop the ejection.

"These panels are enough to do everything on the ship. You've got all bridge controls and also all additional controls of the various emergency bridges and main control panels of each section literally at your fingertips. It's a fascinating design but it won't ever be used on a real ship."

"Because of the missing touch panels?"

"Not only. For this kind of control to work, you need a completely still surrounding. In a battle or in the middle of some natural disaster, the ship's shaking and being thrown around. This panel design is eternally restricted to simulations." Pike is a little wistful about this aspect, but that's the nature of fancy new technologies – not all are useful in practice.

"Let me try again," Dael says and cautiously moves her hands. He watches her exploration with a smile.

*

Two weeks come and go with Dael at his side – that's what it feels like, and Pike is not beyond admitting that she's good for him.

On the other hand, he's too curious to let two important questions rest: who arranged all this and what's their goal? When he inquires about who pays her undoubtedly expensive stay, everyone is lip-locked at first, then the IDIC Foundation is brought up. Bad luck that Pike has put some research into that trust and it only supports stays on New Vulcan, no therapy programs on Earth.

It's Nogura's visit that finally gives Pike a chance to ask over a quiet dinner in his room. Once the dishes are empty and taken away, the glasses filled, and his visitor relaxed and hopefully open for answers, he approaches the subject.

"About Dael - do I need to guess forever, or are you telling me who her parents worked for on that backwater planet? Because while I know that we always try to rescue every human in this galaxy, the way Dael has been supported over the last years and is now maneuvered through a sneaky therapy program paid by some unnamed organization, there's got to be more behind it."

Nogura eyes him over the edge of his wine glass, then replies with a faint smile, "Her mother was a former officer and worked for Fed Intelligence. Her father was an artist – gifted but a little escapist, quick in ignoring the realities of the world. Intelligence badly wanted to have someone in those colonies, but nobody except for this couple had the necessary believable profile. They managed to talk her into it. The family moved to the colony for a projected four years when Dael was eight, but the mission got extended. The children were seen as additional benefit, a believable cover."

"Not one of the brightest decisions."

"At that time, the colonies were very secure. Who would have thought that we were in an undeclared war with a time-traveling Romulan?" Nogura takes a sip of his wine before proceeding. "After the Narada, the Federation was in uproar. A few small colonies near the Romulan boarder were very low on the priority list. Only when the reports came in about the colonies being razed to the ground, a first ship was sent there. It was badly equipped and couldn't detect the few survivors. Six months later, an Andorian ship found them in a routine sweep, but instead of informing the authorities, the two children and their father ended in a refugee camp on Ontarii. The father was completely delusional at that point. It's probably a miracle that he didn't kill his children. His trace ends in that camp, he's presumed dead. A few Federation delegates visited the camp once in a while, but the kids hid from everyone due to their tattoos, and the one man who saw them had no empathy to spare for whom he thought to be Romulan bastards. If not for the IDIC Foundation, they'd probably still be there."

"So intelligence and various other Federation authorities gloriously fucked up, and now you want to fix that."

"The Federation owes Dael something, and we're trying to pay it back. She never agreed to a good therapy after New Vulcan but once she almost accidentally showed up here, it was decided that it was the perfect timing to do something for her."

"Who decided that?"

"Several institutions and a private financier. Her costs are covered. No need to spend your own money." Nogura smiles a little.

"Your intervention comes rather late. She's lost everything, even her brother."

"Her brother was offered the same chances as she was, but he wasn't as stable."

"A heartless statement."

"We cannot make the past undone," Nogura says quietly, eyes staring into the distance for a moment before focusing on Pike again. "But we can improve the future. Which brings me to you."

"Does it?" Pike replies frostily.

"I talked to her doctors. They recommend that Dael stays for another six weeks."

Pike takes a deep breath. "Oh – no."

"Please, Chris. You've got a full office here, and your doctors recommend another six weeks of therapy anyway."

"I'd really like to see my own apartment again, once in a while. With or without walking. They're ready to discharge me on my own risk."

"If you leave, she'll leave with you. So if you want to do her a real favor – stay with her until her doctors think she's ready to be discharged."

"I hate this idea."

"I know. But it's for the best – for each of you." Nogura's smile is sweet and double-layered, and Pike engages in a brief daydream of throttling the man.

"I'll do it," Pike says at last. "But you owe me for that, Heihachiro. A big one."

"Sure, Chris." There's that sweet smile again, and when Nogura is out of the door, Pike punches a hole into thin air.

Fuck Intelligence for sending out kids into danger zones like pawns protecting a queen.

Then he thinks of the Lexington and what pain his own decisions might cause if anything goes wrong.

Fuck yourself for thinking that what you do when sending people out into the void is so very different.

*

It's a week later, on day four after standing up on his own two legs again, and Pike stares after the yellow ball that springs away to his left before he's got a chance to catch it, cursing silently as he loses another point. Holo Squash is always a challenging game and even in this toned-down version for rehab, Pike ends sweating and swearing. Each player wears a sensor suit and racquet, and while Dael has to make full movements, his leg sensors are programmed to cheat – every small movement will be multiplied and translated into a transversal shift, so he's got at least a tiny chance to catch the ball.

They've changed the rules and switch the server after every point because he'd never have a chance to serve otherwise, but it doesn't help a lot. The rehab staff thinks he's a bit crazy to start with the most strenuous ball game of all, but he's set some challenging goals for himself and he's not going to yield to the limits the doctors would like to impose on him.

Pike takes the ball, every time a little in awe about how realistic holosuites have become when he feels the solid matter in his hands, then serves in a hard volley. This time he'd make a damn point. Dael's answering straight drive brings the ball back to him, and they play back and forth for a few beats, before his drop shot takes all spin off the ball and drives her to the front wall. She slips and lightly crashes into it, the ball rolling off. He balls a fist and lets out a victorious shout.

"That was sneaky," she accuses him but the corners of her lips quirk as she pulls herself up. "Congratulations on your first point."

With a grin he makes a dancing move, which he instantly regrets as he uncoordinatedly topples forward and goes down on one padded knee. The pleasure of the won point is eaten by having gone down ten times in this session when his personal goal is no more than five. Shit.

Like every time she wordlessly walks up at him and offers her hand. Pike takes it and is standing a second later, pulled up by her solid grip.

"One more round," Dael says, not really asking, and he's close to declining because he's exhausted and frustrated, but then he allows her to push him through that extra serve.

"Goal: keeping the ball in the game as long as possible, or we'll both lose," she changes the rules, and when they leave the court a quarter of an hour later, he's drop dead tired but also fucking satisfied with himself.

*

No matter their schedules, they always have dinner together on a small table all by themselves, sometimes exchanging news of the day, sometimes just sitting in comfortable silence. Tonight, when he's already done, he watches her listlessly moving the vegetables back and forth on the plate.

"I thought about your question," Dael says suddenly, looking up at him.

"Which question?"

"Why I eat so little. Before you asked, I've never given it a thought. Everyone seemed to think I was eating enough, or if any girl remarked on anything, they were usually congratulating me on being so thin. I never wondered if it's normal."

"I didn't want to make you feel as if it's not normal –"

"But it isn't," she rushes in. "I – when we got into the refugee camp, we were rather starved and we stuffed ourselves full when we got the first real food again. But then I found out that many of the girls... well, there was a lot of violence and rape. I looked like a boy, and it was better that way, so I kept eating very little. It remained like that after the move to Vulcan, because it's been a part of me for so long."

Interesting that Pike had been right about her not having the transgender vibe, as opposed to Farnham's guess. "I'm glad my question made you reconsider your attitude to food. It may give you more of a choice."

"Do you think I look starved?"

Pike smiles. "A little maybe, but not enough to make me send you in for extra nutrition."

"Good." She shyly smiles back at him, then returns her focus back to the food, picking up a slice of fried potato.

With renewed awareness he looks at her plate, the tiny portions she eats. While he might be used to the sight of her, it really isn't natural for a person her age and the rehab is trying its damnest to improve her health. On the other hand, he's sure that once she feels more comfortable with herself and her life in whole, this aspect will solve itself. Seeing no actual need for intervention, he decides to comment no further on her eating habits.

"Battle tonight?" Pike asks. He's enhanced the ship simulation by adding another air panel, which allows them either fighting the enemy together or engaging in a battle between them. So far, he's beaten her in every duel, and she accepts it as good-naturedly as he accepts losing in squash.

"Sure." She winks. "And I'm determined to win today - sir."

*

True to her words, she catches up with the ship simulation and scores her first victory that evening. He claims revenge on the next morning, when they spontaneously decide to play squash before breakfast.

Pike makes a few more points than usual - and falls a little more, as he's changed the settings of the sensors so that he's got to make larger steps. After a rather spectacular yet unplanned dive, he ends sprawled on his back like a stranded bug and can't help laughing about his own ridiculous situation.

"Oh… fuck," he squeezes out. Talk about gallows humor.

"That was funny," she agrees, lips quirking. "But it's still my point."

"You think?" He looks up at her as she bends over him, offering her hand like usual. With a calculated jerk, he flips her over his head. Taking her by surprise, he's got time to get on all fours and crawl over her.

"Lesson for today – never underestimate the potential for dirty play," he says. His victory is short-lived as she uses some sneaky trick on him that ends with her sitting on his shoulders, his face flat on the mat. His legs may be weak but his upper body isn't, and so the combat wares back and forth for some more minutes before he's got to give up.

"I surrender," Pike says as he's sprawled out again with her kneeling on his chest, his sweat-soaked training clothes clinging to his body.

Dael instantly withdraws, giving him room to rise on his elbows.

"Thanks for beating the mat with me. It makes me feel whole." Pike aches all around, but that's currently a necessary ingredient for that feeling.

She just nods and gets up. "Peace?" she says, offering her hand.

"Peace." He allows her to get him up and steady him on the way out of the holosuite.

It's the first but not the last round of squash that ends with an impromptu hand-to-hand combat session.

*

"It's been reported to me that you've made good progress," Nogura says when he visits Pike a week later for another short visit, "but I hadn't hoped to see you this agile already."

"I can fake it well. It stills takes a lot of concentration not to fall over," Pike replies as he walks down the corridor with his colleague. "I've never realized in the past just how fragile the ability to walk is. That we're able to keep our balance at all borders on a miracle."

He shows Nogura to his room and offers him a seat at his table before preparing some tea. Nogura looks around. "It looks even more like Pike Headquarters than last time," he notes.

"Just a few more screens. It makes strategic planning easier." Pike fills two cups and places them on the table before getting out a pack of cookies. With a small groan, he sinks into his chair.

"Are you in pain?" Nogura asks concerned.

"Only because I regularly get my ass handed to me in training," Pike replies. "It's about the only good thing of my injury that the brain itself doesn't hurt – only the side effects may." He adds some sugar to his tea. "Any special reason why you come here today?"

Nogura smiles. "Just wanted to see you."

"I know you, you never just do something," Pike says. "Is it about the task force? We've got online meetings once a week, you should've received my progress report –"

"Everything is fine with your performance." Nogura waves his hand. "You seem to be even more efficient than usual. Maybe you should consider moving in here."

Pike shudders. "No thanks."

Time goes by with his colleague engaging him in small talk, obviously unwilling to bring up the point, if any. When he shows Nogura out again after two hours of much spoken, little said (in Pike's opinion), the man stops after a few steps out of the door and looks to the left. Pike follows his gaze. There's Dael sitting in her usual folded style on a chair in the public area, the PADD resting on her upright knees, head bowed over some reading.

"She's waiting for her session with her psychotherapist," Pike says, knowing her current timetable by heart. "You want to talk to her?"

"No, I don't think that's necessary." Nogura resumes walking, and Pike follows him to the elevator on the right. "I don't know what it is about you and your cases, Chris, but you've managed to adopt another stray puppy," the man says when the elevator door opens.

Pulled out of the concentration needed for keeping upright, Pike doesn't find a clever answer right away. It makes Nogura's next words only hit harder.

"If you make it official and step down as her mentor, I'll try and keep the dogs away from the two of you. But I don't want to see some secret love affair that would undoubtedly hit the news sooner or later." The tone isn't much different from the day on which Nogura had reprimanded him for letting the cadet sleep on the couch in his office.

"There's nothing to make official," Pike says reflexively, defensively, putting one hand on the wall next to the lift for grounding.

"If you say so." Nogura looks back at the seated girl at the other end of the corridor. "If it had been any other cadet, I'd give you hell, but I have seen enough of the two of you to see that you fit well. So if this development goes where I suspect it will, I expect you to be forthright about it."

"If anything happens, I'll come and see you," Pike agrees, mostly to get Nogura stop before he could delve into the subject any further. He's tried very hard to abstain from anything that could be considered unbecoming conduct where Dael is concerned, and he has no intention to change this.

With a last nod, Nogura makes two steps back into the elevator, his sharp eyes resting on Pike until the door closes between them.

That evening, Dael and he eat in complete silence.

"It's battle time," Dael says after dinner, but Pike shakes his head. "I don't have time tonight," he says, and it's only half a lie.

"I still want revenge for yesterday evening," she replies challengingly, the glint of dare in her eyes usually enough to make him reconsider - but not tonight.

"As I said, I am occupied elsewhere this evening. See you tomorrow, cadet," he says firmly and gets up to bring his plate away. He spends the evening all alone, recording something for the doc and Jim, answering a message by John, and then reading the newest intelligence reports on the Romulans and Klingons to keep an eye on other potential threats. When he falls asleep, it's to restless dreams about which he can't remember anything the next morning.

*

For two days, Dael doesn't approach him for another game, even barely crossing his paths. He thinks it's for the best but he can't deny that he definitely misses his sparring partner. At last Pike caves in and walks to her room where she might be, ready to ask for her company for a ship simulation tonight. The unlocked door opens to him and he cautiously looks into the room, surprised by the many colors that greet him. His own room is clinically sterile and white, barely anything personal in it. The bright light soothes him, because he can see everything right away, and the clinical feel reminds him on his former ship's quarters, all neat and ordered. Both aspects give him a satisfying feeling of control.

Her room, though, is filled with one of the available holo projections. The floor looks like black soil; on the two adjacent walls behind the bed where she currently sleeps, dark-red stone walls are projected, while the other two walls open into a field with yellow crop tilted by a breeze. The darkness of the sky is barely penetrated by a distant moon and a few stars, all a little faint behind a layer of fog. On the table, there are paintings - real paintings for all he can see, possibly results from her art therapy. It's something he's given up after the first tentative try because he considered the paintings, once they were interpreted to him, to show much more of his inner workings than he wanted to face. Given the staple of canvases she doesn't seem to be as chicken-hearted, but while he's really curious about the paintings, he pointedly looks away from them.

Dael doesn't stir on his entrance, and so he walks out again, sending a message to her console instead.

"I'm sorry for having been an ass. Dinner tonight?"

Her answer comes two hours later. "Apology accepted. Dinner and rematch tonight."

*

It's a bit of a truce between them for the next days, with little exchange even during their games. Dael is busy with sessions and sometimes away for the day. She's also restless and a little haunted around the edges, and it makes Pike a little concerned, wondering if her father's madness had any genetic component.

A popular holiday is approaching, one he pointedly ignores since forever because it's upholding a romantic look on family that he can't share for various reasons. Pike is adamant about keeping the accompanying decorations out of his room, and determined to ignore the trees and candles that invade the corridors and common areas, and he's good at it until the day when the reception calls him to inform him of a parcel. They deliver it to his room, and parcel is definitely the wrong word – crate would fit much better.

It must have come a long way, because when he breaks the seal and opens the cover, the Enterprise symbol stares at him – and a card, which says, "For you and Dael – to be opened together."

His patience is sourly tested when he has to wait two hours until her appearance. When she enters his room, her gaze instantly comes to rest on the crate.

"Something from the Enterprise. I have no idea what it might be," he says. "Come and help me."

They start to unpack together, removing several layers of protective material until they reach a metal box that might hold the actual gift.

"It must have cost them a fortune to ship something so voluminous," Dael says, a little in awe.

"And it took long time to plan; it took at least six weeks to get here from their current position."

When he catches a first glimpse on the gifts – two rectangular wooden boxes with glass fronts – he swears inwardly because his lovers are really too silly to be true. There are fucking bears inside the boxes. He picks the one with his name on top, and sits down on the bed to inspect the contents.

"Break in case of emergencies" is written on the glass front in an imitation of old-fashioned fire alerts. Behind it there's a diorama, in its center two bears. The one in blue sits in front, holding a tiny hypo in his paws; a golden-shirted bear sits closely behind it. To their left, there's a toy plastic horse on what should be a sand-colored underground, some real plant imitating a yucca. On the ground in front and to the right, there are coffee beans and pasta packages, tiny lube packs and heart-shaped red pillows that barely hide a doll-sized pair of handcuffs and a whip. In the left background, there are steep rocks; in the lower right background, there's a view over a nightly city, almost looking as if they'd taken it on his own balcony, and above it, a starlit night sky. It's silly and beautiful and obviously completely handmade, and the idea of them sitting together and making this for him is… mind-boggling. And he hates the way his nose tenses and a wave of sappyfuckingfeelings rises in him.

Pike shakes it off and looks at Dael who's absorbed in her own diorama. He's curious but also a little self-conscious about showing his, which openly alludes to his sexual preferences. When she catches his gaze, she wordlessly turns hers around. It's similar to his own, but with many differences in detail. In her diorama, it's the captain's bear in front, with the doctor behind it. The ground is covered with something like dark-brown plush. There are tiny books stapled on the right, with tiny titles that were probably readable if he gave it a try. The lower background shows a mountain scenery sloping down into a rather lifeless plane, stars above it. On the left, a mirror is half-lying, offering itself to the watcher, and its edge covered with calligraphy. Pike is not completely sure if it's Romulan or Vulcan. There's an IDIC symbol, a paintbrush, a little tin motorcycle and something glassy and curved, which he has no clue what it should be, but doesn't ask. He turns his diorama and shows it to her, glad that she doesn't ask either, only nods curtly when she's done.

"There's another card," she says and gives it to Pike. He opens it, reading it out loud.

"We wanted to send something really unique, which is hard with someone who's seen more of the galaxy than most other people, so we ended with this. We hope you like our gifts. Don't be concerned about sending something in return; having Chris alive is the best gift we could get, and this wouldn't have been possible without you, Dael. So – happy holidays and we'll speak to you hopefully soon. Take care. Jim and Leonard."

Pike rubs his thumbs over the card – real, expensive paper – and absent-mindedly stares at the words. He's not completely sure whose handwriting it is and it shouldn't be important but suddenly it matters that he doesn't recognize it. There will always be so much he won't know about them, so many things they could surprise him with. He's got the nagging feeling that they're looking through him much more easily than he looks through them, and it makes him feel extra vulnerable tonight.

Fuck these feelings. Fuck.

"Sir?" Dael asks cautiously, stirring him out of his drifting thoughts.

"Yes?"

"It's dinner time. We should go."

"I'm not hungry."

"They'll look for you if you don't attend," Dael says reasonably, but he doesn't feel like listening to the voice of reason right now.

"Tell them I'm fine. Just not hungry."

She gets up from the floor, looking as if she wants to leave the present with him. "You should take your diorama and put it in your room," he says. It's a suggestion and a plea and he wonders why he doesn't simply make it an order instead, but that would probably make her feel thrown out even more than she might feel right now. But he's got a sudden, egoistic impulse of wanting to be all alone, and no empathy to spare for the world around him, not even her.

Thankfully, she's not debating his suggestion, only picks up her gift and leaves. Locking the door behind her, he gets the lube out of his closet and starts jerking off, his usual action of choice to get himself in a better mood. He wants to make it hard and fast, but instead he ends with too many sappy memories, mingling with new, alluring but pointless fantasies. At last he gives up and falls asleep with the lights on and the diorama on his nightstand, a taunting illusion of everything he wants.

*

Over the next days, Pike skips more meals, withdrawing as much as the institution allows him to. Which is far less than he could at home – to which he badly wants to return by now. He wants a door to close behind him, he wants to go out and have some sex just for sex's sake before he gets any more hung up, he wants to eat when and what he wants, and he wants to bury himself in his work without people telling him to attend therapy sessions and group meetings and whatthefuck. He's definitely reaching the end of his rope, and he's making it fucking clear for everyone.

It earns Pike a discharge date in four days, and all he does is wait for them to pass. It's two days before that desired moment when he receives another old-fashioned card with a hand-writing he doesn't recognize. It takes one hour of internal debate before he opens it sitting on his bed, feeling like letting another Trojan horse into his life.

It's a photograph of him and Dael in profile view. It must have been shot during one of their Holo Squash games, and they're holding hands, probably because she helped him up from the floor once more. His head is a little turned away but he seems to smile, and she definitely does smile, her features lit up - and her shining gaze all rests on him, the expression unmistakable.

Pike swallows and turns the photograph to read the note on its back, short sentences in the same sharp handwriting as on the envelope.

I came to visit you but you were occupied and I didn't want to intrude.

Haven't seen you smile like that in 30-odd years.

Doubt that she's been smiling a lot either in the last five.

Don't fuck it up, Chris.

J.

Pike heavily puts the picture down on his upper thigh, closing his eyes. He rubs his free hand over his lower lip, mind blank for a second. There's a tight spot in his guts, protectively coiled and pulsing.

He wants her so badly, there aren't even words for it. He's in love with her and he's known this for a while now but he's been absolutely decided to never act on it.

He could live with the situation because he kept telling himself that she's not in the same position, that she couldn't possibly want a man so much her senior and dealing with a whole lot of health shit that might leave him permanently disabled.

Seeing this picture, he knows he's been lying to himself, because it had been the safest option.

The door opens with only a brief signal as forewarning, and he's annoyed for a second before he recognizes the woman. It's one of the oldest psychiatrists of the team, Doctor Will. She's assigned neither to him nor Dael, but he's often talked to her over the last weeks, possibly about more personal things than to his official psychiatrist whose reports would be bound to end in Starfleet Medical.

Maybe Will is exactly the person to he needs now.

Without words, he offers her the picture. She takes it, looking first at the shot, then reading the note.

"And?" She smiles.

Pike shakes his head, his mind boggling. "You can't possibly think that this is a good thing."

"Do you honestly think that she'd stay here in this institution if the staff didn't agree it would be her best option?"

"The institution, not me."

"Being here with you."

He drops his head, massaging his forehead with his fingertips. "It's… it wouldn't work. She should have a relationship with someone her age, not some strange therapeutic thing with me."

"Can't say many of the staff wouldn't agree to that. The two of you have become quite a topic in our breaks." Doctor Will sits down next to him on the bed. "In my opinion, the secret of good relationships is that there are two people with compatible weaknesses, so that both can heal each other."

"Not a very romantic take on it," he replies with a shaky laugh.

"Your secret is that you know and accept each other's weaknesses. You know about her traumas, she knows about yours. You both know the energy and effort that each of you needs to get over the past, and you acknowledge that in each other. You're careful with each other but you don't overprotect either."

"She sees me as a kind of safe haven."

"No doubt."

"But she shouldn't need that. I want her not to need me, doctor."

"Maybe one day, she doesn't need you anymore, and you'll part because that's what might happen in relationships – people develop into different directions," Will agreed. "But right now, you're her anchor. It's been almost six years since the Narada incident. People could demand that you should've overcome the past by now and that it shouldn't influence your life anymore. But the truth is that some things stay with us forever, and they will always be painful and depressing. We'll live with them but we can't forget them. As far as I can see, she's your antidote to that past. She's become your anchor as well. It could be unhealthy, but it isn't because it's symmetrical. You complement each other."

Will laughs a little. "Many of my younger colleagues would shake their heads about hearing me say something like that, but I've been around for too long to just follow the book, and you'd definitely not be the strangest yet functional couple I've seen in my life."

It's the sudden hope he deals with surprisingly bad; the idea that this might indeed work is so monumental and still so wrong that it leaves him fighting for air. Grasping for straws, he says, "It's complicated. I'm in an unusual relationship..."

"Everyone knows that, and it didn't seem to keep her away from you, did it?"

He rubs over his mouth with his whole hand, thinking of her crate and Jim and how she somehow already has become a part of his relationship. Thinks about how the doc might react upon the news (and everyone else for the matter) but all concerns diminish when he thinks of Dael. How each moment with her has become something he craves and needs, and how many more beautiful moments they might have together if only -

"Oh, what the hell." With a curse he rolls to the other side of the bed and gets up with trembling legs, unable to live with his inner emotional turmoil for another second. He's not a sixteen-year-old, by God, and he'll deal with this as an adult.

He wants the doctor to say something, to fill the deafening silence that suddenly drowns the room, but she is only looking at him with a measured and vaguely sympathetic gaze. He turns to stare out of the window, and why does Dael of all people have to stand in the middle of the garden and dance with some of the other kids, her anorexic body shaking like a willow in a storm.

He doesn't want to be her crutch because one day she'll walk without that crutch and then he'd be the one left behind once more.

"Talk to her. That's the only recommendation I can give," Will says behind his back. "See you in two days for the discharge… or whenever you need to talk."

Pike barely hears the door closing, his eyes still fixed on the girl in the middle of the dance round.

*

He's flat on his back and looking at the stars. The projected stars, to be more precise, donned against the hemispheric ceiling of the small observatory of which Pike is a frequent visitor, once donated by some other admiral. Most of the stars he knows by heart, whispering their names one by one into the quiet of the hall. There's something soothing and meditative about it. He remembers how he told Jim about staying up late in the astrophysics lab on his first ship tour, and decides to look at the stars more often again.

The name of the next star dies on his lips as the door opens. Cautious steps draw closer, stopping next to him. He shifts his gaze to see spiky hair stabbing into the artificial night sky. "Care to join me for stargazing?" he asks, and she lies down next to him on the hard floor.

"Which sky is it?" she asks after a while.

"It's been the sky above Vulcan," he answers.

"It always comes back to that for you, doesn't it?" she says, some indefinable emotion swinging in her words.

He pushes a button on the remote and waits.

"That's---"

"The sky above Khal'kohachi. I had to extrapolate a little, but it should be mostly correct." He gives her a moment in case she wants to say something, then adds, "I've created it over the last weeks. I'm not sure why… or maybe I am, but I don't trust myself anymore when it comes to you."

The silence is deep, like being swallowed by the depths of the ocean, so deep down that there's eternal night, eternal quiet, everything still.

Her hand finds his, and he draws a shaky breath.

"I trust you… sir."

"It's Christopher." He actually liked to hear his unabridged first name before all that and he's determined to claim it back.

"Christopher," she says. "Christopher." It never sounded sweeter.

He clutches her hand, then huffs a sad laugh. "If I could, I'd roll over and kiss you. But I've walked all the goddamn five hundred and eleven stairs up to this place just to have more time to think, and I can't move a muscle to save my life."

There's a brief silence before she suddenly laughs, no, giggles, a sound he'd never have expected from her. Then she's the one to roll over him, placing one palm on his face. Her head is dark against the stars – everything is so dark, and he's on his back, immobile and sore, but he couldn't care less because she kisses him, sweet, small lips on his, and he wants to melt for joy.

"And there people keep telling me you're too old for me," she whispers as she releases him. "Sometimes I think you're the silliest person I ever met."

"That's only because I want to make you smile," he replies, realizing that it's the complete truth. With baited breath, he holds her in his arms, still not totally sure that this isn't some kind of dream.

"You succeed." She strokes his lower lip with one slim fingertip. "Christopher. You silly, wonderful man."

He captures her finger, sucking it into his mouth. He's hard, so hard for her, a woman, and there's a fleeting moment of concern whether his erection will falter once they're really doing it. But this is Dael and she's one of a kind, queer and alien and defying definition.

"Want you so much. For so long…" He isn't sure if it's him or her speaking, their whispered words flowing together between kisses and touches and the sound of their joined breathing.

There'll be a lot to deal with come morning, is his last straight thought before her cool fingers slip under his shirt, but together, we'll make it through everything.

***

Next installment: Walking a Tightrope