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lydamorehouseThe icon is there, so you have been warned.
IF YOU DON'T LIKE FIC IN YOUR FEED, KEEP SCROLLING (also, this fic is now foreshortened for your scrolling convenience. Thank all the gods you now only have to take ONE SECOND to ignore this post, rather than THREE. )
You now have ZERO excuse to not to ignore this, if you're not into it.
/ End not even passively-aggressive, but full on aggressive Public Service Announcement
In this story, we return to our two intrepid heroes: the soft sciences Chief Science Officer Ro, and the Vulcan Ship's Counselor, Sular.
If you decide to read it, note that if you look up "My Space Love" on Memory Alpha, you will find NOTHING. As a group, we have fully invented a future (rom com? No one is really sure) entertainment series by this name. It is speculated by all of us that the theme song is possibly reminiscent of that from "The Love Boat," but a lot of the details about what exactly "My Space Love" is remain in flux. It comes up a lot, however, and we have had actual plot revolve around the USS Turing's special obsession with this show. In fact, as players, one of biggest concerns after discovering that we accidentally changed the timeline is that we might have lost an episode of "My Space Love" that had been filmed on Narendra Station, and from which we were able to get autographs from some of the stars.
A couple of other bits... here's Ian McKellen as a young man:
Image: so definitely pretty...
This fic attempts to tackle the question: Why the heck is Starfleet so obsessed with the Eugenics Wars?
=========
Ro’s head hurt.
He had no idea if it was the psilosynine inhibitor the Chief Medical Officer Eliva had injected with him or if, as Ensign Belinski might say, he’d finally just run out of “spoons.”
Lying on the cot SickBay, Ro closed his eyes and listened to the steady beat of his own heart on the monitor. Admiral April was sedated on his left. Colonel Adenkar perched on the cot to his left, muttering something about how this ‘medical leave’ might be the letter of protocol, but it certainly stunk of something akin to mutiny.
Something big was happening on the Bridge. Probably. Likely. Even if his strange premonition had been wrong, surely they’d be hurtling back through time any minute? As Chief Science Officer, Ro should probably be there, but the captain had had enough of his hysterics and relieved him of duty.
He hadn’t meant to startle quite so hard when Captain Tayrn asked him if he was all right, but he’d been brooding quite a bit about their recent brutal encounter with the Klingon vessel, One of Fears, and he’d just started squawking like a ninny. The creeping, shadowy sensation that had filled his head, unbidden, and the paranoid sense they were being followed didn’t help him sound any more sane.
He didn’t blame the captain, not really. He must have seemed completely unhinged.
Even so, he was fine now, and probably didn’t need to still be lying here, especially after that nice gossip session with the ship’s counselor, Sular, and the splash or two of vodka they’d added to the tea.
It was amazing what alcohol did for the nerves.
And what a hypo of Theragen could cure.
And the problems it would cause him.
Cracking an eye open, Ro glanced at Eliva. He watched the Napean doctor move about the SickBay, keeping a careful watch on her domain. It shouldn’t be such a surprise to Ro that a Napean would treat his sudden telepathic or empathic abilities as a disease needing to be cured. From what he remembered of her planet’s history, it was an airborne mutative virus that had caused her entire species to develop theirs.
Again, just doing her best. No one to blame but fate, Ro supposed.
Pulling himself upright, he yawned and stretched out his aching limbs. Not waiting for her permission, Ro hopped off the cot and gave a little wave to the doctor as he headed to the door, “I’m going to see the ship counselor.”
“Oh?” She glanced up from her monitor, clearly concerned. “Again? Are you feeling emotionally unsteady?”
The sincerity in Eliva’s tone made Ro pause at the doorway long enough to tell her the truth. “Only a little,” he said. “I just like talking to the man, I guess? Plus, he makes a mean cup of tea.”
She waved him off with one of her soft, knowing smiles and a nod.
In as much as Vulcan’s could, Sular looked surprised to see Ro at his door. Delicately sculpted dark eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t anticipate that you’d be returning so soon.”
“That makes two of us,” Ro admitted. He’d planned, after all, to try to talk to Admiral April and the Colonel about what had happened at Narendra Station to trigger all the events that had them slingshotting a hundred years into the past, but he’d forgotten just how crowded SickBay was. Not an ideal place to casually discuss a potential coup. “I think I just missed your company.”
Sular expression never changed, but he radiated suspicion, like a schoolboy who was uncertain if he was being teased or not.
Ro put on his most sincere face. “I’m serious. I find you quite charming, you know.”
Sular continued to block the door, unconvinced.
“Also… you have vodka?”
“Ah, very well,” Sular capitulated finally. Stepping aside, he gestured at the darkened interior of his quarters. Dryly, he added, “As it happens, I have no other pressing business.”
“Hooray!” Ro clapped lightly, although he noted that Sular seemed to once again be lamenting his lack of clientele. To be fair to the rest of the crew, it was a bit unusual to have a Vulcan in charge of the emotional health of the ship. They really just needed to meet him. Ro could attest that Sular had helped him through quite a number of rough patches.
Ro stepped into Sular’s chambers gingerly.
He’d been invited here only moments ago for an intense gossip session, but he’d failed to properly admire the counselor’s quarters. Like most Vulcans, Sular had the room temperature up just a notch higher than the rest of the ship. Not too warm as to be uncomfortable, but noticeable, particularly to someone like Ro who’d grown up on an ice moon. Probably due to all the meditation and incense burning, the room smelled nice, too, like some exotic spice or… manly musk.
At that thought, Ro’s eyes shifted away from a low-framed bed, trying not to appear to linger on how surprisingly large and comfortable it looked or marvel at the voluminous, brightly-colored silks that had been draped around it like the interior of some ancient, opulent Bedouin tent. The whole room looked like it could be a set piece for that one “My Space Love” episode that had been an odd Klingon interpretation of Lawrence of Arabia. The floor was covered in an array of rugs and za-button pillows that seemed to be the only place to sit.
Ro hesitated at the doorway. In so many ways, Vulcans reminded him of his Japanese in-laws, and so he looked around to see if there was an obvious place to remove his boots. There didn’t seem to be. Ro supposed that shouldn’t be a surprise. After all, even though some counselors didn’t, Sular wore the Starfleet uniform.
Suddenly, Ro wondered what the counselor would look like if he wore traditional garb. Given that this room gave the impression of a nomadic tent, would Sular favor long, flowing robes or did the desert tribes of Vulcan wear something else?
Bottle and two bowls in hand, Sular settled into a cozy corner of the room near a low table. The light in the room was generally dimmed, but the table Sular knelt beside had a series of pretty, dripping tulip-like, purple glass shades hanging over it.
Ro joined him a little more awkwardly. He swore that with every passing year, the floor grew further and further away. One of Ro’s knees actually popped a bit before he managed to sit tailor-fashion, cross-legged across a low table from Sular, who, of course, knelt effortlessly in seiza.
Ah, to be young again.
After setting the shallow bowls down, Sular poured the alcohol. “When I sent you back to SickBay, I was under the impression that you were hoping to spy on our distinguished guests. Did this prove fruitful?”
“The Admiral is still passed out. Adenkar isn’t terribly talkative, except to himself. So, no, not at all.” Ro sighed, taking a moment to admire the cup offered to him. It reminded him of the sake bowls that he and Kenichi had in their Tokyo apartment back on Earth. Only the one in his hand had been delicately painted with images of leaping selhats, the wild cats of Vulcan. Vodka was such an odd choice for a Vulcan to have around, but, given the past few days, any alcohol was welcome. “Did you pick up a taste for vodka at Academy? Or somewhere else?”
Sular glanced at the bottle in his hand for a long moment. He set it down deliberately, gently, his long-boned fingers trailing reluctantly from the bottle. “It was the preferred drink of a person very special to me.”
A human? Right, they would have to be human to be fond of vodka, wouldn’t they? Also ‘very special to me’? This sounded very much like it could be a lover! Ro held his breath, waiting to see if Sular would offer anything more. Ro hated to admit it, but he tended to think of the Vulcans as sexless, only doing the mating dance, such as it was, for Pon Farr or whatever.
Wrapping his hands around the shallow cup, Sular stared down at his reflection in the clear alcohol. Then he lifted those storm-gray eyes and the cup, as though in a toast. “To Lieutenant Mikail Tkachenko,” he paused as if gathering strength. Then, he said, softer, “Misha. May the dust rest lightly upon him.”
Dutifully, Ro clinked cups and took a long swig. He wasn’t sure how one was supposed to respond, if there was something appropriate to say in Vulcan, so he opted for a sincere: “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Sular’s expression tightened. His jaw muscles flexed, but then he seemed to let go of something with a steadying breath. “Thank you. It is the great misfortune of my life that I failed to return Misha’s affection and never acknowledged the magnitude of my own feelings for him before he, along with a large compliment of the crew of my former commission, was killed in action. Yet, his death has shaped the course of my life in a multitude of positive ways, as well. Without his memory, I would never have become a counselor”
Oh.
Oh, my. This certainly explained some things. But, how tragic! Had his friend gone to his death not knowing that Sular loved him back? Ro felt like he should have something to add to this intimate revelation, but everything he thought to say seemed inadequate or inappropriate. ‘At least your first loved you back; mine was as straight as they make ‘em!’ seemed crass and shallow, even if it was true. So, instead, he just reiterated his sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
Sular let out another short breath and set his bowl down on the low table. He folded his hands in his lap. “Me too.”
Was that an admission of more feelings? Not knowing how else to respond, Ro lifted his cup again. “Well then, to Mikhail!”
“Misha,” Sular agreed, with another clink. He drank deeply, emptying the cup in one swallow. Setting it down, he said, “But the sins of my past are not why you’re here, I imagine.”
“No, but it does seem to be a bit of a theme,” Ro mused. “I don’t suppose you’re willing to conspire with me to expunge my medical records, are you?”
Sular’s lips thinned, turning down ever so slightly at the corners. “That would be highly irregular, not to mention illegal.”
“Well, it’s a problem.” Reaching for the bottle to fill up the shallow dish again, he explained, “I’m really not allowed to develop superpowers. As of twenty minutes ago, my official medical records now indicate that I was given an anti-telepathy drug.” He felt the need to be clear. “Humans aren’t normally telepathic. How do you think that’s going to go over with JAG?”
“Your ‘jailors.’”
“Yes, them,” Ro said, slamming back the vodka before refilling his bowl. “The ones that have been waiting since the moment of my birth for something like this to show up so they have the excuse they need to lock me away and throw away the key.”
Sular seemed to be having trouble not showing his displeasure. “I find it unreasonable to imagine that Starfleet would be that intransigent.”
Ro couldn’t help but scoff. “A telepathic superhuman? I can’t imagine anything else they’d be more intent on containing. Or destroying, as the case may be.”
Sular sat back a little against his heels. His hands rested lightly on his thighs. “But, Lieutenant Commander, you’re in no other way superhuman.”
This was probably the time to confess how often he fudged all the little intelligence tests he’d been given over the years. Instead, he kept that to himself and said, “I don’t know if you know this about me, Sular, but I don’t exercise. I’ve eaten poorly since the moment I could choose for myself. High fat, low protein diet, that’s me!” Ro patted his perfectly trim waist, as though to emphasize his point. Then, finishing off his third cup of vodka, he added, “Plus, I drink like a fish. Yet I’ve never failed a Starfleet physical.”
Sular seemed to assess Ro for several seconds. “Ah,” he said, far too knowingly, “That’s why you act so silly.”
“Exactly. A foolish old man is not very dangerous, is he?” Ro said with a wan, sad smile. “Neither was a goofy little twink!”
Sular looked like he wanted to ask for a definition but didn’t know how.
Ro explained, “Basically, a skinny pretty gay boy.”
“Indeed,” Sular’s lips twitched as though trying to picture it.
“I’ll have you know, I was very pretty in my youth.”
Despite his flat affect, Sular’s amusement was plain, “No doubt.”
Ro gave Sular a little teasing grimace. “You’re very sassy for a Vulcan.”
“Thank you.” The smile was barely contained. “But, in all seriousness, Lieutenant Commander, you can not possibly be seriously considering tampering with official medical records.”
Was he? Really, only in passing. As much as the Judge Advocate General’s officers might have been anticipating this moment to come to pass, so had he. In fact, Ro had very meticulously planned much of his life around it.
He was really only angry that he wouldn’t, after all, make it to retirement.
He’d really wanted Kenichi and the kids to get his pension.
Sular seemed to still be waiting for a response, so Ro shook his head. Leaning back, he rested on his elbows. “So long as Kenichi actually divorced me when I begged him to, then no. I’m still irritated that he’ll lose my pension. My pension was the only reason I stayed in service after the war. Only a few more years, I told myself.” He let out a grim little chuckle, “And it turned out that those few years would be the death of me. Too much hanging out with telepaths and empaths, apparently!”
Still sitting rigidly, Sular gripped his own hand in his lap. His thumbs tapped together thoughtfully. “It is my understanding that psilosynine exists in humans. Such an exposure could happen to anyone.”
Ro nodded absently. He was staring up at the ceiling, wondering what amenities came with maximum security confinement. Surely, he would be fed and clothed? But, would he get books? Entertainment? Would they allow him to stream “My Space Love?” He’d gotten rather addicted to that show thanks to Balenski and his science team.
He supposed no. It wasn’t meant to be a fun, relaxing place. After all, it was a prison, not some retirement community.
“The lack of scientific evidence bothers me,” Sular was saying. “That is to suggest that I’d be willing to make the case to the Judge Advocate General that it is illogical to assume that one necessarily follows the other. You are a known Augment, yes, but Augments are not the only humans susceptible to spontaneous psilosynine overdevelopment.”
Ro waved sloppily without even bothering to sit up. “You’re forgetting the feelings, Counselor. The humans in Starfleet have very illogical feelings about Augments. There was a war, you know.”
“Indeed,” Sular said dryly, somehow managing to express his full disdain in two, unemotional syllables. “How long ago was this war?”
“Earth’s twentieth century, the 1900s,” Ro said. He’d been required to study everything about the four-year Eugenics War as a child. This was one test that he never intentionally failed or fudged, because it was clear that his jailors wanted it drilled into his head that lives had been lost and that the threat was real. Perhaps, however, if they’d wanted him to fully absorb that particular message they shouldn’t have given him all the available resources and facts, including that, while Khan had seized by force a fourth of the planet, once he had, he stopped being aggressive and seemed content to be a petty tyrant. He sounded like a terrible governor, a bit of a pompous asshole, but otherwise no worse than many other dictators throughout the centuries.
But he was reviled and hated like almost no other before or since.
Maybe, Ro had determined at a very young age, Khan and his people had been hated simply because they were all so damn beautiful. Luckily, you could do a lot to change your appearance. After all, the tabloids had taught him that every supermodel was one bad haircut away from looking supremely average. It wasn’t difficult to wear sloppy or unflattering clothes or find the single worst barber in any galactic system.
It’d been more difficult in his youth, but when you’re pretty, people expect you to be as dumb as a pile of bricks. Not a challenging role, but easy enough to play.
Ro had no idea how strong he was. It turns out that if you run away from dangerous situations, you could avoid ever finding out. No one ever asked the watercolor professor to join the weightlifting team. Act incapable enough, and no one will even expect you to have the ability or inclination to carry your own luggage or lift your own boxes.
“I said,” Sular raised his voice, clearly having had to repeat himself, “It seems counterproductive that humans, alone among most other species, have limited themselves in this way.”
With a stretch, Ro sat back upright. “Yes. Whatever you’re talking about, you’ve probably made an excellent point. Extremely logical and well-thought out. However, I was daydreaming and missed your brilliance. But, since we’re trading life-threatening secrets, you do have to tell me how the hell it is that you got through the Vulcan Science Academy with all the emotion you express. You’re not a Romulan spy, are you, darling?”
“I would be insulted, but that would be an emotional response that I’m not allowed,” Sular said, pouring himself another drink. “I’m not a Romulan. My parents were cultists.”
Ro almost choked on his own spit. “What? Cultists? That’s an unexpected answer. Truly? Cultists? Vulcans have cults?”
“Of course. Despite the High Counsel and Academy's attempts to portray Vulcan as otherwise, the entire planet is not a monoculture.” Sular’s eyebrow arched at Ro’s reaction. ”I was raised by V'tosh ka'tur.”
“Gesundheit,” Ro teased. Pouring himself and Sular another bowl of the vodka, he said, “But, seriously, I’ve never heard of that. What is it?”
“If philosophy is to Vulcan as religion is to other planets, we are heretics at best, cultists at worst. V'tosh ka'tur believe that logic and emotion aren’t mutually exclusive. To put it starkly, I grew up as you likely did--among people who laughed and cried and flew in rages. My family was part of a tribe of merchant nomads, all of whom practiced V’tosh ka’tur, so, for most of my youth, all I knew of Vulcan were its smiles and tears. It was only when we traded in the cities and villages did I discover how foreign and unwelcome we were.”
Ro could barely imagine one smiling Vulcan; a whole tribe of them seemed unreal. “That must have been so strange."
“I knew no better, so it seemed perfectly normal,” Sular corrected.
“But you left them,” Ro pointed out.
He gave another one of his little eyebrow quirks that implied that Ro had noted something patently obvious. “I did. It’s what one does when they discover they’ve been living in a cult: escape. As part of my recovery, I spent the rest of my life denying every emotion I ever experienced. Even love.”
Ah, we’d returned to the mysterious Misha. Ro filled Sular’s bowl again, hoping to prompt more of the story.
Sular took the drink but shot Ro an almost imperceptible side eye. “Obviously, I’ve returned to my heresy, but far too late. Had I known what it would cost me, I would never have submitted to the Kolinahr.”
The whole thing broke Ro’s heart. “Maybe you might find love again.”
Sular smiled. It was tinged with sadness, but the light of it reached his eyes. The transformation was shocking. Always attractive, Sular was devastatingly handsome at this moment. “There is always hope.”
Ro found he could say nothing but gape.
Luckily, in a second, Sular returned to his old self. He set the bowl down on the low table with an audible clunk. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your clever diversion. Shall I make an appointment for us to further discuss your concerns about your medical records in a more clinical setting?”
A chance to talk to this amazing man again?
“Certainly,” Ro said. “I’m glad you’re not going to want to try to talk now. I should probably be poured into bed and ordered to sleep it off.”
“Oh?” Sular seemed to suddenly take stock of the sheer amount of vodka they’d consumed. “Let me help you get there."
The other thing about always pretending to be weaker than you were? Gorgeous men would always offer an arm or a shoulder….
END
IF YOU DON'T LIKE FIC IN YOUR FEED, KEEP SCROLLING (also, this fic is now foreshortened for your scrolling convenience. Thank all the gods you now only have to take ONE SECOND to ignore this post, rather than THREE. )
You now have ZERO excuse to not to ignore this, if you're not into it.
/ End not even passively-aggressive, but full on aggressive Public Service Announcement
In this story, we return to our two intrepid heroes: the soft sciences Chief Science Officer Ro, and the Vulcan Ship's Counselor, Sular.
If you decide to read it, note that if you look up "My Space Love" on Memory Alpha, you will find NOTHING. As a group, we have fully invented a future (rom com? No one is really sure) entertainment series by this name. It is speculated by all of us that the theme song is possibly reminiscent of that from "The Love Boat," but a lot of the details about what exactly "My Space Love" is remain in flux. It comes up a lot, however, and we have had actual plot revolve around the USS Turing's special obsession with this show. In fact, as players, one of biggest concerns after discovering that we accidentally changed the timeline is that we might have lost an episode of "My Space Love" that had been filmed on Narendra Station, and from which we were able to get autographs from some of the stars.
A couple of other bits... here's Ian McKellen as a young man:
Image: so definitely pretty...
This fic attempts to tackle the question: Why the heck is Starfleet so obsessed with the Eugenics Wars?
=========
Ro’s head hurt.
He had no idea if it was the psilosynine inhibitor the Chief Medical Officer Eliva had injected with him or if, as Ensign Belinski might say, he’d finally just run out of “spoons.”
Lying on the cot SickBay, Ro closed his eyes and listened to the steady beat of his own heart on the monitor. Admiral April was sedated on his left. Colonel Adenkar perched on the cot to his left, muttering something about how this ‘medical leave’ might be the letter of protocol, but it certainly stunk of something akin to mutiny.
Something big was happening on the Bridge. Probably. Likely. Even if his strange premonition had been wrong, surely they’d be hurtling back through time any minute? As Chief Science Officer, Ro should probably be there, but the captain had had enough of his hysterics and relieved him of duty.
He hadn’t meant to startle quite so hard when Captain Tayrn asked him if he was all right, but he’d been brooding quite a bit about their recent brutal encounter with the Klingon vessel, One of Fears, and he’d just started squawking like a ninny. The creeping, shadowy sensation that had filled his head, unbidden, and the paranoid sense they were being followed didn’t help him sound any more sane.
He didn’t blame the captain, not really. He must have seemed completely unhinged.
Even so, he was fine now, and probably didn’t need to still be lying here, especially after that nice gossip session with the ship’s counselor, Sular, and the splash or two of vodka they’d added to the tea.
It was amazing what alcohol did for the nerves.
And what a hypo of Theragen could cure.
And the problems it would cause him.
Cracking an eye open, Ro glanced at Eliva. He watched the Napean doctor move about the SickBay, keeping a careful watch on her domain. It shouldn’t be such a surprise to Ro that a Napean would treat his sudden telepathic or empathic abilities as a disease needing to be cured. From what he remembered of her planet’s history, it was an airborne mutative virus that had caused her entire species to develop theirs.
Again, just doing her best. No one to blame but fate, Ro supposed.
Pulling himself upright, he yawned and stretched out his aching limbs. Not waiting for her permission, Ro hopped off the cot and gave a little wave to the doctor as he headed to the door, “I’m going to see the ship counselor.”
“Oh?” She glanced up from her monitor, clearly concerned. “Again? Are you feeling emotionally unsteady?”
The sincerity in Eliva’s tone made Ro pause at the doorway long enough to tell her the truth. “Only a little,” he said. “I just like talking to the man, I guess? Plus, he makes a mean cup of tea.”
She waved him off with one of her soft, knowing smiles and a nod.
#
In as much as Vulcan’s could, Sular looked surprised to see Ro at his door. Delicately sculpted dark eyebrows rose almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t anticipate that you’d be returning so soon.”
“That makes two of us,” Ro admitted. He’d planned, after all, to try to talk to Admiral April and the Colonel about what had happened at Narendra Station to trigger all the events that had them slingshotting a hundred years into the past, but he’d forgotten just how crowded SickBay was. Not an ideal place to casually discuss a potential coup. “I think I just missed your company.”
Sular expression never changed, but he radiated suspicion, like a schoolboy who was uncertain if he was being teased or not.
Ro put on his most sincere face. “I’m serious. I find you quite charming, you know.”
Sular continued to block the door, unconvinced.
“Also… you have vodka?”
“Ah, very well,” Sular capitulated finally. Stepping aside, he gestured at the darkened interior of his quarters. Dryly, he added, “As it happens, I have no other pressing business.”
“Hooray!” Ro clapped lightly, although he noted that Sular seemed to once again be lamenting his lack of clientele. To be fair to the rest of the crew, it was a bit unusual to have a Vulcan in charge of the emotional health of the ship. They really just needed to meet him. Ro could attest that Sular had helped him through quite a number of rough patches.
Ro stepped into Sular’s chambers gingerly.
He’d been invited here only moments ago for an intense gossip session, but he’d failed to properly admire the counselor’s quarters. Like most Vulcans, Sular had the room temperature up just a notch higher than the rest of the ship. Not too warm as to be uncomfortable, but noticeable, particularly to someone like Ro who’d grown up on an ice moon. Probably due to all the meditation and incense burning, the room smelled nice, too, like some exotic spice or… manly musk.
At that thought, Ro’s eyes shifted away from a low-framed bed, trying not to appear to linger on how surprisingly large and comfortable it looked or marvel at the voluminous, brightly-colored silks that had been draped around it like the interior of some ancient, opulent Bedouin tent. The whole room looked like it could be a set piece for that one “My Space Love” episode that had been an odd Klingon interpretation of Lawrence of Arabia. The floor was covered in an array of rugs and za-button pillows that seemed to be the only place to sit.
Ro hesitated at the doorway. In so many ways, Vulcans reminded him of his Japanese in-laws, and so he looked around to see if there was an obvious place to remove his boots. There didn’t seem to be. Ro supposed that shouldn’t be a surprise. After all, even though some counselors didn’t, Sular wore the Starfleet uniform.
Suddenly, Ro wondered what the counselor would look like if he wore traditional garb. Given that this room gave the impression of a nomadic tent, would Sular favor long, flowing robes or did the desert tribes of Vulcan wear something else?
Bottle and two bowls in hand, Sular settled into a cozy corner of the room near a low table. The light in the room was generally dimmed, but the table Sular knelt beside had a series of pretty, dripping tulip-like, purple glass shades hanging over it.
Ro joined him a little more awkwardly. He swore that with every passing year, the floor grew further and further away. One of Ro’s knees actually popped a bit before he managed to sit tailor-fashion, cross-legged across a low table from Sular, who, of course, knelt effortlessly in seiza.
Ah, to be young again.
After setting the shallow bowls down, Sular poured the alcohol. “When I sent you back to SickBay, I was under the impression that you were hoping to spy on our distinguished guests. Did this prove fruitful?”
“The Admiral is still passed out. Adenkar isn’t terribly talkative, except to himself. So, no, not at all.” Ro sighed, taking a moment to admire the cup offered to him. It reminded him of the sake bowls that he and Kenichi had in their Tokyo apartment back on Earth. Only the one in his hand had been delicately painted with images of leaping selhats, the wild cats of Vulcan. Vodka was such an odd choice for a Vulcan to have around, but, given the past few days, any alcohol was welcome. “Did you pick up a taste for vodka at Academy? Or somewhere else?”
Sular glanced at the bottle in his hand for a long moment. He set it down deliberately, gently, his long-boned fingers trailing reluctantly from the bottle. “It was the preferred drink of a person very special to me.”
A human? Right, they would have to be human to be fond of vodka, wouldn’t they? Also ‘very special to me’? This sounded very much like it could be a lover! Ro held his breath, waiting to see if Sular would offer anything more. Ro hated to admit it, but he tended to think of the Vulcans as sexless, only doing the mating dance, such as it was, for Pon Farr or whatever.
Wrapping his hands around the shallow cup, Sular stared down at his reflection in the clear alcohol. Then he lifted those storm-gray eyes and the cup, as though in a toast. “To Lieutenant Mikail Tkachenko,” he paused as if gathering strength. Then, he said, softer, “Misha. May the dust rest lightly upon him.”
Dutifully, Ro clinked cups and took a long swig. He wasn’t sure how one was supposed to respond, if there was something appropriate to say in Vulcan, so he opted for a sincere: “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Sular’s expression tightened. His jaw muscles flexed, but then he seemed to let go of something with a steadying breath. “Thank you. It is the great misfortune of my life that I failed to return Misha’s affection and never acknowledged the magnitude of my own feelings for him before he, along with a large compliment of the crew of my former commission, was killed in action. Yet, his death has shaped the course of my life in a multitude of positive ways, as well. Without his memory, I would never have become a counselor”
Oh.
Oh, my. This certainly explained some things. But, how tragic! Had his friend gone to his death not knowing that Sular loved him back? Ro felt like he should have something to add to this intimate revelation, but everything he thought to say seemed inadequate or inappropriate. ‘At least your first loved you back; mine was as straight as they make ‘em!’ seemed crass and shallow, even if it was true. So, instead, he just reiterated his sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
Sular let out another short breath and set his bowl down on the low table. He folded his hands in his lap. “Me too.”
Was that an admission of more feelings? Not knowing how else to respond, Ro lifted his cup again. “Well then, to Mikhail!”
“Misha,” Sular agreed, with another clink. He drank deeply, emptying the cup in one swallow. Setting it down, he said, “But the sins of my past are not why you’re here, I imagine.”
“No, but it does seem to be a bit of a theme,” Ro mused. “I don’t suppose you’re willing to conspire with me to expunge my medical records, are you?”
Sular’s lips thinned, turning down ever so slightly at the corners. “That would be highly irregular, not to mention illegal.”
“Well, it’s a problem.” Reaching for the bottle to fill up the shallow dish again, he explained, “I’m really not allowed to develop superpowers. As of twenty minutes ago, my official medical records now indicate that I was given an anti-telepathy drug.” He felt the need to be clear. “Humans aren’t normally telepathic. How do you think that’s going to go over with JAG?”
“Your ‘jailors.’”
“Yes, them,” Ro said, slamming back the vodka before refilling his bowl. “The ones that have been waiting since the moment of my birth for something like this to show up so they have the excuse they need to lock me away and throw away the key.”
Sular seemed to be having trouble not showing his displeasure. “I find it unreasonable to imagine that Starfleet would be that intransigent.”
Ro couldn’t help but scoff. “A telepathic superhuman? I can’t imagine anything else they’d be more intent on containing. Or destroying, as the case may be.”
Sular sat back a little against his heels. His hands rested lightly on his thighs. “But, Lieutenant Commander, you’re in no other way superhuman.”
This was probably the time to confess how often he fudged all the little intelligence tests he’d been given over the years. Instead, he kept that to himself and said, “I don’t know if you know this about me, Sular, but I don’t exercise. I’ve eaten poorly since the moment I could choose for myself. High fat, low protein diet, that’s me!” Ro patted his perfectly trim waist, as though to emphasize his point. Then, finishing off his third cup of vodka, he added, “Plus, I drink like a fish. Yet I’ve never failed a Starfleet physical.”
Sular seemed to assess Ro for several seconds. “Ah,” he said, far too knowingly, “That’s why you act so silly.”
“Exactly. A foolish old man is not very dangerous, is he?” Ro said with a wan, sad smile. “Neither was a goofy little twink!”
Sular looked like he wanted to ask for a definition but didn’t know how.
Ro explained, “Basically, a skinny pretty gay boy.”
“Indeed,” Sular’s lips twitched as though trying to picture it.
“I’ll have you know, I was very pretty in my youth.”
Despite his flat affect, Sular’s amusement was plain, “No doubt.”
Ro gave Sular a little teasing grimace. “You’re very sassy for a Vulcan.”
“Thank you.” The smile was barely contained. “But, in all seriousness, Lieutenant Commander, you can not possibly be seriously considering tampering with official medical records.”
Was he? Really, only in passing. As much as the Judge Advocate General’s officers might have been anticipating this moment to come to pass, so had he. In fact, Ro had very meticulously planned much of his life around it.
He was really only angry that he wouldn’t, after all, make it to retirement.
He’d really wanted Kenichi and the kids to get his pension.
Sular seemed to still be waiting for a response, so Ro shook his head. Leaning back, he rested on his elbows. “So long as Kenichi actually divorced me when I begged him to, then no. I’m still irritated that he’ll lose my pension. My pension was the only reason I stayed in service after the war. Only a few more years, I told myself.” He let out a grim little chuckle, “And it turned out that those few years would be the death of me. Too much hanging out with telepaths and empaths, apparently!”
Still sitting rigidly, Sular gripped his own hand in his lap. His thumbs tapped together thoughtfully. “It is my understanding that psilosynine exists in humans. Such an exposure could happen to anyone.”
Ro nodded absently. He was staring up at the ceiling, wondering what amenities came with maximum security confinement. Surely, he would be fed and clothed? But, would he get books? Entertainment? Would they allow him to stream “My Space Love?” He’d gotten rather addicted to that show thanks to Balenski and his science team.
He supposed no. It wasn’t meant to be a fun, relaxing place. After all, it was a prison, not some retirement community.
“The lack of scientific evidence bothers me,” Sular was saying. “That is to suggest that I’d be willing to make the case to the Judge Advocate General that it is illogical to assume that one necessarily follows the other. You are a known Augment, yes, but Augments are not the only humans susceptible to spontaneous psilosynine overdevelopment.”
Ro waved sloppily without even bothering to sit up. “You’re forgetting the feelings, Counselor. The humans in Starfleet have very illogical feelings about Augments. There was a war, you know.”
“Indeed,” Sular said dryly, somehow managing to express his full disdain in two, unemotional syllables. “How long ago was this war?”
“Earth’s twentieth century, the 1900s,” Ro said. He’d been required to study everything about the four-year Eugenics War as a child. This was one test that he never intentionally failed or fudged, because it was clear that his jailors wanted it drilled into his head that lives had been lost and that the threat was real. Perhaps, however, if they’d wanted him to fully absorb that particular message they shouldn’t have given him all the available resources and facts, including that, while Khan had seized by force a fourth of the planet, once he had, he stopped being aggressive and seemed content to be a petty tyrant. He sounded like a terrible governor, a bit of a pompous asshole, but otherwise no worse than many other dictators throughout the centuries.
But he was reviled and hated like almost no other before or since.
Maybe, Ro had determined at a very young age, Khan and his people had been hated simply because they were all so damn beautiful. Luckily, you could do a lot to change your appearance. After all, the tabloids had taught him that every supermodel was one bad haircut away from looking supremely average. It wasn’t difficult to wear sloppy or unflattering clothes or find the single worst barber in any galactic system.
It’d been more difficult in his youth, but when you’re pretty, people expect you to be as dumb as a pile of bricks. Not a challenging role, but easy enough to play.
Ro had no idea how strong he was. It turns out that if you run away from dangerous situations, you could avoid ever finding out. No one ever asked the watercolor professor to join the weightlifting team. Act incapable enough, and no one will even expect you to have the ability or inclination to carry your own luggage or lift your own boxes.
“I said,” Sular raised his voice, clearly having had to repeat himself, “It seems counterproductive that humans, alone among most other species, have limited themselves in this way.”
With a stretch, Ro sat back upright. “Yes. Whatever you’re talking about, you’ve probably made an excellent point. Extremely logical and well-thought out. However, I was daydreaming and missed your brilliance. But, since we’re trading life-threatening secrets, you do have to tell me how the hell it is that you got through the Vulcan Science Academy with all the emotion you express. You’re not a Romulan spy, are you, darling?”
“I would be insulted, but that would be an emotional response that I’m not allowed,” Sular said, pouring himself another drink. “I’m not a Romulan. My parents were cultists.”
Ro almost choked on his own spit. “What? Cultists? That’s an unexpected answer. Truly? Cultists? Vulcans have cults?”
“Of course. Despite the High Counsel and Academy's attempts to portray Vulcan as otherwise, the entire planet is not a monoculture.” Sular’s eyebrow arched at Ro’s reaction. ”I was raised by V'tosh ka'tur.”
“Gesundheit,” Ro teased. Pouring himself and Sular another bowl of the vodka, he said, “But, seriously, I’ve never heard of that. What is it?”
“If philosophy is to Vulcan as religion is to other planets, we are heretics at best, cultists at worst. V'tosh ka'tur believe that logic and emotion aren’t mutually exclusive. To put it starkly, I grew up as you likely did--among people who laughed and cried and flew in rages. My family was part of a tribe of merchant nomads, all of whom practiced V’tosh ka’tur, so, for most of my youth, all I knew of Vulcan were its smiles and tears. It was only when we traded in the cities and villages did I discover how foreign and unwelcome we were.”
Ro could barely imagine one smiling Vulcan; a whole tribe of them seemed unreal. “That must have been so strange."
“I knew no better, so it seemed perfectly normal,” Sular corrected.
“But you left them,” Ro pointed out.
He gave another one of his little eyebrow quirks that implied that Ro had noted something patently obvious. “I did. It’s what one does when they discover they’ve been living in a cult: escape. As part of my recovery, I spent the rest of my life denying every emotion I ever experienced. Even love.”
Ah, we’d returned to the mysterious Misha. Ro filled Sular’s bowl again, hoping to prompt more of the story.
Sular took the drink but shot Ro an almost imperceptible side eye. “Obviously, I’ve returned to my heresy, but far too late. Had I known what it would cost me, I would never have submitted to the Kolinahr.”
The whole thing broke Ro’s heart. “Maybe you might find love again.”
Sular smiled. It was tinged with sadness, but the light of it reached his eyes. The transformation was shocking. Always attractive, Sular was devastatingly handsome at this moment. “There is always hope.”
Ro found he could say nothing but gape.
Luckily, in a second, Sular returned to his old self. He set the bowl down on the low table with an audible clunk. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your clever diversion. Shall I make an appointment for us to further discuss your concerns about your medical records in a more clinical setting?”
A chance to talk to this amazing man again?
“Certainly,” Ro said. “I’m glad you’re not going to want to try to talk now. I should probably be poured into bed and ordered to sleep it off.”
“Oh?” Sular seemed to suddenly take stock of the sheer amount of vodka they’d consumed. “Let me help you get there."
The other thing about always pretending to be weaker than you were? Gorgeous men would always offer an arm or a shoulder….
END
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Date: 2023-05-05 09:42 pm (UTC)Sular backstory!!! This was not at all what I'd expected and I am here for it. And I want to hug them both.
Also lol @ Ro explaining twinks to a Vulcan. I had no idea Ian McKellen was that hot as a young man, though I am not surprised, I guess.
UM so. I kind of want to put together some kind of wiki for Night Beats canon (besides the website) and maybe there can be one for My Space Love canon? I say this with absolutely -1000 amounts of time on my hands.
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Date: 2023-05-05 09:56 pm (UTC)And, thank you! (I've been sitting on the Sular backstory for some time and he really doesn't get a lot of play time because, honestly, how often do you need the ship's counselor??)
I, too, was surprised by how NICE a young Ian McKellen looked.
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Date: 2023-05-05 10:58 pm (UTC)More often than the Turing's crew makes use of him, anyway.
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Date: 2023-05-06 12:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-05-06 01:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-05-06 04:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-05-06 02:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-05-07 03:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-05-07 03:46 am (UTC)The things she would not know include the fact that his intelligence (reason stat) is also artificially boosted. He, himself, has no idea if he's developed anything else other than the recent telepathy/empathy.
I don't know if the Judge Advocate General's office has a notation in his official medical records specifically coded to the Chief Medical Officer or not, but maybe there's something in there that suggests that any new mental or physical capabilities are to be immediately flagged. You could decide that and what you want to do about it, if there is....
But, you know, I personally don't need the drama to revolve around me (outside of fic) and who knows what's going to happen next in terms of WHERE WE ARE IN TIME. Maybe the JAG doesn't even exist here???
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Date: 2023-05-06 05:24 am (UTC)I've always kind of detested LJ-style cuts because I LIKE seeing what people on my flist write, and the exception was giant photos back when I had a shit internet connection because those froze my browser. And it's text! Text is EASY to scroll through.
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Date: 2023-05-06 02:42 pm (UTC)And, wasn't he? I will say when I first Googled young Ian McKellen I was like... what? WOW.
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Date: 2023-05-06 12:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-05-06 02:43 pm (UTC)It's a testimony to how much I love this gaming group! Y'all inspire the heck out of me.
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Date: 2023-05-06 07:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-05-06 08:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-05-08 01:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-05-08 06:27 pm (UTC)Sorry for the confusion!