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The world is spinning. At the same time, it’s standing still.
All the colours are so vibrant now, shining with a pearly white gleam. It’s too much to take, so he keeps moving, can’t keep his eyes on any one thing for too long.
Noises are clearer, pitch-perfect, and yet there are so many sounds that he can’t always separate them.
That would explain why he didn’t catch the first half of Hugh’s sentence.
Hugh looks worried.
“You always look worried, these days,” Paul says sadly.
Hugh sighs. He opens his mouth and closes it. “Should I be worried?” he eventually asks.
“No!” Paul replies vigorously. “There’s nothing to worry about at all. This isn’t a bad thing, Hugh. I’m sorry I can’t explain it. But I’m fine. Better than fine. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Hugh replies. “But this behaviour isn’t like you.”
Paul should challenge that. He’s more than a reckless maniac, he should definitely refute that. But he suddenly becomes aware of a change in the air, and he feels like someone else is near. He turns and walks to the door, and opens it at the same moment the chimes ring, revealing Specialist Burnham standing there.
Burnham is rather stoic, despite not being Vulcan, but even that surprised her.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Lieutenant,” she says. “Were you on your way out?”
“Not at all, Michael,” Paul cheerfully replies. “It’s just that your footsteps are quite loud.”
Paul Stamets hadn’t had much time for Michael Burnham when she came on board. She was arrogant, appeared to be evading her punishment, and oh yes, was a mutineer. But despite Stamets offering up his entire adult life to the study of mushrooms in space, it was Burnham who got the spore drive to work. First with the Tardigrade, and then in helping to formulate a solution using the Tardigrade DNA. She’d earned his respect.
“Your footsteps aren’t loud,” he hears Hugh say as he ponders how much he likes Burnham.
“I do believe that the levels of soundproofing that Discovery has would mean that my footsteps would not be audible,” Michael replies.
“Indeed, indeed,” Paul says. “It wasn’t your footsteps. I misspoke. I’m still learning how things fit together. It’s fascinating, really.”
“I’m sure it is,” Hugh interjects, shooting Paul a look he can’t interpret. “What brings you to our door, Michael?” He encourages her to step into their quarters.
“Actually, I came to speak to you, Doctor,” she replies.
Paul takes it for the cue that he hopes it is. “I’ll let you two chat, then,” he says, and makes a beeline out the door before Hugh can stop him. Hugh hasn’t left his side since finding him in the spore chamber. Captain Lorca has put Stamets on medical leave, presumably because he needs him healthy enough to jump at the next emergency, and Hugh has somehow wrangled himself a job as his personal minder.
He doesn’t have a destination in mind, but he isn’t surprised when he ends up at the cultivation bay. He hasn’t had a chance to set foot inside since the jump, but the spores have been calling to him. They’re a part of him now. His mushrooms and him. Paul shivers as the thoughts reverberate around his head. Are the mushrooms his friends?
He finds a nice, soft patch to sit down in and ends up lying down. It’s like being outside. It’s relaxing. He strokes a mushroom with one hand and tucks the other under his head.
He doesn’t know how much time passes before Hugh finds him. He knew Hugh would find him, it was always just a matter of waiting until Burnham left him alone.
“Hey,” Paul says in unison with Hugh.
Hugh does a double take.
“Come on, that was pretty predictable,” Paul says. “I bet I could’ve done that without the spores.”
He gets a huffing laugh in response. “Okay, point taken. Mind if I join you?”
“Sure,” Paul replies. There’s no point to saying no. He got the break he needed, and he does like spending time with Hugh. He loves Hugh.
He must’ve said some of that out loud, because Hugh replies, “You keep saying that. You never used to say it much.” He pauses. “Can I ask you a question?” Hugh eventually asks.
“Sure,” Paul repeats. His senses have been so heightened since getting the Tardigrade DNA that this may be the first true unknown he’s experienced in days. He has no clue what Hugh is going to ask.
“I know that navigating the spore drive was amazing, for lack of a better word. But didn’t it hurt? Having the nodules spear into you?”
Paul stays silent for a moment. Yes, it hurt. Of course it hurt. He had huge gaping holes in his chest that only just missed vital organs. He’d never felt pain like that before. But it was only a split second, before the world opened up and he was flying the ship. It paled in comparison to that.
“Not really,” he mutters. “The pleasure is about a billion times greater than the pain, so I didn’t really notice it.”
He sneaks a look at Hugh, who doesn’t look impressed.
“Be that as it may, I’m not convinced that you’ll survive many more jumps like that. The human body isn’t designed for it,” Hugh says.
“I’ll be fine,” Paul says dismissively. “The spores will take care of me. Look at me now. You’d never know anything happened.”
Hugh sits up and his exasperation is clear. “This is serious, Paul. You’re not a Tardigrade. This isn’t going to work. We can’t just bury our heads in the sand.”
“What do you suggest we do instead? I don’t have anything we need to redesign the drive. Without Straal…” he drifts off. Paul hasn’t mentioned Straal by name since the day he died. He was planning to keep it that way, but it seems he doesn’t have quite as good a lock on his emotions as before.
Hugh looks down at him, concerned.
Paul gives his head an imperceptive shake and tries to forge on. “We can’t do anything about it right now. The only way forward is to keep using it and learning about it, so that maybe, in a few months, I can reverse engineer something.”
“Or – we could redesign the interface on your end. Set up a cybernetic implant on your chest. Give the nodules a place to park, rather than have them dive into your flesh,” Hugh suggests.
Paul pauses. That actually sounds reasonable. “Can you do that?”
Hugh shrugs. “I don’t know. But for you, I’d try.”